by Allen Drury
“Now, Mr. President,” he said, “what are the merits of this motion and what are its demerits? Its merits, I think, can be summed up very simply. It would indeed be a dramatic affirmation before the world of our faith in this nominee and our support of him if we were to summarily vote him confirmation this afternoon, bypassing the regular procedures of the Senate to do so. It would also eliminate any chance of further argument about his nomination, which in the eyes of his supporters—of whom, I may say, I am one, both ex officio as Majority Leader and on the basis of the hearings—would be a good thing. Those are the two merits of this motion. They are not, it seems to me, sufficient to outweigh-Its demerits.
“The procedures of the Senate, slow as they are and cumbersome as they are in many instances, have gradually been established over all these long decades, which before long will approach two centuries, for one basic purpose: for the protection of the citizens of this Republic, for the protection of the states which compose it, and for the protection of Senators in the exercise of their duty to represent those citizens and those states. The whole story of the creation of the American Government is the story of the deliberate diffusion of power; the whole story of the life of the American Government is the story of the struggle between the deliberate diffusion of power, which in and of itself is perhaps the most brilliant device for the protection of liberty ever conceived by free men, and the deliberate concentration of power, which free men have often deemed necessary to preserve that liberty. If either diffusion or concentration were to win the battle once and for all, then I think freedom would finally be gone, and this great dream of liberty within discipline which is America would be ended forever. This continuing tension, this never-decided contest between diffusion and concentration of power is what makes this government the miracle of the ages that it is; and I for one would consider that day a sad and fearful day in which the decision went permanently to one or the other...
“In this, Senators, the procedures of this Senate play their part, a great part, which one comes to appreciate and value the more the longer he remains here. And so it is that every thinking citizen who really understands and really believes in his government will, when the final chips are down, defend them. They have been misused many times by men who would thwart the will of the majority; but they have been used far more often to advance the interests of all the people, and the proof of that lies in the state of being to which this most fortunate of lands has come through so many hard times and fearsome perils and so many dark, unhappy things...
“Mr. President,” he said softly into the hush of the chamber, “I would wish that the motion of the Senator from Wyoming would be defeated; for it will not hurt us or Mr. Leffingwell if he must wait another day or two before assuming office. But it might hurt us all most grievously if it should become the habit here that the safeguards of our liberties, of which the regular slow and patient procedures of the Senate, for all their faults, are among the most supremely important, are to be tossed away whenever it suits us in the heat and passion of the passing moment.”
And as he sat down solemnly there was a sudden surprising burst of applause from the Senate which was taken up vigorously by the galleries. Across the aisle Warren Strickland called over with a grin which Bob Munson answered, “This is the first time I ever knew a lecture on civics to get a hand from the public!” and then he rose in his turn and sought recognition.
“Mr. President,” he said when Harley granted it, “I shall not attempt to match the eloquence of the distinguished Majority Leader, but I do wish to associate myself entirely with the burden of his remarks. It is true that I am inclined to be opposed to this nomination, but the issue now, as he so clearly states, is no longer the nomination; it is the way in which the Senate is to deal with the nomination; and that, as he also says, is infinitely more important in the long perspective of our history than any nomination. There are ways of doing things that conform to the pattern that constant testing and constant experience has shown to be good, and there are ways of doing things that abandon all this and rush off after the hasty, the ill-advised, the slick, and the expedient. Let us permit the subcommittee of the Foreign Relations Committee to make its recommendation to the full committee; let us permit the full committee to vote and then make its recommendation to us; and then let us vote, as we are in all probability going to vote, for this nominee in the customary way of our regular procedure. Nothing will be lost by this, whereas, as the Majority Leader says, much could be lost by the erosions of liberty to which another course might ultimately contribute.”
“I love the Senate when it gets into one of these procedural fights,” the Herald Tribune confided without irony to the Times. “It brings out the best in everybody.” “Except Fred Van Ackerman,” the Times observed dryly, and the Trib grinned as on the floor below the junior Senator from Wyoming was once more on his feet demanding recognition.
“Mr. President,” Senator Van Ackerman said, “these are fine words. There are always fine words in the Senate when somebody wants to block something. I’ve stated the situation clearly here, I’ve stated what we can accomplish by adopting my motion. I don’t see what is to be gained by delaying it any longer. A Secretary of State is involved here, Mr. President!” he cried in sudden anger. “Doesn’t that mean anything to Senators? Aren’t we interested in backing up our own man against the world? Don’t we care about the way we send him forth to negotiate? What’s the point in further talk?”
“Mr. President,” Tom August said gently from his desk in the center of the majority side, “if the Senator will yield to me?”
“I shall be happy to yield the floor to the distinguished chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee,” Fred Van Ackerman said, “and then I hope we can stop talking and vote.”
“I thank the Senator,” Tom said in his customary wistful way which sounded as though he were always mentally wringing his hands over the condition of mankind. “I shall not detain the Senate long, but I am going to take a position on this which may be somewhat surprising for the chairman of a committee—”
“I told you, Bob,” Seab murmured, poking the Majority Leader’s arm, and Senator Munson nodded. “The little bastard’s pulled a fast one this time,” he agreed.
“—and I should like to state my reasons,” Senator August said. “I am going to support the motion of the Senator from Wyoming because I feel as he does that this nominee has been subjected to sufficient attack to damage him severely in the eyes of other nations unless we take some such dramatic action as the Senator proposes to indicate our support of him. Therefore I feel it is imperative that we do this, and even though it means bypassing my own committee, I feel this so deeply that I am prepared to join in the suggestion that we do so. I hope the Senate will so vote, Mr. President!”
Orrin Knox and Brigham Anderson were both on their feet as he concluded, and the Vice President recognized the Senator from Illinois first.
“Well, Mr. President,” Orrin said indignantly, “if this is the emotional basis on which the Senator from Minnesota approaches all problems of foreign policy, God help us. The Majority Leader is entirely right, the Senators from Wyoming and Minnesota are entirely wrong, and it is beginning to appear that there must indeed be some conspiracy here as the distinguished Senator from Indiana, Mr. Hendershot, was suggesting the other day. Who is it who wishes this thing rushed through now, Mr. President? Is it the Majority Leader, who has stated with fine eloquence and perception the reasons why we have certain procedures in the Senate? No, it is the Senator from Wyoming, who proposes it. Whose leadership are we to follow, Mr. President? Which has shown itself more worthy of trust? I associate myself entirely with the Majority Leader in this, and I do so as one who also is pretty well convinced by now that Mr. Leffingwell should be confirmed. But not on this higgledy-piggledy, rush-rush-rush basis. It would look phony and it would be phony, and I have too much respect for the office of Secretary of State and the burdens its occupant must carry, I wil
l say to Senator Van Ackerman, to be a party to it.”
And he sat down with a contemptuous look at the Senator from Wyoming, who returned it with interest to the amusement of the galleries.
“Mr. President,” Senator Anderson said, with a note in his voice which his colleagues knew meant a rare, genuine anger, “I would like to return to the matter of the treatment accorded Mr. Leffingwell, to point out that it was completely fair in every way, and to say that the desperate anxiety for an immediate confirmation which seems to be behind this motion raises the reasonable presumption, Mr. President, that Mr. Leffingwell’s supporters must feel that if his case were further examined something might be found in it which would militate against a favorable consideration. I would hope that this is not the case, Mr. President, but the nominee has gone out of his way to seek favor with the junior Senator from Wyoming, and the Senator’s motion, coming on the heels of it, raises some question as to how spontaneous the motion is....I may say, Mr. President, that I believe Mr. Leffingwell’s record as it stands, aside from one or two minor equivocations, is worthy of confirmation; I expect I shall probably vote to confirm him. But like the Senator from Illinois, I shall not vote on the basis of having it rammed down my throat. There is very little to be gained by this peculiar haste, and much to be lost, as the Majority Leader says. I am not convinced that the reasons behind it are valid.”
And with a long, appraising look at the junior Senator from Wyoming, who was on his feet, his face twisted with anger, the senior Senator from Utah sat down.
“Mr. President!” Senator Van Ackerman cried, and once more the peculiar strangled snarl was in his voice, “that is typical of the attitude of the Senator from Utah throughout this whole proceeding. He has never liked the nominee and he doesn’t like him now, and he’s taken every chance he could get to smear him and attack him and make implications about him. Now he makes implications about me, Mr. President, yes, he implies there has been collusion about this. I swear to you, Mr. President, it was entirely my own idea and Mr. Leffingwell had nothing to do with it. This is just one more example of the unfair treatment he has received right along, Mr. President. I ask for a vote!”
“Give the baby his vote,” Lafe Smith said, not trying very hard to keep his voice down, and what the Congressional Record always refers to in such moments of impatience and confusion as “(Several Senators)” cried, “Vote! Vote!”
“Seab,” Bob Munson said hurriedly, as Fred Van Ackerman looked with angry insistence at the Vice President, “you don’t want to say anything before we vote?” Senator Cooley gave him a slow and sleepy smile. “Bob,” he said softly, “you know better than that. This is my day to keep quiet, Bob. Let’s have our vote and see what happens.”
“I don’t like the feel of it,” the Majority Leader confided worriedly. “It’s going to be too close.”
But in a second he was on his feet all bland composure.
“Mr. President,” he said, “I suggest the absence of a quorum, and then I ask for the Yeas and Nays as ordered.”
And he sat down with an impassive and patient expression as the clerk went quickly through the roll while little bits of talk and gossip, quick conferrings, jokes and laughter and underneath it all a rising tension flickered across the surface of the Senate like St. Elmo’s fire.
“Eighty-six Senators having answered to their names,” the Vice President said, “a quorum is present, and the clerk will call the roll for the Yeas and Nays.”
“Mr. Abbott!” the clerk said, and Charlie Abbott, because, Bob Munson knew, he thought he still might be able to work out a dicker on the Portsmouth Navy Yard if he had the time, voted “No!” in a firm voice.
“Mrs. Adams!” And Bessie too voted “No!” in a pleasantly decisive way.
There followed in rapid succession four Ayes and then the clerk came to Brigham Anderson, who voted No, followed by Tom August, who voted Aye.
On through the B’s, Mr. Baker, Mr. Blair, Mr. Bliss, Mr. Boland, Mr. Bowen, Mr. Boyle, Mr. Brittain, with the Ayes gradually beginning to catch up and overtake the Nos; through the C’s from Fred Cahill of Missouri to Frank Curtis of Maine, with Seab Cooley explosively crying “No!” while the tension mounted and the Nos again began to move up alongside the Ayes; Stanley Danta and John DeWilton, both voting No, Sam Eastwood of Colorado following with an Aye; Hal Fry, away at UN, not answering, H. Harper Graham of South Carolina voting No; through the H’s, the J’s, the K’s, Jim La Rue of New Jersey leading off the L’s in his quavery voice with a No; the M’s, the O’s, Ed Parrish of Nevada saying Aye; the Ayes thirty-two, the Nays thirty-five as Bob Munson and many another on the floor and in the press gallery kept score on the long white tally sheets; Arly Richardson saying a scornful No, his distant cousin, chubby little Leo P. Richardson of Florida countering with a firm “Aye!”; Courtney Robinson, Hugh Root, Taylor Ryan, all No; Stu Schoenfeldt of Pennsylvania, Aye; Raymond Robert Smith of California, over-dapper and over-elegant, Aye; the T’s, the V’s, with Luis Valdez of New Mexico saying No, and Fred Van Ackerman a defiant Aye; Julius Welch, Aye; Allen Whiteside of Florida, Aye, Herbert Wilson of Georgia, No, and a great expulsion of pent-in breath from the Senate and the press as a hasty tabulation showed the vote at forty Yeas, forty-one Nays. Again the tension as the clerk ran quickly through the absentees and five more answered their names; and again the explosion of excitement as another quick tabulation at the end disclosed what Harley announced a moment later after the clerk reported hurriedly to him.
“On this motion,” the Vice President said, “the vote is forty-three to forty-three.”
“Mr. President!” Fred Ackerman cried hastily, jumping to his feet to start the delaying tactic that always occurs on any close vote in the Senate when the purpose is to hold up the final announcement of the result until absent members can be rounded up, “am I recorded on this vote?”
“The Senator is recorded,” Harley said, after checking solemnly with the clerk.
“How am I recorded, Mr. President?” Fred asked, and the Vice President checked again.
“The Senator is recorded as voting in the affirmative,” he said, and Fred sat down. Immediately Ed Parrish went through the same procedure, and after him Sam Eastwood and then Allen Whiteside before Irving Steinman of New York finally hurried breathlessly onto the floor, still wearing the overcoat in which he had jumped into a cab to rush up from the Labor Department where he had been on a constituent’s business.
“Mr. Steinman!” the clerk said in a reproachful voice, and Senator Steinman said “Aye!” in a firm voice that brought an even greater tension to the room, for now it was the opponents’ turn to play the delaying game on behalf of Lloyd Cavanaugh of Rhode Island, whose plane, if it had been on schedule, had arrived at National Airport just about the time the clerk had called “Mr. Abbott!” And sure enough, after Brigham Anderson and Orrin Knox and two or three others had asked the Vice President to tell them how they were recorded, Senator Cavanaugh too rushed in breathlessly, still overcoated, to cast a hasty “No!”
“The vote,” the Vice President announced, “is still tied at forty-four to forty-four.” He paused and the Majority Leader told him with silent vehemence in his own mind, come on, Harley, make it good. And Harley, after a moment’s enjoyment of the Senate’s suspense, did.
“Under the rules of the Senate,” he said formally, “a motion fails of passage on a tie vote, and therefore this motion is already defeated. Under the Constitution, however, the Vice President has the right to vote in case of a tie. Because he deems this decision sufficiently important to warrant an expression of opinion from him that may emphasize its gravity to the country, the Vice President will exercise his prerogative and vote No. The motion is not agreed to.”
In the noisy aftermath of babble and talk and jokes and laughter, the junior Senator from Wyoming exchanged a look of open hostility with the senior Senator from Utah; the senior Senator from South Carolina, looking as sleepy and somnolent as before, gave one s
mall chuckle and slapped the Majority Leader on the knee; the senior Senator from Illinois shook his head pityingly at the senior Senator from Minnesota, who pursed his lips and looked sadly disapproving; and the Majority Leader bowed with a grateful grin to the Vice President, who smiled with satisfaction in return. Above in the press galleries the reporters dashed out to send their new leads, filled with the drama of the afternoon and the exciting and intriguing fact that the upstart from Wyoming had come within an ace of overturning the Majority Leader and winning immediate consideration of the nomination. By that slim chance, though no one knew it then, LEFFINGWELL RUNNING had been extended considerably beyond the one or two days more envisaged by the opponents of the motion, and the door had been opened to events that otherwise would never have occurred. By so narrow a margin does the Senate on occasion decide the fate of causes and of men.
That evening there once again went across the nation and around the globe the exciting tale of Robert A. Leffingwell and his almost-victory. At their typewriters from Baltimore to Seattle the editorial writers for the morning papers went busily to work approving or condemning; on all the television newscasts the most favorable clips of the nominee and Fred Van Ackerman, accompanied by the most devastatingly unfavorable shots of the Majority Leader and Brigham Anderson that could be found, were displayed upon the little screen; the man who said, “This—is the news,” said, “This—is the news,” and the news was that a great man, momentarily hobbled by a blindly conservative opposition, would soon have a triumph that would give his nation under God a new birth of freedom and a new hope for peace; and everywhere the backers of Robert A. Leffingwell rejoiced, even as they cursed the Senate, in the all-but-certainty now that their man had only one small river left to cross before coming safely home.