Advise and Consent (86 page)

A few minutes after that, when Allen Whiteside of Florida became the forty-fifth Senator to speak and a little silence had fallen, indicating that the point of redundancy had been reached and no one else wished to add to tributes that had already consumed more than three hours, the Majority Leader stood up and was recognized by the Vice President.

“Mr. President,” he said quietly, “I too wish to pay my respects to my dear friend, and I should like to reserve to myself that privilege a little later on this afternoon. It is presently my intention to yield to the Senator from Utah, Mr. Calloway, for a privileged resolution, and I ask unanimous consent that it may be acted upon without referral to a committee.”

There was a little stir through the Senate, followed immediately by the assumption that this must of course be the customary resolution of condolences to the family of the deceased; although such resolutions never were referred to committee, and it seemed rather odd to ask unanimous consent for it. But they decided that must be it, the stir ceased, and the Vice President said impassively, “The Senator from Utah.”

“Mr. President,” Walter Calloway said, and there was something in his voice that made the press gallery and many Senators lean forward quickly, “I introduce a resolution for the censure of the junior Ssenator from Wyoming for the murder of my colleague, and I ask for its immediate consideration.”

There was a gasp of surprise, followed by a stunned silence, and for just a moment it seemed the thing might be done before anybody could recover. The Vice President, in fact, got as far as, “Without objection, the resolution is—” before Powell Hanson and Arly Richardson were on their feet asking Senator Calloway to yield. The Senator from Utah hesitated for a second, then yielded to Powell; the junior Senator from North Dakota sighed as one recognizing the hopelessness of his task and then began to speak slowly, casting about for language sufficient to the event as the Senate and galleries exploded into a buzz of talk so loud he could hardly be heard.

“Well, Mr. President,” he said, “reserving the right to object, there is one point I should like to get clarified at once. Is it actually the Senator’s intention that this resolution should charge the junior Senator from Wyoming with the
murder
of his colleague? And if so, on what grounds does he base this fantastically serious charge?”

“Mr. President,” Walter Calloway said, “I am afraid my paraphrase of the language of the resolution was more drastic than it should have been. I may have misspoken myself. Senators will undersstand that I am laboring under some emotional strain in this matter. Ssenators understand why. I ask permission for the clerk to read the resolution without my losing the floor.”

“The Senator will send it to the desk and the clerk will read,” the Vice President said. A pageboy darted up to Senator Calloway’s desk, grabbed the resolution, and darted back. The clerk read:

“Whereas, the tragic death of the senior Senator from Utah, Mr. Anderson, was preceded by a vicious and unprincipled personal attack upon him by the junior Senator from Wyoming, Mr. Van Ackerman; and,

“Whereas, the junior Senator from Wyoming, Mr. Van Ackerman made diverse and sundry public threats against the senior Senator from Utah, Mr. Anderson, which apparently contributed directly to his death; and,

“Whereas, these threats and accusations were unbecoming the dignity of a United States Senator and the dignity of this Senate; now, therefore,

“Be it resolved, that the Senate deems the junior Senator from Wyoming, Mr. Van Ackerman, to be deserving of censure; and he is censured.”

There was a flurry of noise from the press gallery as the first relay of wire-service reporters scrambled up the steps to file their opening bulletins, and a renewed buzz of talk from the floor. Powell Hanson waited until it died a little and then asked Walter Calloway to yield again.

“I wonder, Mr. President,” he said, “if the Senator has any proof that the charges and allegations of the junior Senator from Wyoming in any way contributed to the—to the unfortunate tragedy of last night?”

“Well, Mr. President,” Senator Calloway said sharply, “does the Ssenator from North Dakota require more proof than common sense and an intelligent appraisal of events would indicate?”

“In so grave a matter as this, Mr. President,” Senator Hanson said quietly, “it would seem to me that perhaps we do. I do not say this in any derogation of the purposes of the Senator from Utah, which are clear enough and with which I agree, or of his personal grief, which is understandable and is shared by all of us. Nor do I say it in any spirit of endorsement of anything the junior Senator from Wyoming may have done, which I deplore as much as anyone. But I do think that in a matter as serious as this—”

“A United States Senator lies dead because of the actions of this worthless man,” Walter Calloway said with a cold fury his colleagues had never seen before. “Does that strike the Senator from North Dakota as a serious matter?”

“Mr. President!” Arly Richardson said sharply. “Now, Mr. President; will the Senator yield? The Senator is violating the rules of this Senate when he refers to the junior Senator from Wyoming as ‘this worthless man!’”

“I’m not violating the truth!” Walter Calloway exclaimed angrily, and from somewhere off on his left somebody said “Right!” in an approving voice that carried clearly to the galleries. Senator Richardson swung around.

“It is all very well for Senators to say, ‘Right!’ when a Senator is attacked in violation of the rules of the Senate,” he cried, “but there are decencies to be preserved here.”

“Mr. President!” Orrin and Lafe Smith said together, and the press gallery leaned forward with a pleased, excited little wriggle. “Will the Senator yield?”

“I yield the floor, Mr. President,” Walter Calloway said, and sat down white-faced and trembling. Lafe gestured to Orrin to go ahead. The Senator from Illinois waited until the chamber quieted again and then spoke in a driving, sarcastic tone.

“The Senator from Arkansas, Mr. President,” he said, “is very touchy about the rules of the Senate. It is against the rules of the Senate to call a man worthless. It is against decency to tell the truth about him. Apparently it is consistent with the rules of the Senate to kill him, just so you do it politely. Very well, then—no, I shall not yield to the Senator from Arkansas until I have finished—on the theory he has just enunciated, does the Senator from Arkansas feel that the junior Senator from Wyoming did it politely? He heard his broadcast, I am sure; most of us heard it, or if we did not, we read it in the press. Was that a polite form of doing-to-death under the rules of the Senate, does the Senator think, or was it perhaps a little impolite? What is the Senator’s opinion on that?”

“Now, Mr. President,” Arly said angrily. “Now, Mr. President—”

“Just answer the question, Senator,” Senator Knox said in an offhand manner, staring up without expression at the galleries. “The Senate is waiting.”

“I will not answer that question, Mr. President, which the Senator knows is deliberately designed to force me into an unfair, ridiculous and cruel position before the Senate,” Arly said sharply. “The Senator is attempting to twist this into something that—”

“Mr. President,” Orrin said coldly, “can it be twisted into anything worse than it is?”

“By God, we
are
playing for blood,” UPI whispered in some amazement. AP shrugged. “Orrin isn’t about to give anybody time to think about anything but what a bastard Freddy is,” he said. “That’s the way he’s going to carry this. Wait and see.” Below the senior Senator from Illinois was neatly arranging some papers on his desk.

“Mr. President,” Senator Richardson said, “the senior Senator from Illinois, with his usual debating skill and ruthless manner of proceeding, is attempting to force this through without giving the Senate time to consider either the merits of the resolution of censure or the degree of blame in this tragedy which may properly be placed upon the junior Senator from Wyoming. What does the Senate actually know about this, Mr. President? How decisive in bringing about the tragedy was the attack made upon the Senator from Utah by the Senator from Wyoming? What else lay behind it? What was actually involved here?”

“Now, Mr. President,” Orrin said with a great show of patience and calm, for this was exactly what he had no intention of allowing the Senate to go into, “is the Senator from Arkansas, who is so meticulous about the rules of the Senate, purporting to conduct himself in accordance with those rules, or is he making a speech? Under the rules as I understand them, I have the floor and if the Senator wishes to speak he must do it in the form of a question to me, or be ruled out of order if I care to make a point of order against him. Am I correct in that understanding, Mr. President?”

“The Senator of course is correct,” the Vice President said.

“Very well, Mr. President,” Orrin said, “if the Senator has a question to ask me, why doesn’t he do so?”

“All right,” Arly said, suddenly getting angry, which proved to be his mistake. “I will ask the Senator what he wants me to do about this matter, since he is setting himself up, as usual, to be the fount of all wisdom for the Senate? Just what does he want me to do?”

“All I want you to do, Arly,” Senator Knox said quietly, “is for once in your life to stop being a troublemaker and do what you know is right and what you intend to do anyway, without a lot of unnecessary fuss beforehand.”

“Well,” Senator Richardson said, and that was all he seemed able to say, so taken aback was he by this unexpectedly direct personal comment that produced a sudden titter from Senate and galleries despite the seriousness of the moment. “Well.” And looking flushed and upset and for once out of words, he sat down abruptly.

Powell Hanson, however, was still on his feet, and almost as though they had planned it in advance the senior Senator from Illinois sat down and the junior Senator from Iowa stood up. “Second team,” the
Washington Star
whispered to the
Washington Post
. “Fresh man from the same team, I’d say,” the
Post
remarked. The Vice President again recognized the Senator from North Dakota.

“Mr. President,” he said quietly, “it is not my purpose to delay the Senate, if it should be the Senate’s desire to vote on this very serious resolution on such short notice and with so little discussion placed in the Record in support of it. But it does seem to me that we are about to do something—for I gather from the lack of support for a delay that we are about to do it—that is most unusual and extraordinary—”

“Mr. President,” Lafe Smith said, “will the Senator yield?”

“If it is just to ask me if the tragedy which has occurred is not unusual and extraordinary, no, I will not,” Senator Hanson said with some asperity. “We have had enough debating tricks of that nature this afternoon.”

“I was about to ask, I will say to my courteous friend,” Senator Smith said icily, “what he thinks might be achieved by delay? What can be gained by prolonged discussion? There was a vicious and unprincipled attack made, coupled with a threat to make disclosures”—and his voice suddenly became filled with a scornful disdain—“of some unknown nature, which would ruin a man’s career; a death followed. Would the Senator from North Dakota have us believe that prolonged discussion could further clarify the glaring clarity of that sequence? Or is it his purpose, perhaps, that discussion should make it less clear?”

“I am not the one who has purposes here,” Powell Hanson said gravely. “I think that is obvious to everyone. And if that fits the Senate’s will, so be it. My only purpose is to have this done with at least a modicum of fairness to the Senator from Wyoming—”

“Now I
will
say,” Senator Smith snapped, “how fair was he to the Senator from Utah? How fair was he to him?”

“Then at least the Senator from Wyoming should be here, Mr. President!” Powell Hanson said sharply. “We should give him that much, at least!”

“Where is he, Mr. President?” Lafe cried, his voice rising angrily. “Where is he, this brave man who is so cavalier about killing Senators? I don’t see him, Mr. President! Nobody is keeping him away, Mr. President! Nothing but his own cowardice prevents him from facing us at this moment, Mr. President! Where is the little murderer?”

At this there was a sudden explosive release of breath through the chamber, a sudden excited buzz and stirring. The Vice President rapped vigorously for order.

“The Chair will say to the junior Senator from Iowa,” he said firmly, “that he is now doing violence to the rules of the Senate indeed, and if he cannot proceed in order the Chair will entertain a motion that he be directed to take his seat.”

“Very well, Mr. President,” Lafe said more quietly. “Like some others I too am under some emotional strain today. I have lost a very dear friend and I—I am not too—calm about it, Mr. President. I apologize to the Chair and the Senate.”

“How can they lose?”
The Wall Street Journal
asked the
Denver
Post
in the gallery above. “You can’t lick a dead man.” “That’s right,” the
Denver
Post
agreed. “Every time the other side speaks, they’ve got an opening.”

As though he were only too aware of this, Senator Hanson spoke again doggedly.

“Mr. President, I deplore as much as anyone what has occurred,” he said. “God knows I said so in my brief remarks a little while ago. I am not in any way condoning anything the junior Senator from Wyoming may have done. But I do think it is highly irregular procedure, one fraught with unwise precedents for the Senate, to use a solemn occasion such as this for the type of action that is contemplated here. It simply does not fit the time or the occasion, which is to pay tribute to a friend who is gone.”

“Mr. President,” Lafe said, “if the Senator will yield, what better time than now, while the Senate is vividly aware of the horror and vileness of this thing? And what better tribute can we pay, I ask the Senator and I ask the Senate, than to censure the man who more than any other was responsible for his death?”

“Every time,”
The Wall Street Journal
murmured. “They can’t lose.”