by Allen Drury
The Caucus Room was crowded again, Seab noted as he entered it shortly before ten, and it was the same kind of crowd: earnest, rather frowzy young housewives, their earnest, rather unkempt young husbands, many students, some teachers, some Foreign Service types; all of these, he perceived, having the same rather uneasy, rather defiant, almost desperately emotional look about them. These were Bob Leffingwell’s applauders, the eager laughers, occasionally the surreptitious and bitter hissers. Opposed to them was a scattering of middle-aged women, equally earnest, equally belligerent; their settled and prosperous husbands; a few professional people who might be lawyers or doctors; here and there, in both camps, a few genuine, wild-eyed fanatic types who had long since passed the point of no return on Bob Leffingwell and all other matters. Through the crowd ran a leaven of bright-eyed, pink-cheeked, freshly-scrubbed young servicemen from some nearby base, looking awed and baffled and puzzled by it all. Aside from these, Seab could see, it was a gathering that wanted blood, and he thought with a rather grim satisfaction that he had some for it.
None of this appeared on his face, however, as he moved into the room and found himself inevitably facing a circle of questioning newsmen.
“Senator,” the Washington Post said, “what can you tell us about your questioning today? Do you think you can finish in one day?”
“Well, sir,” Seab said comfortably, “you all know how much I want to oblige the Washington Post. Yes, sir, you know for sure. So if the Washington Post wants me to finish in one day, I’ll surely try real hard. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for the Washington Post. Of course,” he added dryly, “some may depend on the witness, you know. He may want more time.”
“I doubt if he does, Senator,” the Post replied with a smile, and Seab smiled, too.
“I expect,” he said gently, “the Washington Post knows a lot more about what the witness wants than I do.”
“What do you plan to go into, Senator?” the Baltimore Sun inquired. “Your old feud with Mr. Leffingwell?”
“No, sir,” Seab said. “No, sir.”
“You mean you aren’t going to mention that famous episode at all, Senator?” the Newark News asked with a wink. Senator Cooley winked back and decided that if they really wanted him to confuse the issue, he would do so; it might serve to put everybody off balance a little.
“Well, sir,” he said slowly. “I might, you know; I just might. Just a little bit. Just a little.” At this they all laughed knowingly, and he went on, knowing they would consider the reality the cover-up and the cover-up the reality. “Of course,” he said, “there might be more serious things involved. Seems to me the country is involved; seems to me the whole world, maybe.”
“You aren’t really interested in that, are you, Senator?” the Providence Journal asked knowingly, and Seab grinned with contempt in his heart.
“Why should I feud with anybody?” he asked innocently. “Besides, I never feuded with him. We just didn’t see”—and he gave his sleepy grin—“eye to eye.”
“What specific things do you intend to question him about, Senator?” AP asked. Seab smiled.
“Specific things?” he asked. “I didn’t know anybody was supposed to be specific around here. Specific? Seems to me we’re freed from being specific by the witness’s example.”
“I thought he was specific enough,” the Baltimore Sun said challengingly. Senator Cooley nodded.
“Enough for you, maybe,” he said. “Some others didn’t seem so happy. No, I expect, gentlemen, I shall just question the witness on a few little things that need clearing up. You must admit there were a few—little—things?”
“I didn’t think so, Senator,” the Jacksonville Times-Union said.
“You didn’t think so,” Seab repeated. “Well, sir, I did. Yes, sir. I surely did. Including,” he added, looking deliberately sly, “certain things he’s said in the past.”
“About you, Senator?” the Los Angeles Times asked.
Seab grinned.
“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he said. “And now if you all will excuse, me, I’ll just pass on to the committee table.”
“Just pass on,” he heard somebody murmur, and with a sudden broad smile he turned back to them.
“Not yet, gentlemen,” he said softly. “Not yet a while.” And he looked at them until he stared them down, and then went on to the committee table.
He saw at once that it was considerably more crowded than it had been yesterday. The full committee wasn’t meeting this morning, and several of its members had decided to drop in. Tom August was already seated off to one side, next to Seab’s own chair; Lafe Smith and Verne Cramer were chatting amicably with some of the television boys at one of the water coolers; and close at hand, in the row of chairs just behind the committee he saw the Majority Leader chatting with Dolly Harrison, Kitty Maudulayne, and Celestine Barre. With a gracious little bow as he caught Kitty’s eye he moved up to them.
“Well, ladies,” he said in the courtly manner he could assume very well, “I must say this is a happy sight for these old eyes. Yes, indeed it is. It is indeed.”
“Morning, Seab,” Bob Munson said. “I decided that what this hearing needed was a touch of beauty, so I brought them along.”
“That isn’t why he chose us,” Dolly said with a smile as Senator Cooley took her hand and gave it a paternal squeeze, and then proceeded to do the same with Kitty, who returned it warmly, and Celestine, who gave his hand a gentle pressure and smiled.
“Ma’am,” Seab said with a little twinkle, “if he had searched the realms of Ind and Araby, he couldn’t have made a better choice. No, ma’am.”
“Ind and Araby, eh?” Bob Munson said with a chuckle. “What were you doing last night, reading Coleridge?”
Seab smiled.
“Oh, no,” he said. “Not that, Bob; I was rather far from Coleridge last night, Bob. As,” he added slowly, “you may get a chance to see.”
“Oh, good!” Kitty exclaimed. “I was hoping you’d furnish us with something dramatic, Senator Cooley.”
“What have you got up your sleeve, Seabright?” the Majority Leader asked in a tone in which banter could not quite conceal a rising concern; there was about the senior Senator from South Carolina a certain satisfied air that aroused a warning instinct in his colleague.
“Nothing much, Bob,” Senator Cooley said amiably. “Nothing much at all. Ladies, I am mighty honored you’re here. I hope you will find it most interesting. At least,” he said, looking at the Majority Leader with heavy-lidded good fellowship, “I shall surely try to make it so. Yes, ladies, I shall surely try to make it so.”
“We know we can count on you. Senator,” Dolly said, and Lady Maudulayne said, “Oh my, yes!” Celestine Barre just smiled, and it was to her that Senator Cooley gave his final little bow as he turned away and went on to take his seat.
At the door the chairman and Arly Richardson came in together, followed closely by Orrin Knox, John Winthrop, and John DeWilton, and around them the press attempted to form its intercepting cordon. The subcommittee, however, did not seem to be in a mood for casual talk this morning, and its members came forward quickly to take their places. In the flurry of their entry Bob Leffingwell, who had entered just behind them, managed to reach the witness chair without being waylaid, waved to the press tables, lit a cigarette, and settled back patiently, looking refreshed and ready. Just as Senator Anderson gaveled for order Fred Van Ackerman came in quickly and sought a seat in back of the committee; a clerk sitting next to Dolly rose hastily and offered his chair and the junior Senator from Wyoming took it with a cursory nod.
“The subcommittee will be in order,” Brigham Anderson said. “Under our arrangement with the distinguished Senator from South Carolina, he is now free to question the witness if he so—”
“Mr. Chairman,” Bob Leffingwell said in a pleasantly firm voice. “Mr. Chairman.”
“Does the witness wish to say something?” Senator Anderson asked, and t
he nominee leaned forward in his grave, judicious way.
“Yes, Mr. Chairman,” he said slowly, “I do. I wish to say, Mr. Chairman, that while you and some other members of the subcommittee conducted themselves with decency and courtesy yesterday, I did feel that there were moments when I was not being fairly treated, and when it seemed to me that the approach of the subcommittee typified and symbolized the reasons why it is sometimes so difficult to get people of a certain character and education to enter government service. I am used to it, Mr. Chairman, but the example must be inhibiting to others whose services might be available to our country when she needs them, others who must be repelled and discouraged by procedures such as this.”
“Attaboy, Bob,” the Boston Globe whispered delightedly, “you tell ’em!” “I wondered when he was going to start fighting back,” the Chicago Sun-Times said with satisfaction.
“This attitude,” Bob Leffingwell went on, “which I think might fairly be characterized as anti-intellectualism, is, as I say, no surprise to one who has been its target on many occasions. But I wonder how it must seem to others.”
There was a stirring in the subcommittee, but its members waited for the chairman to reply, and after a moment he did.
“If those are genuinely your views, Mr. Leffingwell,” he said, “you are of course privileged to express them. I think, however,” he went on, a slight frown on his earnest young face, “that you will be badly underestimating the Senate of the United States, and perhaps seriously overestimating the efficacy of your appeals to prejudice such as this, if you fail to understand the spirit in which many of the questions yesterday were asked. There are times, Mr. Leffingwell,” he said dryly, “when Senators of the United States actually are concerned about their country; there are times when we actually do wish to find out the truth of things because it seems honestly important to the country’s welfare. Anti-intellectualism is a good whipping-boy, and to tell the truth, Mr. Leffingwell, having been familiar with your tactics before Congressional committees in the past, I am somewhat surprised that you waited this long to resort to it. Having done so, I can only tell you it doesn’t apply here. To put it on its most elemental level, the Senator from Illinois, the Senator from Arkansas, the Senator from South Carolina, and myself, Mr. Leffingwell, are all members of Phi Beta Kappa—”
“Johnny DeWilton and I are the only dumb bunnies in this crowd”—Senator Winthrop interjected suddenly with a chuckle that achieved its purpose, for the chairman laughed and relaxed and went on in a less didactic voice—“and we even read books,” he said. “In other words, Mr. Leffingwell, nobody is anti-intellectual here. You have been appointed to a most important office, in which your views are of vital importance to your country; this is the forum where you must be judged for confirmation to that office, and you must concede us some right to try to find out what you think—and to be a little concerned when you seem to be deliberately withholding it from us.”
The nominee, who had waited without expression until he finished, spoke in a cold voice.
“Nonetheless, Mr. Chairman,” he said, “it seems to me that there is a deliberate conspiracy here to attack me for no other reason, really, than that I represent a segment of the population which seems to be generally unpopular on Capitol Hill.”
“Mr. Leffingwell,” Brigham Anderson said, “you’re too shrewd a politician and too intelligent a man to make a phony charge like that. Why are you doing it? It isn’t in character.”
“It is my sincere conviction, Mr. Chairman,” the nominee said, and because he was indeed too intelligent and too shrewd a politician, and because it really wasn’t in character, Senator Anderson was suddenly aware that for some reason Bob Leffingwell felt that his back was to the wall and so was deliberately going on the offensive.
He gave no indication of this sudden instinctive knowledge, however, but only replied in a tone as cold as the nominee’s own.
“Let me help you with your headline, Mr. Leffingwell,” he said. “You are charging, I take it, that this subcommittee is attacking you as an intellectual and for no other reason, is that it?”
“I am,” Bob Leffingwell said evenly.
“Leffingwell Charges Senate Out To Get Eggheads,” Senator Anderson said dryly. “Very well, Senator Cooley, your witness.”
“I don’t see why Brig has to be so damned hostile to us,” the Post whispered. “It isn’t as though we’ve done anything to him.” “Yet,” the Times observed. “Anyway, boys,” the Herald Tribune remarked, “the gloves are off and it’s going to be blood from here on in.” “Seab will be in his element, then,” the Philadelphia Inquirer said. “Look at him,” the Washington Star said. “This is going to be a major performance.”
Down at his end of the table, where he had been sitting impassively after a brief greeting to Tom August, who as usual looked fretful and concerned about life, the senior Senator from South Carolina was deliberately putting some papers in order before him, deliberately lining up a pad of paper, some pencils, a glass of water. All this done, he looked slowly around the room until his eyes finally, in their apparently aimless wanderings, came to rest on those of the nominee, sitting patiently in his chair and watching the proceeding with a skeptical and amused expression he made no attempt to disguise. When their eyes met, Seab spoke in an amiable tone.
“You seem amused, Mr. Witness,” he observed, I’m glad you find something amusing. I thought a minute ago you were just a mite peeved with us. I’m glad you’re feeling better now....Now, Mr. Witness,” he said as Bob Leffingwell made no comment, but kept staring at him with the same quizzical expression, “tell us again about your teaching career. I find that mighty interesting, Mr. Witness.”
“What do you want to know about it, Senator?” Bob Leffingwell asked with a casual air that indicated he was quite prepared for this line of questioning.
“You said it was administrative government you taught?” Seab asked.
“I didn’t say, Senator,” the nominee said, “but it was.”
“Well, it was in your biography, then,” Senator Cooley said. “What did that consist of, Mr. Witness?”
“Exactly what the biography said, Senator,” Bob Leffingwell replied. “The forms of administrative government, the techniques of it, plus what I believed to be the best form and philosophy of it.”
“Which you have demonstrated in the chairmanship of the Federal Power Commission and the ODM, is that right?”
“I have tried to,” the nominee replied.
“Where did you live, Mr. Witness?” Seab asked, and Bob Leffingwell smiled.
“In Chicago.” he said. “In a modest but pleasantly intellectual haunt near the university.”
“Yes,” Seab said. “What street?” Bob Leffingwell paused.
“Let me see, Senator,” he said. “Fourteen years ago....Madison, I think.”
“Were you married then, Mr. Witness?” Senator Cooley asked.
“No, I was not,” Bob Leffingwell said.
“Madison Street,” the Senator said. “What number on Madison Street?”
The nominee frowned and thought.
“As I recall, 2726,” he said, “but I may be off a few digits.”
“It couldn’t have been 2731, could it?” Seab asked, and the nominee shook his head firmly.
“No, Senator,” he said. “I remember quite distinctly now I get to thinking about it, 2726.”
“What’s going on here?” the Times asked. “He’s uncovered a Plot,” the Post-Dispatch said with a grin.
“The address was 2726 Madison,” Senator Cooley said thoughtfully. “It just couldn’t have been 2731.”
“No, sir,” Bob Leffingwell said.
“No, sir,” Seab said. “And what was your philosophy of administrative government, Mr. Witness?”
Bob Leffingwell laughed.
“Well, Senator,” he said, “you don’t want the course and I don’t propose to give it here. In general, it can be gathered from the way I’ve conducted
myself in Washington.”
“On the liberal side,” Seab suggested.
“I certainly hope so,” the nominee replied, and there was a quick smattering of applause from the audience.
“All right,” Brigham Anderson said. “Let’s get on.”
“It wasn’t 2731 Carpenter, was it?” Seab asked, and the nominee looked annoyed.
“Senator,” he said, “I don’t know the purpose of these attempts at entrapment, but they don’t appeal to me, I must say. Ask what you want to ask and I’ll answer.”
“Oh, now, Mr. Chairman,” Seab said in a reproachful voice. “The witness seems to be getting impatient, Mr. Chairman. He seems to feel some pressure. Mr. Chairman, I wonder why.”
“I’m not impatient and I’m not feeling pressure,” Bob Leffingwell said, rather more loudly than he had intended. “But I don’t intend to play cat and mouse games with the Senator from South Carolina.”
At this the applause swelled up in a real burst, and Senator Anderson rapped sharply for order. When it came Seab looked his blandest and went on with a little shrug.
“Seems to me,” he observed, “the witness is getting mighty upset about an address, Mr. Chairman. But he says he didn’t live there, so I’ll go on.
“These questions have some purpose pertinent to the inquiry, I assume, Senator,” Brigham Anderson said, and Seab smiled.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Oh, yes.”
“I’ll bet they do,” Bob Munson whispered to Lafe Smith, and Lafe grinned. “You’d better hope they don’t, Bobby,” he replied, and the Majority Leader nodded soberly. Behind him Dolly just then was startled to note that Senator Van Ackerman, who had been listening intently without a word, had suddenly risen with a certain catlike quiet and was now leaving the room.