Thousands upon thousands of other Americans continued to support McCarthy, believing he was the victim of an attack by pro-Communist forces in the government. Every day, Sen. Watkins, Sen. Flanders, and Sen. Fulbright received thousands of phone calls, letters, and telegrams denouncing them as "traitors," "cowards," and "dirty Reds." The Catholic War Veterans of Brooklyn and Queens, New York, launched a nationwide campaign to collect signatures for a "Save McCarthy" petition, and by early November they claimed to have rounded up more than 250,000 names. Even more ambitious was the goal of another national organization called Ten Million Americans Mobilized for Justice. They aimed to gather 10 million signatures from people opposed to the censure.
Just before the debate began, McCarthy received a patriotic service medal from the American Coalition, a right-wing organization. In a message accompanying the award, the group's president wrote, "If you are destroyed then it follows, as night follows day, that your distinguished anti-Communist colleagues in the Congress and in the government will be savagely assaulted, and they too eliminated."
Two representatives of the Catholic War Veterans of New York present McCarthy with the signatures of 250,000 citizens protesting the censure debate, November 8, 1954. Marquette University Archives
In accepting the award, Joe adopted a somber tone. He pledged to continue the struggle "even if the Senate censures me—and I think they will—for fighting the dirtiest fighters in the world, Communists. I will go on until either the Communists lose or we die."
During the first days of debate, one after another of McCarthy's Republican supporters took the floor of the Senate to defend their hero. Senator Herman Welker praised him as "one of the greatest living champions of human liberty, and one of the greatest living foes of Communist slavery." Senator Barry Goldwater of Arizona said censuring Joe would be a "global victory for Communism." Senator William E. Jenner suggested that the entire censure resolution be set aside, claiming it "was initiated by the Communist conspiracy."
Democratic senators were eager to respond, but Minority Leader Lyndon Johnson convinced them to hold their fire. Johnson feared that if the debate became too partisan, moderate Republicans, who were now leaning toward censure, would change their votes. However, Johnson moved quickly to block Majority Leader William Knowland when he tried to introduce amendments intended to weaken the resolution.
Two of McCarthy's female fans demonstrate against his censure. The National Archives
In the midst of the debate, Joe distributed the text of a speech that he said he intended to deliver the next day. Reporters and fellow senators were startled by the personal nature of his remarks. "From the moment I entered the fight against subversion back in 1950 at Wheeling, West Virginia, the Communists have said that the destruction of me and what I stand for is their number-one objective in this country," McCarthy wrote.
Republican Senator William E. Jenner defends his friend McCarthy on the floor of the Senate. The Library of Congress
He went on to imply that Sen. Watkins and the other members of the censure committee were dupes of the Communists. "I would have the American people recognize, and contemplate in dread, the fact that the Communist Party—a relatively small group of deadly conspirators—has now extended its tentacles to that most respected of American bodies, the United States Senate; that it has made a committee of the Senate its unwitting handmaiden."
Joe said he realized it was likely he would be censured. He followed that up with a loaded question. "As you vote 'aye' on this resolution I urge you to weigh carefully the question: who has really won by this vote of censure?" He concluded his remarks with a promise "to continue to serve the cause to which I have devoted my life, no matter what happens."
Joe did not deliver the speech in person, claiming he didn't have enough time. But he entered it into the Congressional Record, and it was published in full in the New York Times.
The following weekend, Joe and Jean, accompanied by Barry Goldwater, flew to Milwaukee to attend a testimonial dinner in Joe's honor. More than 1,500 guests interrupted his remarks with frequent applause, and at the end they serenaded him with a song specially composed for the occasion. It began, "Nobody's for McCarthy but the people, and we all love our Joe."
Afterward, reporters asked him how the censure resolution, if passed, would affect his political future. "Not at all," McCarthy replied. "I think I would not even be up for censure except for the fact that I am exposing Communists."
Back in Washington, Joe's speech accusing Sen. Watkins and his committee of being "unwitting handmaidens" of the Communists had aroused Watkins's ire. The senator made no attempt to conceal his feelings in a speech he delivered on November 16 as part of the ongoing debate. Watkins sharply criticized McCarthy for his false and insulting charges, and urged his fellow senators to add a section to the censure resolution denouncing them. Wallace Bennett, Utah's other senator and Watkins's longtime colleague, volunteered to introduce such an amendment immediately.
The next day, Joe checked himself into Bethesda Naval Hospital again. He told reporters he was suffering from a painful attack of bursitis in his right elbow. It had been caused, he said, when he bumped the elbow on the sharp edge of a table while shaking hands after the Milwaukee dinner. The Senate agreed to adjourn the debate until November 29, when Joe said he would be able to return. But the official Capitol physician checked with McCarthy's doctors to make sure his injury wasn't just a delaying tactic.
Congressional friends of Joe's, including Sen. Dirksen and Sen. Goldwater, visited him in the hospital. They pleaded with him to apologize to Sen. Watkins and several other senators who felt they had been insulted. If he'd just make that gesture—and extend an apology to those, like Gen. Zwicker, who were named in the charges—Joe's friends were confident the censure resolution could still be defeated. Sen. Dirksen had gone so far as to draft a letter of apology for Joe to consider sending.
Joe refused. He'd never yielded a point to anyone in what he saw as his personal crusade against Communism, and he wasn't about to start now. If he had to suffer for his beliefs, so be it. He'd rather stand by his guns than apologize to those he believed were helping the Reds. When Dirksen tried to give him the letter, Joe shoved it aside. "I will never let them think I would ever crawl," he said. And when Goldwater urged him not to be hasty, Joe threw a pen at him, let loose a stream of curses, and pounded on the bedside table with his good hand.
As promised, McCarthy returned to the Senate on November 29. His right arm was bandaged from wrist to elbow and supported by a sling. He surprised his senatorial friends and foes by requesting that debate on the resolution be cut short and a vote taken within two days. He said he was eager to get back to hunting subversives.
That evening, 13,000 people crowded into New York's Madison Square Garden for a rally in support of Joe. It was sponsored by Ten Million Americans Mobilized for Justice, the organization that was gathering the signatures of millions of Joe's supporters. McCarthy remained in Washington because of the hearings, but both Jean and her mother spoke on his behalf. So did many others, including Roy Cohn. "If the Senate votes to censure," Cohn warned, "it will be committing the blackest act in our whole history."
On the evening of December 2, 1954, after three more days of debate, the Senate voted 67–22 to condemn Senator Joseph R. McCarthy for "contempt and abuse" of both the Gillette-Hennings committee and the Watkins committee. The latter charge was the one Sen. Bennett of Utah had introduced just two weeks earlier at the urging of Sen. Watkins. All forty-four Democrats voted in favor of condemnation, while the Republicans were evenly divided. McCarthy himself simply voted "present."
Two things about the vote puzzled those who'd followed the debate closely. First, they questioned why the wording of the resolution was changed from "censure" to "condemn." Sen. Fulbright explained that the word "condemn" had been used in the last such resolution that had been adopted, back in 1929. "Actually," he said, "'condemn,' as I read it, is a more severe term tha
n 'censure.'"
Second, they asked why the charge regarding Joe's abuse of Gen. Zwicker had been dropped from the resolution without a vote being taken. Insiders offered various explanations, but the one that made the most sense to observers at the time concerned the general's connection to Irving Peress, the Army dentist accused of being a Communist. From the start of the censure process, the senators involved had excluded any examples of mistreatment arising from McCarthy's anti-Communist investigations. They were well aware that many innocent people had been abused during those inquiries. If the senators drew attention to these misdeeds, however, they feared they'd be labeled "Communist sympathizers," or worse. So in the end they limited themselves to cases in which Joe had belittled and demeaned his fellow senators.
Overcome by emotion, McCarthy wipes away tears while addressing a rally in his honor in Washington in 1954. The Library of Congress
When Joe left the Senate chamber after the vote, reporters crowded around to ask what he thought of the decision. "Well, it wasn't exactly a vote of confidence," he quipped.
27. "His Time to Die"
JOE MIGHT HAVE WEATHERED the censure easily. No formal punishment—no prison sentence or period of probation—was connected to it. Nor did it contain any criticism of his work as an anti-Communist investigator. There was no reason he couldn't have resumed his inquiry into suspected Communist subversion in defense plants where he had left off.
But he didn't, and his supporters wondered why. Always before, he had rebounded with renewed energy after a setback, but not this time. One evident reason for this was his loss of political power. When the Democrats took back control of Congress in January 1955, McCarthy had to hand over the chairmanship of his Government Operations Committee to the senior Democratic member of the committee, Senator John McClellan. No longer would Joe have the final say as to who or what was investigated.
That was by no means the only reason for McCarthy's retreat. He was terribly upset when President Eisenhower, who had made no comments during the censure hearings, invited Sen. Watkins to the White House for a friendly chat after the hearings had ended. Later, it was reported that the president had commended Watkins for his "very splendid job" as chairman. Although the press report didn't say so, it was also evident that Eisenhower was pleased with the Senate's verdict.
Joe had long suspected that Eisenhower was against him; now he was certain. He responded with some of his old fire, issuing a statement that probably did more harm to his own battered reputation than it did to the president. Joe apologized to his followers for having endorsed and campaigned for Eisenhower in 1952. He went on to charge the president with a "shrinking show of weakness" toward the whole issue of Communist subversion.
Eisenhower's press secretary, Jim Hagerty, responded by reminding the press and the public of a recent message from the president, enumerating all the Communists his administration had prosecuted. Hagerty added that the attorney general was at present bringing the figures up to date.
McCarthy probably expected to be rejected by the White House. But it's doubtful he anticipated the highly negative response his statement received in other quarters. The chairman of the Republican National Committee, Leonard Hall, said Joe had made "a great mistake." In his home state of Wisconsin, the Republican State Committee, after sharply criticizing Joe, praised Eisenhower for "working carefully, diligently, and aggressively to remove subversives from the government."
Some press outlets expressed doubts about Joe's mental health. The Chicago Sun-Times wondered if McCarthy had "taken temporary leave of his senses" when he attacked the president. The Rocky Mountain News of Denver was even blunter: "He has simply blown his stack."
In the days that followed, the president gave a dinner for departing committee chairmen and failed to invite Joe, making clear to McCarthy that he would no longer be welcome at the White House. Later, Joe was one of three Republican senators who, the president publicly announced, could not be counted on to support the party's legislative program.
McCarthy told friends that he wasn't hurt by these slights, only amused. But his behavior revealed him to be in a deep depression. He rose late in the morning, and he failed to show up for many Senate proceedings. When aides sought him out, they'd find him at home, usually with a drink in hand, watching soap operas on television. On the days he did go to his Senate office, he often refused to take phone calls, even from close associates.
Most senators concern themselves with more than one issue, as Joe had done when he'd first arrived in Washington. But since the Wheeling speech, McCarthy had gradually devoted almost all his energy and drive to fighting Communism. Now the Senate, by censuring him and then depriving him of his power base on the Government Operations Committee, had in effect told him he was no longer needed. And he didn't know what to do.
Jean tried to cheer up her husband. She assembled his Marine medals and anti-Communist awards and displayed them in a corner of the living room, where he couldn't help but see them. She read aloud articles in the press that praised him and assured him that his reputation was bound to be restored. Joe had begun to talk vaguely of retiring, but Jean, claiming that the country needed him, urged Joe to announce that he planned to run for reelection to the Senate in 1958.
Buoyed by Jean, McCarthy did make a last attempt to assert himself on the anti-Communist issue. In the spring of 1955, President Eisenhower agreed to join the leaders of Britain and France in discussions with the new leaders of the Soviet Union, Khrushchev and Bulganin. This summit conference, as it was called, would take place in June in Geneva, Switzerland. Not much in the way of formal agreement was expected from the meeting. The leaders simply wanted to exchange views and take the measure of one another two years after the death of Stalin.
Joe and some other ultraconservative Republicans bitterly opposed the president's attendance at the conference. They argued that he shouldn't even talk with the Soviet leaders until the Soviet Union had changed its aggressive ways. In an attempt to prevent Eisenhower from going, Joe introduced a resolution in the Senate. It declared that the president would not take part unless the conference agenda included a full discussion of the so-called captive nations of Eastern Europe—Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and the rest—which the Soviet Union had dominated since World War II. Joe and his cohorts knew that the Soviet Union would never agree to such a discussion. As a result, the conference would inevitably be called off, and President Eisenhower would be embarrassed for ever having agreed to attend it.
McCarthy and his colleagues misread the temper of the times, however. A majority of Americans had gradually changed their view of the cold war. The very real possibility of a nuclear conflict loomed as a far greater threat than subversion, and the need to find ways to prevent such a catastrophe through diplomacy became more urgent. Consequently, most Americans favored exploratory meetings like the Geneva summit.
So did their representatives in government. Even as staunch an anti-Communist as Richard Nixon advised President Eisenhower not to take Joe's resolution seriously. He didn't—and neither did the Senate. When the resolution came up for a vote in that body, it went down to crushing defeat by a vote of 77–4. Afterward, Eisenhower made a remark to associates that was widely quoted in Washington and beyond. "It's no longer McCarthyism," the president said. "It's McCarthywasm."
Joe's self-confidence suffered another severe blow when the media stopped paying attention to him. From his days as a young judge in Wisconsin, he had thrived on publicity. Along the way, he had mastered the art of self-promotion, inflating his wartime record in the South Pacific, manipulating the press at every step in his political rise, and getting front-page coverage for his anti-Communist investigations. Now, suddenly, no one was interested in what he had to say.
Joe began to take part in even fewer Senate sessions. And he began to drink more heavily. By the summer of 1956, his drinking had become so severe that he was forced to enter the Bethesda Naval Hospital for detoxification. Jean covered up
for him by telling reporters he was being treated for an old knee injury he had suffered on Guadalcanal.
McCarthy played almost no part in local or national campaigns during the presidential election of 1956. When he sent letters offering his help to all the Republican candidates in Wisconsin who were running that fall, only one candidate responded positively. Joe spoke on his behalf at a tavern-restaurant in the Milwaukee suburb of West Allis before a disappointingly small audience. It was a far cry from the Wisconsin audiences of thousands who had come to applaud Joe during his reelection campaign just two years earlier.
Joe and Jean stopped off in Appleton while they were in Wisconsin. One evening, after a day of steady drinking, McCarthy suffered an attack of delirium tremens, a kind of seizure, at the home of Urban Van Susteren. In front of Jean and his friends, he crouched down on the living-room floor, screaming that he was being surrounded by snakes. Later, after Joe had calmed down, Jean tearfully confided to Van Susteren that her husband was suffering from severe liver damage. She said his doctors had warned him the condition could be fatal if he didn't stop drinking.
Jean had long wanted to have a child, and the McCarthys had been trying to adopt one for several years. Finally, with the help of their friend Francis Cardinal Spellman of New York, they obtained a five-week-old girl from the New York Foundling Hospital in January 1957. They named her Tierney Elizabeth after her two grandmothers: Tierney was Joe's mother's maiden name, and Elizabeth was the name of Jean's mother.
Francis Cardinal Spellman. The National Archives
Joe was entranced by his baby daughter, and Jean told friends she hoped and prayed his upbeat mood would last. It didn't. By early April, on a visit by himself to Wisconsin, Joe was again drinking heavily. His friend Steve Swedish visited him at his Milwaukee hotel. He looked ill, Swedish said later, and seemed to stagger as he moved about the room. Leaning toward Swedish, he said in a low voice that he was being persecuted by Communists who called him constantly on the phone. "They're murdering me!" Joe said urgently.
The Rise and Fall of Senator Joe McCarthy Page 26