by Allen Drury
“They’ll be here,” Senator Cramer assured him. “Even Lafe is going to get out of bed to get here for this one.”
“That depends on who he’s in bed with,” Arly Richardson said, and Tom August looked shocked and disapproving. At that moment the junior Senator from Iowa appeared at the door and, catching them all staring at him with quickened interest, flashed a big grin across the room, and hurried up to the committee table.
“No, I didn’t,” he announced in a conversational tone. “She was an absolute lemon, and I just didn’t.”
“Now that,” Verne Cramer said, “if our friends in the press only knew, is news.”
“I never knew you failed,” Senator Richardson said, and Lafe Smith snorted.
“Lots of things people don’t know about me, pal,” he said crisply. “I hear Leffingwell isn’t going to be here, Bob. One of the press boys just told me they got a note on the wire. He’s got the virus, so he says.”
“So he says,” Senator Munson said tartly. “Well, Tom, I guess we’ll just have to go ahead without him. Where’s Howie?”
“He called at ten-thirty and said he’d be here on time,” Senator August said. “I guess he’ll have to be the only witness today.”
“Well,” Bob Munson said, turning his back on Arly Richardson and leaning close to Tom August’s ear as the others took their regular seats along the table, “if you can manage it, Tom, I’d try to break it off after Howie appears, if I were you. It won’t work, but make a stab at it, anyway.”
“I know what to do,” Senator August said with some impatience. “You don’t have to tell me. After all, I’m the chairman.”
“So you are, Tom,” Bob Munson said soothingly, “so you are. I suppose you’ll have some opening statement to make—”
“I have a letter from Bob Leffingwell to read,” Tom August said, with an expression of what could only, for him, be called sly triumph.
“You knew all along!” the Majority Leader exclaimed with an admiring smile, and Senator August looked somewhat mollified.
“I trust I have some discretion,” he said in a pleased tone.
“You certainly do, Tom,” Bob Munson said approvingly. “I told the President he could trust you implicitly on this.”
“I believe he can,” Senator August said proudly.
“And on everything else, too,” Bob Munson said, even more approvingly.
“Watch out, Tom,” Arly Richardson said around Senator Munson’s shoulder. “You’re getting Snow Job No. 1 with all the trimmings.”
“God damn it,” Bob Munson said with real anger in his voice, “will you mind your own business? Tom and I are talking and we don’t want you butting in. That’s Brig’s chair, anyway. Why don’t you go where you belong?”
“That’s right, Senator,” Tom August said with dignity. “Please don’t interrupt the Majority Leader and me.”
“Well, all right, Senator,” Arly Richardson said in a mocking tone, “my apologies, I’m sure, Senator,” and he turned away and went to his own seat with a spiteful air.
“Well, well,” murmured AP to UPI at the press table, “did you see that?”
“I don’t blame Bob,” UPI said. “I get damned sick and tired of Richardson myself. He isn’t half as cute as he thinks he is.”
“He’s a born troublemaker,” the Dallas News agreed. “Here comes Brig. Shall we grab him?”
“He ain’t talkin’,” AP said. “I’ve tried.”
“Catch him when it’s over,” UPI advised. “He’ll have something to say after the subcommittee’s appointed.”
“Hi, Bob,” Senator Anderson said, taking his seat beside the Majority Leader. “Good morning, Tom. We seem to be playing to a full house.”
“They think there are going to be fireworks,” Bob Munson said, “but there aren’t. Tom’s going to see that everything runs like clockwork, aren’t you, Tom?”
“I have hopes we can move expeditiously,” Senator August said sedately, “as soon as the rest of the committee gets here.”
“Orrin’s on his way,” Brigham Anderson said. “He was having coffee with Stanley Danta and George Hines in the cafeteria a minute ago.”
“Here they are now,” Senator Munson said, “and here’s Warren Strickland and Ed Parrish. Now all we need is Howie.”
“I’m sure he’ll be here any minute,” Senator August said, a trifle nervously. “At least I hope he will.”
“Morning, Bobby,” Senator Strickland said as he came by the Majority Leader’s chair. “I’m sorry I had to leave early last night. Apparently things happened.”
“I’ll tell you about it,” Bob Munson promised. “You didn’t miss much.”
“That’s not the way I heard it,” Senator Strickland said with a smile.
“Everybody hears too much in this town,” Senator Munson said. “Good morning, Orrin and Stanley, George and Ed. How is everybody this morning?”
“I’m fine,” Senator Knox said shortly. “Where’s Leffingwell?”
“We’re not sure yet,” Senator Munson admitted. “He may not be here.”
“What kind of a performance is that?” Orrin Knox began angrily, but just then Brigham Anderson broke in to call their attention to a sudden stir of excitement at the door.
“Here comes the honorable Secretary with a dozen outriders as usual,” he said. “How does the State Department do it?”
And sure enough, in came Howard Sheppard in a dark blue pin-stripe suit whose cuffs and pants-legs appeared to be cut just a trifle too short for him; and in after him came ten assistants. Some were in their thirties, some were in their forties, some were in their fifties, but to them all there clung an ineffable effluvium of faintly seedy youthfulness. Some had pipes and some had briefcases and all had the same expression of secret purpose and superior knowledge; and each was clad in a dark blue pin-stripe suit whose cuffs and pants-legs appeared to be cut just a trifle too short for him.
The appearance of this familiar phalanx, the inevitable concomitant of all hearings on foreign policy, foreign aid, international catastrophe, and other matters of high import and earth-shaking significance, brought with it the customary spasm of activity among the photographers. “Mr. Chairman,” they cried to Tom August, “will you pose with the Secretary, please?” And, “Mr. Secretary,” they shouted to Howard Sheppard, “will you pose with the chairman, please?” There followed much posing and picture-taking and shouts of “One more, Mr. Chairman! Mr. Secretary, one more, please!” broken now and then by an occasional intense, “God damn it, get out of my way!” snarled in a savage tone by one of the congenial competitors to another. After ten minutes of this, during which the reporters at the press tables made their own contributions in tones loud enough to reach the milling entanglement, such as, “Christ, the damned photographers never do anything right,” and “Why in the hell do they let them in here anyway?” the room gradually settled down again and it appeared that the hearing might at last be about to begin.
“Are we ready?” Tom August asked, peering down one side of the committee table and then the other as the photographers subsided, the press became attentive, the television cameras swung around to zero in on them and the audience quieted and settled itself. “I think we are.” He banged his gavel sharply and the first formal step in the consideration of the Leffingwell nomination was under way.
“This hearing of the Senate Foreign Relations committee,” he announced, while the official stenotype reporter clicked away busily at his little machine, “is being held to consider the President’s nomination of Robert A. Leffingwell to be Secretary of State. The first, and it may be, the only, witness”—at this the press stirred and so did several members of the committee, including Orrin Knox—“will be the distinguished incumbent Secretary of State Howard Sheppard. Mr. Secretary, we are delighted to have you with us, and we deem it a significant indication of the high regard in which Mr. Leffingwell is held generally by the country that he should have an advocate of such great
distinction.”
At this, Bob Munson noted, Howie almost visibly preened himself. He was looking considerably better than he had last night, and the Senator decided that there must have been a family consultation ending in agreement that the NATO Ambassadorship wouldn’t be such a bad form of retirement, after all.
“Mr. Chairman,” the Secretary said gracefully, “nothing gladdens the heart of a witness from my department more than your friendly commendation.”
“Except possibly,” Lafe Smith whispered sacrilegiously behind his hand to Brigham Anderson, “the commendation of the chairman of the House Foreign Affairs Committee.” Brigham Anderson grinned and agreed.
“And,” Howard Sheppard went smoothly on, “nothing gives this witness more pleasure than his task today. It has been my privilege to know Mr. Leffingwell for approximately ten years, first when he was beginning his distinguished career of government service in the field of public power and I was governor of Ohio, at which time we had our first dealings on matters of interest to my state. Subsequently when I came to Washington—”
“Mr. Chairman,” Arly Richardson interrupted suavely, “would the witness prefer to complete his statement, or would he be agreeable to having us question him as he goes along?”
“I would prefer, Mr. Chairman,” the Secretary said, “to complete my opening remarks and then submit to questions, if that would be agreeable to you and to the members of the committee.”
“I think that would be perfectly agreeable,” Tom August said, and Senator Richardson remarked, “Perfectly,” with a little dismissing wave of the hand.
“Subsequently,” Howard Sheppard went on, “my work in the Administration has given me frequent opportunities to confer with Mr. Leffingwell, particularly on power matters of interest to this government and our NATO allies, on which we have both worked most closely, and I may say cordially, with the NATO governments.”
Attaboy, Howie, Bob Munson thought, get ’em prepared for it. He gave the Secretary a wink which the Secretary blandly ignored.
“When it became obvious to me,” Howie said, “that it would be best for my health that I begin to think about the possibility of retiring from government service, the President on several occasions asked me who I thought would be a suitable successor in this vitally important office of Secretary of State. Rather than suggest any single man, I deemed it my duty to present the President with several names. I am happy to say that Robert A. Leffingwell’s was high among them.”
He paused and started to reach about for a glass of water. In a movement so swift it almost defied the eye, an arm in a dark blue pin-stripe sleeve placed it instantaneously in his hand.
“Therefore,” the Secretary resumed, “I can only admit to a very real and genuine satisfaction that this nomination should now have been made. I can give you my judgment of Mr. Leffingwell in very few words: he is extremely intelligent, extremely able, and extraordinarily well equipped to fill the office to which he has been appointed. Knowing its problems and its difficulties as I do, I can say truthfully that I can think of a few who could handle them better. I am pleased with what the President has done. I am for this nomination.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Secretary,” Tom August said. “I think perhaps before we go into questioning I should put in the record a brief biographical statement on Mr. Leffingwell prepared by the staff of the committee, if that would be agreeable?”
“By all means,” Bob Munson said cordially, and there was a murmur of agreement from the committee except for Arly Richardson, who ostentatiously made a movement of protest and then dropped it.
“Well, sooner or later it has to be in, Senator,” the chairman said sharply. “Can you think of any better time to do it?”
“Very well, Mr. Chairman,” Arly said calmly. “Go right ahead. Go right ahead.”
“I will,” Tom August said shortly. “Mr. Leffingwell, now forty-seven years old, was born in Binghamton, New York, and attended elementary school and high school there. He attended the University of Michigan, graduating with a degree in public administration, and received his law degree from Harvard Law School. He taught public administration for four years at the University of Chicago and then was appointed to the Southwest Power Administration, becoming director of its public service division four years later. Five years after that he was appointed director of the Southwest Power Administration. Four years ago he was appointed chairman of the Federal Power Commission succeeding the late Governor Fred M. Robertson of my own state of Minnesota. He has been active in various international conferences in recent years, having served as head of the Advisory Committee on the Aswan Dam six years ago; as chairman of the International Hydroelectric and Power Conferences in Geneva four years ago and in Bombay two years ago; and as impartial arbiter, at the request of the two governments, in the recent water dispute between India and Pakistan. In addition, he was principal United States delegate to the United Nations Conference on Water, Power and Economic Development of Poorer Areas last year. This past December, at the request of the President, he left the Federal Power Commission to accept an interim appointment as Director of the Office of Defense Mobilization, the post he now holds. He married the former Louise Maxwell, and they have a son and a daughter. He is a member of Phi Beta Kappa, the American Bar Association, and the Metropolitan Club of Washington. He resides in Alexandria, Virginia. He lists his political affiliation as non-partisan....And now I think we may start the questioning in our customary fashion with Senator Munson for the majority and then alternate between the minority and the majority. Senator Munson?”
“First,” Bob Munson said pleasantly, “I wish to welcome the Secretary and to say how much we appreciate, always have appreciated, and always will appreciate his sound counsel and sage advice. His relations with this committee have always been most cordial, and we can only hope that those of his successor will be half as good, for that will be very good indeed. We are happy to have you here, with your fine statement for this nominee, Mr. Secretary.”
“Thank you, Senator Munson,” Howie Sheppard said. “It is always a pleasure to be here. You are very kind.”
“I shall be very brief, Mr. Chairman,” Senator Munson said. “In your close relations with NATO, Mr. Secretary, which I know has always been a major and particular interest with you”—the Secretary nodded gravely—“was it your feeling that the NATO governments liked and trusted Mr. Leffingwell in some degree commensurate with their liking and trust for you, which we have all noted on many occasions?”
“Why all this emphasis on NATO?” Verne Cramer whispered to George Hines. “What the hell is that all about?”
“Some kind of pay-off,” George Hines whispered back. “Wait and see.”
“I should not wish to make comparisons, Senator,” the Secretary said, “but I will say this, that I saw every evidence that the NATO powers have a high regard for Mr. Leffingwell.”
“Yes,” Bob Munson said. “And is it not true, based on your observation of him, that in other international dealings with other governments and peoples that he was well liked and did a good job for the United States?”
“That is my observation, Senator,” Howie Sheppard said.
“I have no more questions, Mr. Chairman,” Bob Munson said.
“Senator Strickland?” Tom August asked, and at his side the Minority Leader leaned forward with a pleasant smile.
“Like the distinguished Majority Leader,” he said, “I too wish to commend the Secretary, to thank him for his appearance here, and to express my regret that his health is such that his counsel and guidance will soon be lost to us. Health,” he added blandly, “is an uncertain thing in this uncertain Washington climate. We can only wish you a much-needed rest and a swift recovery that may permit your country to call on you again for service before too long.” At this, for just a second, Howie Sheppard shot a look of quick alarm at Bob Munson, who looked quickly away. Senator Strickland went calmly on.
“My questions, too, wil
l be very brief,” he said. “Is it your impression that Mr. Leffingwell is loyal to the United States of America?”
There was a start of surprise among the committee and along the press tables, and the Secretary looked genuinely shocked.
“I have never had any indication whatsoever that he is not, Senator,” he said firmly. “I am positive he is. I find the question surprising, to say the least.”
“It is a question that many will ask,” Warren Strickland said calmly. “I thought we had best get it out in the open right away.”
“I am positive he is,” the Secretary repeated.
“Yes,” Senator Strickland said. “And you have never seen anything to indicate that he is not.”
“Nothing,” Howard Sheppard said. “Never.”
“And you would trust him without reservation with the interests and the safety of the United States, fully confident that he would protect them as diligently and as forcefully as you have done?”
“I would,” the Secretary said emphatically.
“That is all, Mr. Chairman,” Warren Strickland said.
“Senator Anderson?” Tom August said, and the senior Senator from Utah reached for the microphone in front of him on the table and pulled it closer to him.
“I too wish to commend the Secretary—”
“I hope sometime,” AP whispered to UPI, “that we will hear somebody tell some high official witness, ‘You’re a no-good bastard and we think your testimony stinks.’ But of course we never will, even when we know they think it.”
“—and congratulate him on his statement,” Brigham Anderson said. “I am interested in the Secretary’s impressions of how Mr. Leffingwell handles the people on his staff, if that would not be beyond the purview of questioning here. Does he strike you as a good administrator?”
“As nearly as I can judge,” Secretary Sheppard said, “I think he is.”
“One who is fair and decent and just to his subordinates?” Senator Anderson asked.
“So I believe,” the Secretary said. “Insofar as I have had an opportunity to judge.”