by Allen Drury
Inside the office with the door safely closed behind them, he smiled his greeting to the girls at the typewriters and piloted Johnny DeWilton by the arm on through the next office and into Orrin’s private office in the room beyond. The senior Senator from Illinois got up at once and extended his hand in the inevitable senatorial handshake, that symbol of the club that occurs automatically whether Senators are seeing one another again after six months, six days, or six hours.
“I’m glad you could come, Bob,” he said matter-of-factly. “I meant to call you about, but it slipped my mind until a minute ago and then Mary said you were on the way. Glad to see you, Johnny. Are there many reporters outside?”
“About thirty,’ Senator DeWilton said.
“Well,” Orrin said tartly, “Tom thinks we should give them quite a story, but I’m against it.”
The chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee gave the Majority Leader a rather reproachful look and spoke in his wistfully worried way.
“This meeting was Orrin’s idea,” he said, “and I thought since we were having it, maybe it would be best to reach some firm decision on the matter. That’s all. I’m willing to be overruled if you feel it best, but we ought to do something, under the circumstances, it seems to me.”
“What circumstances?” John Winthrop asked with a smile. “A little fussing in the press? Don’t tell me that has you scared, Tom.”
“It isn’t only that,” Senator August said defensively. “The President’s all upset, too. He called me this morning.”
“He called me, too,” Arly Richardson said, “but I’m not scared.”
“He’s been a busy man,” Senator Munson observed dryly. “Is there anybody here he didn’t call?”
“He called us all, I expect,” Senator Knox said. He smiled in a rather wintry way. “Didn’t tell you he was going to, though, did he?”
“Nope,” Bob Munson said cheerfully.
“He’s a shifty man,” Orrin said in a tone that dismissed him from further consideration. “Anyway, here we are. It was my idea. I thought we ought to get together and talk it over. It is causing quite a rumpus, and it seemed advisable to present a united front on it, if we can get one.”
“I’m united,” Senator Winthrop offered calmly. “I’m for Brig. Whatever,” he added with a little chuckle, “Brig is for.”
“So am I,” Senator Knox said, “but I thought at least we should discuss it and maybe prepare a statement. If we agree. How about you, Arly?”
The senior Senator from Arkansas looked stubborn and Senator Munson could see he was about to be difficult.
“I’m not so sure,” Arly said slowly. “It seems to me that whatever the trouble is, it was certainly presented to us in a way that put us all on the spot. What’s the matter with Brig, anyway? Aren’t we all entitled to be consulted on something like this? Why didn’t he call us first?”
“Maybe there wasn’t time,” the Majority Leader suggested, and Senator Richardson looked skeptical.
“Hell,” he said, “there was time enough on something like this.”
“The first I knew about it,” Tom August said reproachfully, “was when the New York Times called me at 1 a.m. and wanted to get my comment.”
“Yes,” Orrin Knox said, “I noticed you supported Brig.”
“What else could I do at the moment?” Senator August asked. “I didn’t know what he had in mind. It did seem to me, though, that as chairman of the full committee I might have been given the courtesy of an advance warning.”
“And suppose he had given you one?” Senator Knox demanded. “Would you have stopped him?”
“That would depend on what it was,” Tom August said. “I might have cautioned that he wait until this morning when we could all meet about it, rather than shoot from the hip right then.”
“He’d be in better shape now,” Senator Winthrop admitted.
“It looks to me almost like a shock reaction,” Johnny DeWilton said. “He heard something, or somebody came to him with something, and he was so upset by it he acted without thinking.”
Arly Richardson looked disbelieving.
“When did Brig ever act without thinking?” he asked.
“It happens,” Orrin Knox said. “He’s human.”
“Yes,” Senator Richardson said. “Well, I’d certainly like to hear from him right now before we announce anything. How about getting him on the phone, Orrin?”
“I’ve called him,” the Majority Leader said calmly. “He won’t tell us what it is until he’s had a chance to see the President. And we’ve pretty definitely set it up that we’ll see the President together at the White House tonight after the correspondents’ banquet.”
“Won’t somebody see you leaving together?” John Winthrop asked.
“We won’t leave together,” Bob Munson said, “and anyway, it won’t be much before midnight, and by that time very few people will be alert enough to notice we aren’t around any longer.”
“So we’re stuck with the status quo until tomorrow,” Arly said.
“We would have been anyway,” Senator Winthrop pointed out. “We weren’t planning to meet until tomorrow to vote on it. You didn’t want it on the floor before Saturday, did you, Bob?”
The Majority Leader shook his head.
“As long as it’s run this late in the week, I thought Saturday would be a good day for it,” he said. “We could have a special Saturday session, meet early, and devote the whole day to it.”
“Now that’s really psychology, Bobby,” Senator Richardson said dryly. “Push us right up against Sunday and let it discourage the talkers. You’re mighty sharp.”
“I try to be,” Bob Munson said blandly. “Anyway, there’s no point in talking to Brig until after he’s seen the President.”
“There’s only one reason for that,” Senator DeWilton observed. “He must think he can get the Old Man to withdraw the nomination.”
“He does have some such idea,” the Majority Leader admitted, and Senator August looked alarmed.
“Oh, my,” he said. “I really don’t think that’s a wise move unless he knows something very, very bad about Mr. Leffingwell.”
“He doesn’t really think the President will stand still for that, does he?” Senator Richardson asked skeptically, and Senator Knox gave him an angry look.
“Why not?” he demanded. “If there’s a legitimate reason, why not?”
“This town doesn’t work that way, Orrin,” Arly Richardson said. “You know that.”
Orrin’s jaw set and, as often happened, he said exactly what he was thinking.
“It would if I were running it,” he said bluntly, and Senator Richardson couldn’t resist the opportunity.
“But you’re not, Orrin,” he said gently. “You’re not, you know, and some of us don’t think you ever will.”
“All right, fellows,” Senator Munson said. “Let’s get on with this without getting into presidential politics. We’ve got enough troubles as it is.”
“I’ll bet the President will smash him if he can,” John DeWilton said with a frown, and Senator Richardson smiled.
“It’s happened to better men,” he remarked.
“There aren’t any better,” Senator Knox snapped. “Now are we going to agree on something or aren’t we? I’m entirely for Brig. I can understand exactly why he did what he did, and if it’s sufficiently damaging to Leffingwell, I can understand exactly why he wants the President to withdraw him. It’s just the sort of thing I’d do myself. Maybe it isn’t crafty enough for you, Arly, or for him”—and he made a scornful gesture with one outflung hand somewhere off in the sky in the general direction of downtown Washington—“but it’s fine with me.” And suddenly he whirled on the chairman of Foreign Relations, who was so startled he jumped. “How about you, Tom?” he demanded.
“If I did what I’d really like to do,” Senator August said slowly, “I think I’d declare the subcommittee dissolved and then reappoint it with Brig off
and myself as chairman.”
“By God, that sounds like the White House talking,” Senator DeWilton said explosively. “You’d never be clever enough to think of something like that by yourself, Tom. Is that what he told you to do?”
The Senator from Minnesota flushed but stood his ground.
It doesn’t matter where it came from,” he said with an air of pained dignity. “It’s just what I would do if I did what I’d really like to do.”
“You’d have one hell of a fight on your hands if you did,” Orrin Knox told him tersely. “I’d raise hell and so would Bob, I expect”—he looked at the Majority Leader for confirmation and Senator Munson nodded with a stern look at Senator August—“and so would a lot of people. What kind of a crackpot idea is that, anyway? I never heard of such a thing in all my years in the Senate.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Arly Richardson said casually. “There’s nothing in the rules to prevent it. After all, Tom is the chairman, even though some of us always act as though he weren’t. It’s an interesting idea, Tom. You might have something there.”
“God damn it,” Senator Knox said angrily, “stop trying to make trouble and let’s get on with this. They’re out there waiting, right now.”
“So they are,” Arly said cheerfully. “Maybe they’ll have their story, after all.”
“Maybe we should have a vote, if we want to settle it,” John Winthrop suggested, and Senator Richardson made an impatient movement.
“I’m not going to be bound by any vote,” he said. “This whole proceeding is a violation of our decision to hold all meetings in open session.”
“This isn’t a formal meeting,” Orrin said sharply. “How can it be when the chairman didn’t call it and isn’t here?”
“That’s trimming it pretty close for blunt, honest, forthright Orrin Knox,” Senator Richardson observed, and Orrin would have replied angrily if the Majority Leader hadn’t forestalled him.
“Suppose we don’t have any votes,” he said, “or any big, dramatic clashes, Arly, if you don’t mind. There are apparently going to be a lot of opportunities still to come in this nomination for that. If Tom really wanted to do what he suggests, he could. If you do, Tom, you’ll have the backing of the White House. You’ll have the opposition of most of the Senate, and we won’t forget it. Which is most important to you in the long run, his support or ours?”
At this appeal to the ancient mores of the lodge, with its hint of penalties carried for years in the collective memory of the Senate, the senior Senator from Minnesota looked even more worried than usual and even, Bob Munson thought, a little pale.
“I’m willing to be bound by what you all agree,” he said hastily. “I’m not making any objections. I think we should frame the language with some care, though.”
“Such as?” Bob Munson asked encouragingly in quite a different tone.
“Well,” Senator August said carefully, “let me see. How about, ‘We have met this morning to discuss the decision of the chairman of the subcommittee, Senator Anderson, to reopen the hearings on the nomination of Robert A. Leffingwell to be Secretary of State. Although we have not been able to discuss the matter directly with the chairman—’”
“Strike that,” Orrin Knox directed shortly. “‘We are satisfied that his reasons for this action are sufficiently valid to warrant further study.’”
“Not so fast,” Senator Winthrop said, writing it down on a pad of lined Senate note paper. “It’s been forty years since I was a court reporter.”
“All right,” Senator August said meekly. “‘We are satisfied that his reasons for this action are sufficiently valid—’”
“Strike ‘sufficiently,’” Johnny DeWilton said. “‘Are valid.’”
“‘Are valid,’” Tom August said obediently, “‘and warrant further study. Accordingly—’”
“Accordingly’ nothing,” Senator Knox said flatly. “Let it go at that. Read it back, Win.”
“We have met this morning to discuss the decision of the chairman of the subcommittee, Senator Anderson, to reopen the hearings on the nomination of Robert A. Leffingwell to be Secretary of State,” Senator Winthrop read. “We are satisfied that his reasons for this action are valid and warrant further study.’ Period. Sounds a little abrupt,” he observed. “Maybe Leffingwell deserves to be let down easy too, under the circumstances.”
“I certainly want something in there to emphasize that we aren’t prejudging him,” Tom August said, and Arly Richardson nodded.
“Just for form,” he said dryly.
“All right,” Orrin said shortly. “This in no way indicates that we have reached a final judgment one way or the other on Mr. Leffingwell.’”
“Or on the wisdom of reopening the hearings,’” Arly added.
“I won’t accept that,” Bob Munson said calmly.
“This is in no way a reflection upon Mr. Leffingwell,’” Tom August offered.
“How can it help but be anything else?” Senator Richardson demanded. “Let’s don’t be complete hypocrites about this. If we’re backing our boy because he’s our boy, let’s say so. Especially if that’s the best you can do for Leffingwell.”
“I didn’t realize you were such a partisan of his,” Senator Munson observed.
“There’s nothing in the record now to tell me why I shouldn’t be,” Arly pointed out. “I told him I’d support him if the record stood in his favor. I keep my promises.”
“Very well,” Orrin Knox said. “We’ll combine my idea and yours. Add this, Win: “This in no way indicates that we have reached a final judgment on Mr. Leffingwell, or on the wisdom of reopening the hearings.’”
“So we affirm our belief in the validity of Brig’s action at the start and then turn right around and cast doubt on it at the end,” the Majority Leader observed wryly.
“And by approving the validity of his action we imply we believe Leffingwell’s at fault and then we turn right around and say we aren’t judging whether he is or not,” Senator DeWilton added.
“And all in three sentences,” John Winthrop said with a chuckle. “Rarely has there been a finer or more outstanding example of the unequivocal and unflinching stand of this great body on anything.”
“Write me out a clean copy,” Orrin directed, “and then we’ll all sign it and I’ll read it to the reporters. Or do you want to, Tom?”
“Wouldn’t that be more fitting?” Senator Munson suggested, and his colleagues nodded.
“Well, I intend to be there, anyway,” Senator Knox said. “I think we all should be.”
“That’s so you won’t try to slip anything over on us, Tom,” Senator Richardson said, and the Majority Leader turned on him emphatically.
“We don’t want you to, either, Arly,” he said firmly. “This is a closed session, so let’s keep it that way. I don’t want to read about it in the Star an hour from now.”
“Don’t you?” Arly said blandly. “Well, we’ll see.”
“All right now,” Orrin said, passing the paper to Senator August, “go ahead and sign, Tom, and then the rest of us will. You can too, if you want to, Bob.”
“Sure, I’ll bring up the rear,” Senator Munson said agreeably. “It may be good for the President to know Brig isn’t without friends.”
“He may need them,” John DeWilton observed.
“He may,” John Winthrop agreed.
“All right, Tom, let’s go,” Senator Knox said impatiently, and taking the chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee firmly by the arm he steered him quickly through the door and out before the press and the tourists and the television cameras while the others trailed along to form a half circle behind them in the glaring lights.
“Senator August has a statement for you,” Orrin announced. “Read it, Tom.”
“Just a minute, Senator!” a technician called sharply, there was a muffled stir and flurry, and then he called, “Now!” the cameras began to roll and the chairman read in a soft voice:
&nb
sp; “We have met this morning to discuss the decision of the chairman of the subcommittee, Senator Anderson, to reopen the hearings on the nomination of Robert A. Leffingwell to be Secretary of State.
“We are satisfied that his reasons for this action are valid and warrant further study.
“This in no way indicates that we have reached a final judgment on Mr. Leffingwell, or on the wisdom of reopening the hearings.
“This is signed by myself as chairman of the full committee, by the four members of the subcommittee here present, and by the Majority Leader.”
He stopped and there was a moment’s silence.
“Is that all?” somebody asked in a puzzled voice, and somebody else said in a tone of frank bafflement, “Now, what in the hell does that mean?”
This brought general laughter from everyone including the Senators, and after it was over CBS stepped forward.
“Senator,” he said earnestly, “is this the unanimous position of the subcommittee and the leadership?”
Tom August looked shyly about and smiled in an apologetic way.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “We agreed that we would stand on the statement and not answer any questions.”
“You mean you’re backing Senator Anderson, then,” the Baltimore Sun suggested.
“Or are you?” the Times wanted to know.
“And you’re criticizing Leffingwell,” the Herald Tribune offered.
“Or are you?” the Post inquired.
Tom August shook his head again in his gentle, deprecating way.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “no questions.”
“That’s all, boys,” Orrin Knox said firmly. “Sorry we can’t give you more at this time, but you’ve got all we intend to say right now. Bob, stick around for a minute, I want to talk to you.”
And deliberately moving in front of his colleagues, he turned his back on the cameras and stood there until, after a moment, with more than a little audible grumbling, their interrogators gave up.