Advise and Consent (90 page)

Chapter 6

“Orrin,” the senior Senator from Michigan said next morning, “this is Bob. I just got a phone call I thought you might be interested in.”

The senior Senator from Illinois laughed shortly.

“I don’t think I could ever guess who it was from,” he said. “Anyway, I didn’t know you two were going steady again already. You haven’t even been re-elected.”

“He seems to assume I will be,” Bob Munson said. “And—he asked me to talk to you. And—old loyalties are hard to shake, in spite of everything. And—and. So I’m passing it along. He wants you to come down and see him.”

“One more traveler into that distant bourne from which some travelers do not return,” Senator Knox said.

“Oh, don’t be too bitter,” Bob said. “He’s really very upset too, I think.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Orrin said. “I just don’t know. I can’t see what earthly good it would do, in the first place, and it would only be unpleasant for both of us, in the second. We haven’t had a real talk for five or six years.”

“Maybe that’s been the trouble,” Senator Munson said. “You’ve held each other at arm’s length too long.”

“I doubt if it would have made any difference,” Orrin said. “Did you get your complimentary copy of Leffingwell’s book this morning?”

“Personally autographed,” Bob Munson said.

“Mine, too,” Senator Knox said. “
Do We Really Want Peace? A Program for America
, by Robert A. Leffingwell. To my friend and fellow patriot, Senator Knox, in admiration and respect. Rather modest, I thought.”

“I notice the papers treated it as a news story rather than a book,” Senator Munson said.

“That was the only way to get it out front,” Senator Knox said. “I see in the
Post
he’s going to be down at Brentano’s this noon for an autographing party. Well,” he said grimly, “let him have his little hour. It’ll be something to remember during those long winter nights at the ODM.”

“About the White House,” Bob said. “What shall I tell him?”

“You let me think about it a little bit,” Orrin said. “The first item of business this morning is to get you re-elected.”

“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” he said immodestly,” Senator Munson observed.

“Well,” Senator Knox said, “I just hope it isn’t going to mean that everything will be just as it was. I’ve seen one Majority Leader throw away his advantage by crawling back to be patted on the head and called nice puppy, and I hope you learned something from that.”

“I did,” Bob Munson said. “I made one promise I can’t abandon, but aside from that I don’t think you’ll be too disappointed by what I have to say.”

“Good,” Orrin said. “If I were you, I think I’d—”

“Just relax,” Senator Munson said. “I said you wouldn’t be disappointed.”

And when the members of the Majority met an hour later after running the usual gauntlet of reporters and cameramen, the Senator from Illinois had to admit that he wasn’t disappointed. By prearrangement with Stanley, he was recognized to make the motion that the Majority Leader be re-elected unanimously, it was seconded by Arly and Powell Hanson, and there was a burst of applause and cheering, duly noted by the news men hovering outside the closed door. The wire services promptly filed a new lead: “Senator Robert D. Munson of Michigan was re-elected Majority Leader of the Senate by acclamation today. The decision climaxed a dramatic battle with the White House which—”

Inside the room, however, once the enthusiasm had died away, it was not as a battler that the Majority Leader resumed his duties. Instead he spoke gravely and without animus as they listened intently.

“I want you to know,” he said, “that it is with a profound humility and gratitude that I accept your decision that I again be Majority Leader. There is no need to go again into the considerations which prompted me to resign. Suffice it to say that your reaffirmation of loyalty and support heartens me more than I can say, and it will be a constant source of strength to me as we go forward together in these difficult times which confront our beloved country.

“We will begin final debate today, in about half an hour’s time, on one of the most controversial and disruptive matters to come before the Senate in many years. It has been for all of us a matter of soul-searching and, I am quite sure, prayer. It is not an easy thing to vote against a Cabinet appointment; it is no easier to support it when it involves a man whose ability to arouse impassioned loyalties is as great as his ability to encourage implacable enmities.

“You will want to know,” he said, and they became if possible more attentive, for this was exactly what they did want to know, “where I stand.” He paused reflectively and there was absolute silence in the room. “Let me state it for you very simply.

“I have given my word to the President of the United States that I will vote for his nominee for Secretary of State.

“I will keep my word.”

There was a little release of pent-up breath and for a brief second the senior Senator from Illinois felt the stirrings of an impatient dismay. But the Majority Leader sought his eye as he resumed, and he knew then that it would be all right.

“You will want to know,” he went on,” “where I think others should stand.

“In determining that, the fact of my resignation and subsequent re-election to the office of Majority Leader will have to be taken into account. I do not know how others regard it,” he said quietly, “but for me these two events are not a continuum. They bridge a definite break in my approach, both to my office and to the matter in hand.”

He paused and there was a murmur of approval.

“In the past, perhaps, as is often the case when the Congress and the Presidency are controlled by the same party, I have spoken too much for the White House—to you. From now on,” he said firmly, “I shall speak for you—to the White House.”

There was a hearty and renewed burst of applause that puzzled the reporters outside. “Must be a hell of a speech,” AP said. “Yes,” the
Times
agreed. “Do you suppose he’s scuttling Leffingwell?”

“On that principle,” said the Majority Leader, who was doing exactly that, “I do not consider that pledges and promises made to me prior to my resignation are valid or binding, except insofar as individual Senators may wish them to be, now that I have been re-elected.”

Again there was applause, led by Sam Eastwood and some others who had been wondering how they could vote as they now wanted to vote without antagonizing Bob too much.

“As of Monday morning,” Senator Munson went on, revealing a figure he had disclosed to no one heretofore, “I had received assurances, on this side of the aisle and on the other, of a total of sixty-eight votes to confirm the nominee. A number of these Senators in the past forty-eight hours have signified to me their desire that they be released from this obligation.

“I herewith release them all, and I shall so advise the Minority Leader with the suggestion that he transmit the information at once to the interested members of his party.”

More applause, led this time by Senator Knox and Senator Smith, both of whom looked triumphant. Senator Richardson looked disgruntled but finally shrugged and joined in, there being little else he could do under the circumstances.

“As far as I am concerned,” the Majority Leader concluded, “I am out of it. I shall vote for Bob Leffingwell, because I promised I would. I release from their promise all those who promised me the same. I shall neither assist, nor will I attempt to hinder, the efforts of those who favor, and those who oppose, the nominee. For once in my life in this old place,” he said with a chuckle, “I’m going to be a spectator and enjoy the show. Have fun!

“This conference is now concluded.”

It took approximately fifteen minutes for the inside story of the meeting to get out, and about fifteen minutes after that for it to get all over town. After that it took about five minutes for an urgent call to be placed to the senior Senator from Illinois. A familiar voice spoke without any pretext of small talk or any attempt to conceal its deep concern.

“Orrin,” it said, “I want you to come down and see me.”

“Why?” Senator Knox asked bluntly.

“I want to make clear the importance of this nomination,” the President said.

“It seems to me you have already made it amply clear,” the Senator said. “In a number of unfortunate ways,” he added coldly.

“It is imperative for the country that I see you,” the President said. There was a pause.

“All right,” Senator Knox said finally. “I don’t see what good it will do, but all right.”

“We won’t set a definite time, because I know you’re busy,” the President said. “But come down as soon as convenient and I’ll drop everything else when you get here.”

“It will probably be early afternoon sometime,” Senator Knox said.

“That will be fine,” the President said. “Better come in the East Gate, so the press won’t see you.”

“Yes,” the Senator said.

“Thank you, Orrin,” the President said. “I appreciate it.”

“Do you?” Senator Knox asked dryly.

“Yes, I do,” the President said, ignoring his tone.

“All right. I’ll see you later.”

And thus the turning points of one’s life arrived, at least for him, as directly and simply as that, met head on and without equivocation. He supposed there would be some sort of bribe offered—what could there be, he wondered sardonically, Illinois had all the dams and military installations she could possibly use—and there would be tart words and he would turn it down and that would be that. Or would it? In spite of his initial impulse to be completely skeptical, he could not help but be intrigued by this direct appeal. Maybe his opponent had one more rabbit left in the hat; he had pulled out some surprising ones, over the years. Well, it would do him no good this time. They had passed the point of accommodation long ago, and it would do him no good.

There followed an intensive two hours of activity as he went to lunch, went to the floor and helped to launch the debate on Robert A. Leffingwell. No sooner had he put down the phone than it began ringing again; when an interval came a few minutes later he picked up his briefcase and fled; otherwise he would have been trapped at his desk for hours. In that time, however, he had picked up votes from seven of Bob’s defectors, including Lacey Pollard of Texas, who was no mean addition, and Lloyd B. Cavanaugh of Rhode Island, who with his air of dignified melancholy and rigid personal integrity was a good prestige factor to have on your side. In addition Carroll Allen of South Dakota; Powell Hanson’s blandly insipid colleague, Charley McKee of North Dakota; the two North Carolinians, Rhett Jackson, and Douglas Brady Bliss; and stodgy George Carroll Townsend of Maryland
—“
He may be stupid,” Blair Sykes of Texas put it succinctly once, “but at least he’s honest, and that’s saying something, in Maryland politics”—pledged their support.

In the hall on his way to the Capitol he ran into Roy Mulholland of Michigan, and the Majority Leader’s colleague said without preliminaries, “Count me in, Orrin. Let me know what I can do,” which he appreciated. He also took occasion to stop by the office of his own colleague, Nelson Lloyd, a quiet little auto dealer who had been appointed Senator from Illinois to fill out an unexpired term. Nelson went around in perpetual awe of the Senate and the vigorous senior Senator who so monumentally overshadowed him. “I assume you’re with me,” Senator Knox said, and it was virtually an order. “Oh, yes, Orrin,” Senator Lloyd said fervently, “I’m with you.”

On the subway car going over, he rode with George Keating of Nebraska, already in his customary midmorning state of well-oiled exuberance; Grady T. Lincoln of Massachusetts, enacting his customary Cautious Yankee, ay-yah, ay-yah, ay-yah; the two New Yorkers, Taylor Ryan and Irving Steinman, and Luis Valdez of New Mexico. Of these only Irv Steinman refused to join in the growing chorus of adherence; and even he, Orrin thought, showed some signs of weakening in their brief private chat on the way to the elevator. “I hope this isn’t your final position,” the senior Senator from Illinois had said, and the senior Senator from New York had given him a characteristic bland, noncommittal, it’s-your-move-Mister glance. “A lot can happen by tomorrow night,” he said; “we'll see how it shapes up by then.” “By then, Irv,” Senator Knox said quickly, “I don’t think one vote more or less will matter one little damn to me.” “Said with characteristic modesty,” Senator Steinman said with a laugh, clapping him on the back. “In the State of New York, however, it may matter to me. That is what I shall have to determine in my own mind.”

For the most part, however, he found as he came on the floor and joined in the routine of listening to Carney’s prayer—which backslid a little into a renewed type of arch admonition to the Senate, he just couldn’t seem to resist the importance of the occasion—it all appeared to be quite simple. As the morning hour dragged on and various Senators put editorials, clippings, and contributions from constituents into the Record
—“
Oh, help dear America in her hour of need/We are blessed with our great Senator Hugh B. Root indeed,” began one characteristic entry from New Mexico, modestly offered by the Senator of the same name—there was a steady procession of Senators to his desk. He was the logical man to fall heir to the Majority Leader’s abandoned pledges, and by 1 p.m. when the routine business was at last concluded he could count a solid total of forty-seven votes, four votes short of the fifty-one vote majority necessary in the one hundred-man Senate. This was a gain of fourteen over the thirty-three votes in opposition noted in Bob’s calculations as of Monday, and he had no doubt at all that he could pick up the other four. What he wanted to do, of course, was pick up many more than that and make it a really devastating repudiation of the President. He had no doubts on that score either, for following Senator Munson’s withdrawal from the fray the supporters of the nominee appeared to have pretty well lost heart. Powell was much too junior to rally the necessary strength, Arly was finding himself trapped in his own reputation for erratic cussedness, and elsewhere on the floor his own lieutenants, Seab and Lafe and Warren Strickland chief among them, were at work with an organized zeal that was picking up adherents hourly. Years of experience in the Senate told him that he was in good shape, and it was quite obvious when Tom August arose to start the debate that he knew it, too.