The Great Societizer (Page 2)

Caro shows how, having won over the men who really mattered in Texas, Johnson set out to win over the men who really mattered in the Senate, the "Old Bulls." As a result of the Solid South and the seniority rule, nearly all of these men were the Southern barons who controlled the powerful Senate committees. In many ways, currying favor with the Texas establishment had been relatively easy; all it had required was destroying the naïve and principled Leland Olds. But the Old Bulls, men like Harry Byrd Sr. of Virginia, Walter George of Georgia and Kenneth McKellar of Tennessee, were a much tougher crowd, not easily deceived and viciously protective of their power and prerogatives. Traditionally, one did not attain power by winning over such men; rather, power came by becoming one of them. But this required the time and patience necessary to accumulate enough seniority to land a choice committee assignment and then more time and patience to ascend to the chairmanship.

But, as Caro points out, Johnson had a very short supply of time and patience. Indeed, he had risked everything to run for the Senate in 1948 in order to avoid the seniority trap of the House. Now he found himself in the same bind. Even before he was sworn in, Johnson tried to persuade the venerable Carl Hayden, chairman of the Senate Rules Committee, which was in charge of office space, to give him an extra room. When Johnson pressed his case too zealously, the usually courteous Hayden shut him down, saying, "The trouble with you, Senator, is that you don't have the seniority of a jackrabbit."

If Johnson didn't have the seniority to become one of the Old Bulls, he would surely do everything he could to gain their favor. The usual method was obsequiousness, telling these men how powerful and important they were, and how much he had learned from them. According to Caro, Johnson's behavior "proved the adage that no excess was possible."

One device, also favored by a more recent Texas politician, was to bestow nicknames. Edwin "Big Ed" Johnson of Colorado was dubbed "Mr. Wisdom," while Leverett Saltonstall of Massachusetts became "Old Oil on Troubled Waters." Johnson resented having to use such tactics, telling aide John Connally after fawning over a senior senator, "Christ, I've been kissing asses all my life"; but ass-kissing worked. As Caro writes, "In December, Hayden had refused to give Johnson that extra room in the basement that he had asked for; in February Hayden found that an extra room was, indeed, available."

While Hayden had the power to provide extra office space, real power in the Senate rested with the acknowledged leader of the Old Bulls, Richard Russell of Georgia. Just as Johnson in his earlier career had gained power by making himself a protégé of House Speaker Sam Rayburn and President Franklin Roosevelt, he now set out to cultivate Russell. Though different in temperament and politics, all three men shared a common element that Johnson used to ingratiate himself: As Caro points out, all three men were lonely. Both Rayburn and Russell were childless bachelors, while Roosevelt was largely estranged from his children and wife. This provided the perfect opportunity for Johnson to be the dutiful son and companion.

Mere companionship and filial piety, however, were not enough to win over Russell. According to Caro, "It wasn't a son that Richard Russell wanted, it was a soldier--a soldier for the Cause." And that cause was white supremacy. In describing Russell's views on this issue, Caro shows that while they were almost always cast as a reasoned, nonracist defense of states' rights, racism was at their core, and such moderation was merely tactical. "His charm," writes Caro, "was more effective than chains in keeping blacks shackled to their terrible past." Caro's description of Russell is not just of historical interest. With calls for states' rights gaining renewed popularity and legitimacy, it is important to remember that while not every states' rights advocate is a closet racist, nearly every advocate of racial inequality has used states' rights to cloak his real aims and beliefs.

Johnson was willing to take up arms for Russell's cause. In his maiden speech in the Senate, Johnson denounced President Truman's call for civil rights legislation in the same reasoned tones used by Russell. When Johnson finished, Russell was the first to shake his hand, telling him that his speech was "one of the ablest I have ever heard on the subject."

Having gained Russell's and the Old Bulls' trust, Johnson now began to build his own power. In 1950, after the outbreak of the Korean War, he convinced Russell to allow him to chair a special committee on preparedness. Caro's description of Johnson's committee is a textbook example of the Washington version of stone soup, in which, with the right skills and connections, one can turn nothing into something. For the most part, the committee did very little original research or investigation, instead recycling work done by other committees and agencies. The difference, however, was that Johnson had a gift for working the media. In this pretelevision era, the term "soundbite" had yet to be coined, but Johnson was a master of it nonetheless. The committee's first report was really an earlier, prewar report on the nation's rubber supply. In the hands of Johnson and his staffer Horace Busby, the report became a major story. "Phrases like 'darkest days,' 'business as usual,' 'too little and too late' leapt out of the final report," writes Caro. Newspapers were particularly enamored of Johnson's description of Defense Department desuetude as "siesta psychology."

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