A Thousand Days Read online

  On the other hand, the designation of Johnson would outrage the liberal wing of the party. While Kennedy, as a realist, had no doubt that he could ride out a liberal revolt, he did not like to make his first act as party leader a repudiation of his earlier assurances nor did he wish to begin his campaign amidst angry accusations of bad faith. And the question of how, if elected, he would work with his Vice-President also troubled him. The Senate leader was a proud and testy man, well known for his sensitivity and his egotism, unlikely to defer easily to a backbencher nine years his junior. He had already shown a strain of bitterness in the convention. Though the Kennedy-Johnson relationship had been affable in the past and even not without a certain affection, the rapport between the self-possessed New Englander, urbane and tough, and the emotional Texan, so expansive one minute, so vulnerable the next, had its distinct limitations.

  As he weighed these considerations in his mind, Kennedy began his own process of ponsultations. The older professionals—Lawrence, Bailey, Daley—were of course delighted at the prospect of Johnson. But most of his own staff was in a state of shock. And late in the morning a delegation commissioned by the labor movement to discuss the Vice-Presidency arrived in the suite. Its members were Walter Reuther, Arthur Goldberg and Alex Rose of the Hatters and the New York Liberal party; and its mission was to tell Kennedy that organized labor would find Humphrey, Symington or Jackson—any one of the three—acceptable. When Kennedy now introduced the “possibility” of Johnson, the labor people, remembering Johnson’s support of the detested Landrum-Griffin labor bill as recently as 1959, were startled. Governor G. Mennen Williams of Michigan, informed a little later by a gloomy Robert Kennedy, was equally depressed. The labor-liberal group pointed out that, in order to hold their delegates for Kennedy and stop the movement toward Stevenson, they had guaranteed that Johnson would not be on the ticket—and that, in offering these guarantees, they had cited the assertions of Robert Kennedy. They doubted whether they could hold their own people in line and predicted mutiny in the convention and a fight on the floor. Ken O’Donnell, Ralph Dungan and other members of the Kennedy staff reinforced these warnings privately to Kennedy.

  When Reuther and Rose left, Kennedy asked Goldberg to stay behind for a minute. He remarked that Goldberg had been unusually quiet during the discussion. Goldberg replied that he interpreted Kennedy’s statement about Johnson as meaning that he had already made his choice. Kennedy did not respond to this, asking Goldberg instead how much trouble the selection of Johnson would create. There would certainly be trouble, Goldberg said, but labor and the liberals had no place else to go; in the end they would have to depend on the candidate’s political judgment. Kennedy inquired about George Meany, the president of the AFL-CIO. Goldberg said that Meany would be unhappy; only a short while earlier he had denounced an alleged attempt by Johnson to use his control over labor legislation to cajole the labor movement into neutrality. Kennedy asked Goldberg to try to calm him down. (Goldberg enlisted David Dubinsky in this effort, and in the afternoon they persuaded Meany not to fight the Johnson nomination.)

  Goldberg left, and the Kennedys returned to their anxious discussion. Though Johnson had shown every sign of wanting the nomination in the morning, he still had mentioned the opposition of his associates and had asked time for consideration. The obvious next step was to find out how really interested he was. Shortly after one o’clock, John Kennedy sent his brother to the Johnson suite to test the atmosphere. When Robert arrived, he was ushered in to see Rayburn.

  A few moments later, Philip Graham, unaware of the spectacular developments of the morning, wandered into the Johnson suite. Johnson seized him and took him into the bedroom along with Lady Bird. Bobby Kennedy, Johnson said, was in another part of the suite with Rayburn, presumably offering the Vice-Presidency, and he had to make an immediate decision. They sat together in the bedroom, “about as composed,” Graham later wrote, “as three Mexican jumping beans.” Lady Bird tried to leave, but Johnson would not let her go; this had to be her decision too. He kept asking Graham what he thought, and Graham finally said that he had to take the Vice-Presidency. Johnson said that he did not want the Vice-Presidency, would not negotiate for it, would take it only if Kennedy drafted him and would not discuss it with anyone else.

  At this point Rayburn entered to report that Robert Kennedy wanted to see Johnson. Lady Bird intervened, noting that she had never before argued with Mr. Sam but she felt that her husband should not talk to Bobby. Graham had the impression that Rayburn thought both that Johnson should see Bobby and also that he should now turn down the Vice-Presidency. Finally, as Graham wrote, “in that sudden way decisions leap out of a melee,” they agreed that Johnson at this point should talk only to the principal. Rayburn left to explain this to Bobby, and Graham was instructed to pass this word directly to the candidate. Graham dragged James Rowe, who had now joined the group, along as a witness, and the two men walked through the crowd of newspapermen in the corridor into a vacant bedroom.

  Telephoning is always an ordeal at conventions; reaching the suite of the nominee is almost an impossibility. There would be a delay getting Mrs. Lincoln, Kennedy’s secretary; another while the call was switched to Stephen Smith or Sargent Shriver, two Kennedy brothers-in-law guarding access to the candidate; another delay before the candidate himself was free to take the call. This was Phil Graham’s signal contribution to the events of that wild afternoon. He had everyone’s private phone number; and, in a situation where each of the principals was surrounded by people urging him to back away from the deal, Graham alone was able to force them into contact with each other. He persisted until he reached Kennedy about two-thirty and told him that Johnson was expecting word directly from him. Kennedy replied that he was in a mess because some of the liberals were against Johnson. A meeting was going on at that very moment, and people were urging that “no one had anything against Symington.” He then asked Graham to call back for a decision “in three minutes.”

  Graham took off his wristwatch and placed it by the telephone. He and Rowe agreed that “three minutes” in these circumstances meant ten, and about two-forty Graham called back. Kennedy was “utterly calm” on the phone. He said that it was “all set”; “tell Lyndon I want him and will have [David] Lawrence nominate him.” He added that he would be busy getting Lawrence and the seconders and preparing his statement announcing Johnson’s selection; he asked Graham to call Stevenson, acquaint him with the decision and enlist his support.

  After breaking the news to Stevenson, Graham returned to the main suite about three-twenty and found Johnson “considerably on edge.” Robert Kennedy, Johnson said, had been back to see Rayburn some twenty minutes before and had said that his brother would phone directly. No call had come; what was up? Graham, noting the private phone numbers in Johnson’s bedroom (the Johnson switchboard had long since broken down), said that he would get in touch with Kennedy. When he reached Kennedy ten minutes later, Kennedy said that he had supposed that his earlier word to Graham would suffice. Graham explained what Bobby had told Rayburn. Kennedy said that he would call Johnson. But he brought up the liberal protests again and asked what Graham thought. Phil replied that southern gains would more than offset liberal losses, and added anyway that it was too late for mind-changing; “you ain’t no Adlai.” Kennedy inquired how Stevenson had taken the news. Graham said that Stevenson had wondered about the liberal and Negro reaction but that he would be all right. Kennedy told him to ask Stevenson to put a statement shortly after Kennedy made his own, now scheduled for four o’clock. Then Kennedy promptly called Johnson and read him the text of the announcement he planned to make. Johnson said that, if Kennedy really wanted him, he would be glad to go on the ticket. The arrangement was sealed.

  The confusion of that afternoon defies historical reconstruction.* But before Graham had called Kennedy and Kennedy, Johnson, it had evidently been decided that Robert Kennedy should make one more attempt to talk to Johnson and, if he were stil
l hesitant, offer the gathering liberal revolt as an excuse for his withdrawal. Graham reached Kennedy after Bobby had left the Kennedy suite; thus Bobby arrived at the Johnson suite after his brother had spoken directly to Johnson and without knowledge of their talk. He went straight to Johnson, and they sat on the same couch where his brother had sat a few hours earlier. In a moment Rayburn joined the conversation.

  Robert Kennedy said he was there on behalf of his brother to report that the ugly floor fight in prospect might divide the party and cast a shadow over the whole campaign. If Senator Johnson did not want to subject himself to this unpleasantness, Senator Kennedy would fully understand; but he continued to hope that Johnson would play a major role in the election. Should Johnson prefer to withdraw, the candidate would wish to make him chairman of the Democratic National Committee. The implication was that Johnson, through his control of the party machinery, could thereby lay a basis for his own national future. Rayburn later remembered saying “shit!” at this point, but his interjection passed unnoticed. Johnson said with great and mournful emotion, “I want to be Vice-President, and, if the candidate will have me, I’ll join with him in making a fight for it.” Robert Kennedy said cryptically, “He wants you to be Vice-President if you want to be Vice-President.”

  Bobby then walked out of the room, leaving consternation behind. Johnson, assuming that Robert’s visit superseded the phone call from the candidate, told Bill Moyers, his appointments secretary, to get Phil Graham. Moyers finally found Graham telephoning in a bedroom down the hall and said that Johnson wanted him at once. Graham said, “I’ll be along in just a minute.” “That won’t do,” Moyers said, and, grabbing his arm, propelled him along the corridor through a jam of.reporters into the suite.

  Johnson, who seemed to Graham “in a high state of nerves,” said they must talk alone immediately. Everything in the suite was in confusion. Johnson was giving a party for his supporters. Perle Mesta and others of the faithful were swarming around the living room. Price Daniel, still arguing against the Vice-Presidency, was in the bedroom. Johnson led his wife, Rayburn, Graham and Jim Rowe into an adjoining room. There, to everyone’s astonishment, stood a collection of delegates from Hawaii, clad in gay shirts and talking happily among themselves. While the others stopped transfixed at the door, wondering how on earth to account for this apparition at the moment of crisis, Johnson called that he was sorry but he needed the room. As the Hawaiians solemnly filed out, he chanted, “Thank you, boys. Thank you. Thank you for all you did.”

  Here John Connally, a leading manager of Johnson’s campaign, and Bobby Baker, the secretary of the Democratic majority of the Senate, joined them. Johnson, greatly agitated and, as Graham later wrote, “about to jump out of his skin,” shouted to Graham that Bobby Kennedy had just said that the opposition was too great and that Johnson should withdraw for the sake of the party. When Johnson finished, everyone started to speak, until someone’s voice—either Rayburn’s or Rowe’s—pierced the uproar, saying, “Phil, call Jack.”

  “It took a minute which seemed an hour to get the operator,” Graham later wrote, “then another series of hour-like minutes as we got Kennedy’s switchboard, then his secretary, and finally Kennedy.”

  Graham said, “Jack, Bobby is down here and is telling the Speaker and Lyndon that there is opposition and that Lyndon should withdraw.”

  “Oh!” Kennedy said as calmly as though they were gossiping about the weather, “that’s all right; Bobby’s been out of touch and doesn’t know what’s been happening.”

  Graham said, “Well, what do you want Lyndon to do?”

  Kennedy said, “I want him to make a statement right away; I’ve just finished making mine.”

  Graham said, “You’d better speak to Lyndon.”

  Kennedy said, “OK, but I want to talk to you again when we’re through.”

  Graham handed the phone to Johnson, who lay sprawled across the bed. Johnson said, “Yes . . . yes . . . yes,” and finally, “OK, here’s Phil,” handing the phone back to Graham.

  Kennedy now chatted along “as though we were discussing someone else’s problems.” He said that Alex Rose was threatening not to list him on the Liberal Party line in New York because of Johnson, but “this is a problem we’ll just have to solve.” Graham then said, “You’d better speak to Bobby.” Baker went out to find Bobby, who came in looking white and exhausted and took the phone. His brother told him that the party leaders had felt the delay was disastrous, that he had to go through with Johnson or blow the whole business. As Graham walked out of the room, he heard Bobby say, “Well, it’s too late now,” and half-slam the receiver down. Bobby then leaned his head against the wall and said, referring not to the candidate but to the confusion, “My God, this wouldn’t have happened except that we were all too tired last night.”

  The Johnsons waited in the entrance hall of the suite. In his hand Johnson held a typed statement accepting the nomination. He said, “I was just going to read this on TV when Bobby came in and now I don’t know what I ought to do.” Graham said, “Of course you know what you’re going to do. Throw your shoulders back and your chin out and go out and make that announcement. And then go on and win. Everything’s wonderful.” Bill Moyers swung open the hall doors and the Johnsons walked out into the white glare of the TV lights and the explosion of flashbulbs.

  A short while later, Johnson went over to the Kennedy suite. Kennedy was sitting by the window, gazing out at Los Angeles stretching murkily away in the distance. The two men greeted each other warmly. Johnson quickly pledged his “total commitment” to play his role as part of the Kennedy team.

  5. THE NEW FRONTIER

  At the Sports Arena, however, the Kennedy team was in considerable disarray. The announcement had stunned the convention. Liberal Democrats were unbelieving and angry. The choice of Johnson was regarded as a betrayal. It seemed to confirm the campaign stereotypes of the Kennedys as power-hungry and ruthless. The word “double-cross” was used. There were signs of open revolt on the floor. Michigan was enraged; so were delegates from Minnesota and California. Joseph Rauh and Robert R. Nathan of the District of Columbia were issuing bitter statements on television.

  I was still at this time in the Stevenson suite, where there was indignation too, though Stevenson himself had a considerable respect for Johnson, and the more realistic Stevensonians knew that, if Johnson had come out for Stevenson, they would have been delighted to have him as Stevenson’s running mate. As I watched the turmoil on the convention floor, I felt an uncontrollable desire to go out and see what could be done. Almost the first person I saw on arrival at the Sports Arena was Graham. Noting my air of incipient rebellion, Phil with characteristic solicitude drew me into a vacant office at the CBS booth, told me not to be silly and explained why he considered the nomination of Johnson logical and right. I was impressed without being altogether convinced; but, by the time he released me, I was notably more relaxed. Phil also calmed Joe Rauh and dissuaded him from putting Orville Freeman’s name into nomination. At Robert Kennedy’s behest, Galbraith was moving among the liberal delegations. “This is the kind of political expedient Franklin Roosevelt would never have used,” Galbraith explained, “—except in the case of John Nance Garner.” Soon emotions were subsiding everywhere. Averell Harriman told me that it was a great ticket and would cause no trouble in New York. William Haddad of the New York Post, with whom I had gone to the Arena, reported that everyone was accommodating himself to Johnson. The balloting began and, before the roll call reached Michigan, John McCormack moved that Johnson be nominated by acclamation. A roar came up from the hall, mingling “ayes” and “nays,” it seemed to me, in about equal proportions, but Governor Collins promptly declared that the vote had carried.

  All emotions did not subside. That evening there was an air of depression at Joe Kennedy’s house. Jack and Bobby were sitting gloomily around the swimming pool when their father appeared at the doorway, resplendent in a fancy smoking jacket, and
said, “Don’t worry, Jack. In two weeks everyone will be saying that this was the smartest thing you ever did.” Johnson too found himself unaccountably depressed and thought for a moment that he had made the mistake of his life. He growled accusingly to his aides the next morning, “You talked me into this.” As for the liberals, they also had their troubles. Violet Gunther, the executive director of Americans for Democratic Action and a Kennedy supporter, was awakened at four in the morning by embittered Stevensonians demanding to know how many pieces of Joe Kennedy’s silver she had got for her work.

  My own sense of outrage vanished in forty-eight hours. On Saturday morning I had a talk with Reinhold Niebuhr, who was a few miles away in Santa Barbara, and found him strongly in favor of Johnson’s nomination. He pointed out that the Democratic party had pledged itself to the strongest civil rights plank in history. If, in addition, it had nominated a militant northern liberal for the Vice-Presidency, this could only have confirmed the South in its sense of isolation and persecution. But the nomination of a southern candidate who accepted the platform, including the civil rights plank, restored the Democrats as a national party and associated the South with the pursuit of national goals. I noted that weekend, “After reflection, I am reconciled to the Johnson nomination and believe that it may come to be seen as a master stroke. . . . I now think that on balance, from the viewpoint both of winning the election and of governing the country, the decision was brave and wise.”