January 23, 1973

After a Time of Tragedy, a Beginning Toward the 'Great Society'

ice President Johnson and his wife had planned to entertain President and Mrs. Kennedy at their ranch in Johnson City, Tex., the night of Nov. 22, 1963.

But that afternoon, while he rode in a motorcade through the streets of Dallas, President Kennedy was killed by a sniper.

The Johnsons were riding in the third car of the motorcade. A Secret Service agent heard the assassin's shots and, as Mr. Johnson later recalled it, the agent "vaulted across the front seat. . .pushed me to the floor and shielded by body with his own body, ready to sacrifice his life for mine."

At Parkland Memorial Hospital, while President Kennedy lay dying, the frightened man who was to succeed him in only a few minutes stood in a hallway, muttering over and over, "The International Communists did it. . .The International Communists did it."

At 1:13 P.M., 43 minutes after he had been shot, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the young and dashing 35th President of the United States, was pronounced dead.

Thirteen minutes later, Mr. Johnson was hustled into an unmarked police car to be driven at breakneck speed to Love Field, where Air Force One, the Presidential jet, was waiting. Fearing possible conspirators of the assassin, Mr. Johnson made the trip crouched on the floor of the police car.

The somber-faced Texan took the oath of office as President of the United States in the cramped executive suite of Air Force One. At his right stood his wife, Lady Bird, to his left the numbed and grief-stricken Jacqueline Kennedy, who still wore a pink wool suit spattered with her husband's blood. Instead of a Bible, Federal District Judge Sarah T. Hughes used a Roman Catholic missal to administer the oath to Mr. Johnson.

Air Force One, carrying the new President and his predecessor's body, took off immediately for Washington.

Dusk had fallen over Andrews Air Force Base, near Washington, when the jet rolled to a halt. A nationwide television audience watched, stunned, as Mr. Kennedy's casket was taken off the plane.

Then, under the harsh glare of the arc lights that flooded that plane, Mr. Johnson stepped forward and read the nation 57 words of reassurance from a white card:

"This is a sad time for all people. We have suffered a loss that cannot be weighed. For me, it is a deep personal tragedy. I know the world shares the sorrow that Mrs. Kennedy and her family bear. I will do my best. That is all I can do. I ask for your help--and God's."

Under the gravest of circumstances, the torch of leadership had been passed on. The new Chief Executive did not publicly take it up until five days after the assassination, when he stood before a joint session of Congress and said, "Let us continue."

Then he quickly made it apparent that what he meant was passage of Mr. Kennedy's entire legislative program, including civil rights laws and an unorthodox tax reduction to stimulate the economy.

In his rich Southern drawl, Mr. Johnson told Congress:

"We have talked long enough in this country about equal rights. We have talked for 100 years or more. It is time now to write it in the books of law."

He made it clear that he intended to keep the Kennedy vision for the world and pronounced it with unexpected force and eloquence:

"We will be unceasing in our search for peace, resourceful in our pursuit of areas of agreement even with those with whom we differ, and generous and loyal to those who join us in common cause."

For a few months, Mr. Johnson kept the staff of President Kennedy beside his own in the White House, as for years he was to retain the services of many of the key members of the Kennedy cabinet, notably Secretary of State Dean Rusk and Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara. He even kept on, for more than a year, Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy, the late President's brother, despite the fact that he loathed him and the feeling was mutual.

It was in his first 15 months in office that Mr. Johnson best demonstrated the qualities for which he hoped to be remembered--by masterly managing the transition of power from the slain President to himself, by breaking legislative logjams of decades' duration, by restoring faith in the viability of the American system of divided legislative and executive powers, by proving the nation's capacity to withstand the horror of assassination and by persuading the world of the strength and continuity of American institutions.

In putting his own brand on the Presidency, he brought to the office a profound respect for the balancing force of Congress. He restored communications between the executive and legislative branches of government to such an extent that the 1964 Congressional record was described as, the most fruitful in a decade.

Shrewd management of his relations with Congress brought about quick action on a tax-cut bill only weeks after Mr. Johnson became President. He paved the way for the $14 billion cut by slashing the budget $900 million, which apparently impressed the economy blocs.

In July 1964, Mr. Johnson proudly signed into law the most sweeping civil rights bill since Reconstruction days. The measure had been submitted to Congress in June, 1963, by Mr. Kennedy, and Mr. Johnson had pushed hard for its enactment from the time he became President.

The bill passed the Senate after a 15-week Southern filibuster. It outlawed discrimination in places of public accommodation, publicly owned facilities, employment and union membership, as well as in Federally-aided programs. A major feature of the legislation was the new power it gave the Attorney General to speed school desegregation and to enforce the Negro's right to vote.

To get the legislation he wanted, the President used with great success what came to be known in Washington as the "Johnson treatment."

The treatment consisted of a combination of cajolery, flattery, concession, arm-twisting threats and outright wooing, all applied by Mr. Johnson with an endless succession of telephone calls, bourbon-and-scotch lunches, barnyard jokes, the squeezing of elbows, the friendly arm around the shoulder, the cold stare when crossed. The technique was armed at finding and touching the most sensitive nerve in Mr. Johnson's target--and, he said, "most often that was the target's self- interest."

He used variations of the treatment to win a victory that had eluded the Administrations of both Dwight D. Eisenhower and John F. Kennedy over a period of more than five years. That was the settlement of the so-called "feather-bedding" dispute over work-rule changes between the nation's railroads and the railroad unions.

Called to White House

When a nationwide rail strike was called by the unions for April 10, 1964, Mr. Johnson invited railroad and union leaders to the White House on April 9. The two sides agreed there would be no strike before April 25 and promised they would once more try to reach a settlement.

On April 21, labor fell in line for a settlement and the President turned the treatment on the nine management representatives. He popped in and out of their meetings, sent special emissaries to persuade them that they must agree to settle and ate and drank with them. Finally, when he sensed it was a do-or-die proposition, he sat down with the management men, thinking, he confided to an aide, they were probably 7-to-2 against him.

When one management representative began the meeting with "I'm just an old country boy. . .," old country boy Lyndon Johnson imperiously shushed him.

"Hold it," he snapped, "stop right there. When I hear that around this town, I put my hand on my billfold. Don't start that with me."

The astonished butt of the Presidential dressing-down joined the laughter and said, "By God, I was just going to say that I'm ready to sign up." Mr. Johnson said later that he believed "that broke the deadlock, but of course I'll never know what he was going to say when I broke in."

The business community's initial reaction to Mr. Johnson was most favorable, in contrast to its attitude toward Mr. Kennedy, who was looked upon with suspicion by business after his crackdown on the steel industry over a price increase early in his Administration.

Mr. Johnson courted business in an hour-long, off-the-cuff speech before the United States Chamber of Commerce in 1964. Combining Texas blarney, homespun wit and candor ("Jettison your martyr complex. . . . Stop obstructing the Government. . . . Join with labor to help us hold down inflation. . . ."), he won a standing ovation.

Henry Ford 2d, who admitted he had never voted for a Democrat for President, pronounced Mr. Johnson "terrific" and said he intended to vote for him in 1964.

There were occasions, of course, when business was less than enchanted with Mr. Johnson. In the latter part of 1965, for example, when the aluminum and copper industries announced price rises that the Administration felt were inflationary, the Government threatened to release some of its stockpiles of the metals to keep prices down.

Early in his Administration, the President declared what he called a "war on poverty." With Mrs. Johnson he made two trips to the distressed Appalachia area to dramatize the need for an anti- poverty drive for which he asked Congress to appropriate $1 billion.

He first spoke of the Great Society, the catch-phrase with which he sought to identify his Administration--as the New Deal did for Franklin D. Roosevelt's and the New Frontier for Mr. Kennedy's--in a commencement address at the University of Michigan on May 22, 1964. He repeated the call six days later in New York.

"I ask you to march with me along the road to the future," he said, "the road that leads to the Great Society, where no child will go unfed and no youngster will go unschooled. . .where every human being has dignity and every worker has a job; where education is blind to color and unemployment is unaware of race; where decency prevails and courage abounds. . . ."

The Great Society became the slogan of Mr. Johnson's 1964 campaign to win a full four-year term in office, and well into that term he often promised that America could indeed become the great society. But he used the tag less and less as the nation became embroiled in racial strife, civil disorders and the ruinous war in Vietnam.

As the 1964 Democratic convention drew near, however, Mr. Johnson seemed to enjoy great popularity, and there was general approval of his handling of domestic problems and programs. He was also praised, during that period, for his cautious approach to foreign crises.

After rioting broke out in the Panama Canal Zone on Jan. 9, 1964, in the outgrowth of a schoolboy dispute over the flags in the Zone, Panama suspended diplomatic relations with the United States and demanded revision of the 1903 Canal Zone treaty.

Working through the Organization of American States, Mr. Johnson finally persuaded the Panamanians to resume relations with this country, and eventually the United States granted Panama concessions in the Zone. Throughout, Mr. Johnson appeared to proceed with a steady hand.

He was equally unruffled in February, 1964, when Premier Fidel Castro cut off the water supply for the United States Navy base at Guant·namo Bay, Cuba. He ordered water shipped to the base in tankers, and set in motion a crash program to build a desalinazation plant at Guant·namo, making the base no longer dependent on the Castro regime for its water.

Choice of Running Mate

Mr. Johnson's record in the months after Mr. Kennedy's assassination, in addition to his previously unconcealed Presidential ambitions, left no doubts in the minds of Democrats and Republicans alike that he would be his party's nominee in the 1964 election. The only real question was who would be his running mate.

Robert F. Kennedy, still Attorney General, was believed to want the nomination, but Mr. Johnson quickly ruled him out by laying down the rule that no member of his Cabinet would be his candidate. He then began to leak the names of several other possible candidates, including Sen. Eugene J. McCarthy, who four years later was to become one of the President's most severe Vietnam war critics.

Finally, after what some called his "phony" manipulations had achieved the desired effect-- suspense and titillation--Mr. Johnson broke precedent and flew up to Atlantic City to personally tell the delegates to the Democratic convention that he had chosen Sen. Hubert H. Humphrey of Minnesota.

An incident connected with that flight illustrates how Mr. Johnson sometimes treated the men who worked for him. To his subordinates at the White House, he was a driving taskmaster who could blaze with anger at incompetence and negligence. He respected and even liked his aides, but on occasion, such as the one involving the flight to Atlantic City, he was entirely capable of insulting them publicly.

The idea to fly to Atlantic City had been supplied by Pierre Salinger, Mr. Kennedy's press secretary, who had stayed on in the same capacity for Mr. Johnson before resigning to run unsuccessfully for the Senate in California. Mr. Johnson so liked the idea that he couldn't resist the temptation to turn to George Reedy, his new press secretary, and tell him scornfully, in the presence of newsmen, "Why don't you ever have good ideas like Pierre?" A shaken Mr. Reedy wrote out his resignation, but later tore it up after Mr. Johnson apologized in private, for his offhand cruelty.

In the campaign, Mr. Johnson advocated big Government programs that he called vital to the nation's welfare. His Republican opponent, Barry Goldwater, the conservative Senator from Arizona, called for cuts in Government spending and less "Washington control" of the affairs of individuals and business.

Much campaign oratory was given over to arguments as to whether Mr. Goldwater had an "itchy finger" that might, if he became President, press the button that could plunge the nation into atomic holocaust. The Democrats charged that a President Goldwater might feel constrained to escalate the United States participation in the fighting in Vietnam, while Mr. Johnson would do no such thing and indeed would seek peace in Southeast Asia.

Senator Goldwater's campaign was in marked contrast to Mr. Johnson's. The Senator held himself aloof and seldom mingled with the crowds, while Mr. Johnson kept his Secret Service guards constantly in jitters by breaking away and joining the throngs, shaking dozens of outstretched hands.

"Come on down to the speakin'," he would call through a bullhorn as his custom-built, bubble- top, armor-plated limousine cruised into a town. "Y'all don't need to dress up. It's not formal. Bring the kids and the dogs and come on down to the speakin'."

On both sides, the campaign was a relatively clean one. Mr. Johnson's supporters had a few episodes verging on the scandalous that had to be explained to the voters.

One involved Robert G. Baker, a good and loyal friend of Mr. Johnson, who had served as secretary to the Senate Democratic majority at the time Mr. Johnson was majority leader. Just before the assassination of Mr. Kennedy, it was disclosed that Bobby Baker had used official influence to amass for himself a sizable fortune.

A Senate subcommittee investigation disclosed that Mr. Baker had arranged a deal between an insurance man and the LBJ Company, the Johnson family communications concern in Austin, collecting a considerable fee on it. Mr. Baker it was testified, showed his gratitude to the then Vice President by giving him an $800 stereophonic system.

The Baker investigation never officially linked Mr. Johnson to Mr. Baker's alleged unethical practices, but the whole affair remained a source of embarrassment for the President. (In 1967, Mr. Baker was convicted of income tax evasion, theft ad conspiracy to defraud the Government, but Mr. Johnson was not involved in the case.)

During the campaign, the Johnson family fortune, which included the LBJ Company and its television and radio stations, plus real estate in Texas, Missouri, Alabama and Louisiana, became a political issue that led to release of a reputable accounting firm's audit of the family interests. The official worth was put at $3.2 million, but this was the value of the properties and assets at cost. Actually, the selling value of the Johnson assets was estimated at about $15 million.

In revealing his financial statement, Mr. Johnson pointed out that exactly a week after he became President, the family stock and property had been put into the hands of trustees who had the power to sell and reinvest and were under instructions to furnish the Johnsons only with information needed to complete their tax returns. The properties did of course, revert to the Johnsons when Mr. Johnson left the White House in 1969.

On election day, 1964, the Johnsons were at their ranch house in Johnson city, the unofficial White House during the Johnson Administration. The house was the old family homestead, much added to, replete with piped in Muzak tunes in ever room and a heated-swimming pool. The President voted, then spent the day riding around his lavish spread, dotted with herds of Herefords and pure-bred Angus cattle nibbling at sweeping expanses of grass.

That night, as the votes were counted across that nation, it became quickly apparent that tens of thousands of Republicans had deserted their party to vote for Mr. Johnson. The people rewarded him with a record-breaking majority of 61 percent of the popular vote.

Mr. Johnson called the result a "mandate for unity."

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