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Ruth Montgomery – A Gift of Prophecy

One morning in November 1944, shortly after Roosevelt’s precedent-shattering re-election to a fourth term, Jeane Dixon answered the telephone in her apartment. A woman's voice, after assurance that she was speaking to Mrs. Dixon in person, said:

"I'm calling for the President. We have heard so much about you, and the President would enjoy having a conversation with you. Are you free next Thursday at 11am?" Early on the appointed day a man called to confirm Jeane's morning appointment with the president.

She dressed with care, in a black suit designed for her by Adrian; it was trimmed with buttons shaped like crystal balls. With it she wore a matching pillbox hat and white gloves. The weather was warm for November, but because the crystal ball made her purse bulge she draped a silver fox fur piece over her arm to conceal it. The doorman hailed a cab for her, and in obedience to White House instructions she alighted at the northwest gate of the Executive Mansion on Pennsylvania Avenue. She gave her name to a guard, who had been alerted to expect her and waved her through. She walked up the winding driveway to the Executive West Wing and into the spacious lobby, where a vast round table caught her eye.

Tall, grey-haired William D. Simmons advanced to greet her, and after she had given her name he escorted her across the length of the room past a guard who said, "Hello, Jeane" and through a door behind Mr. Simmons' desk. They walked down a short corridor, through an anteroom, and into an oval office.

President Roosevelt, looking up from his desk, half raised his torso by his massive arms, flashed a warm smile, and said:

"Good morning, Jeane. Thank you for coming." Wheeling himself toward the end of his desk, he shook her hand, and as he did so Jeane could almost feel the weight of the world pressing down on his broad shoulders. She took a chair at the corner of his desk, and they made small talk about the weather. Jeane, feeling "a wave of loneliness reaching out toward her," finally said: "Mr. President, it is wise to seek guidance sometimes, when one has a question in his mind."

Roosevelt sighed as he responded: "One's time is short, even at its longest. How much time do I have to finish the work I have to do?"

"May I touch your fingertips?" she asked. He thrust forward his big hand, and as she picked up his vibrations, she sought desperately to divert the conversation and avoid an answer. When he insisted on a direct reply, she said reluctantly: "Six months or less."

The room was still for a long moment.

.......They talked a little longer; then, returning to his original question, Mr. Roosevelt asked slowly: "How much longer would you say, in years, that I have to complete my work?"

"Not years," Jeane corrected gently. "You can't measure it in years, Mr. President, but in months. Less than six months."

"Oh, that long?" he murmured, as if to himself. He turned to stare into space.

Recalling that uncomfortable pause, Jeane says: "I could see exactly what was going on in his mind. He was thinking, 'First things first,' and he was seeing files and files, stacks and stacks of papers. I could sense that he had felt a premonition of his own death. He was only seeking confirmation of the fact."……..

.....They shook hands and he said in parting: "It was good of you to come.''

In mid-January 1945, Jeane received a second call from the White House. A woman's voice asked: "Would you like to have a visit at the White House with the President?" An appointment was made for three days hence, again at 11am and Jeane arrived as before by cab ….. Simmons escorted her to the presidential office.

'Did you bring the ball?' President Roosevelt asked.  There was an impish tilt to his cigarette holder as he greeted her.

"He felt as relaxed this time as he had been constrained before," Jeane muses. "But how his physical appearance had changed in those two months.  His face was thin and haggard and he looked as if fifty pounds had been dropped from his frame. ...."

As Jeane slipped the crystal-ball from underneath the mink coat that Jimmy Dixon had given her for a wedding present, she and FDR exchanged knowing smiles.

"Now how much time do I have?" he asked, … Jeane cupped her thumb and forefinger, leaving two inches between and said: "That much".

The President, seeming to accept the fact that the end was approaching, nodded affably.  "The time is short'"

“Yes," Jeane reluctantly agreed, "shorter than we'd like to think."

On April 12^th 1945, the heavily burdened President died of a cerebral hemorrhage in Warm Springs, Georgia