Wallace

by Marshall Frady

  Reid observed, in reference to the army of state troopers outside the capitol, “Governor, you got quite a crowd out there this morning.”

  “Have we?” murmured Wallace. “Well, I don't know, I came up the back way…” Wallace then notified Kennedy that he was taking the precaution of taping their confidential discussion, and would furnish the Attorney General's office with a copy. “We might wanna save this conversation for pos terity….”

  Kennedy replied in his almost shy, flat, fast voice, like the twanging of a rubber band, “I don't know anybody who would want to listen to it.”

  There were light laughs all around, and a chuckle from Wallace. “I expect you're correct. I doubt it.” After a pause, Wallace said, his voice a little louder, “This is a fine city. Hope yawl enjoy your visit here.” His tone was easy, idle, casual, as if he were merely a Barbour County boy chatting with fellows on some street corner, though his enunciation had assumed a certain careful and studied preciseness. But he waited, passively, almost luxuriously, for Kennedy to extend himself.

  “I just came by to pay my respects to you as governor of the state,” said Kennedy.

  “Well, we're glad to have you in Alabama,” Wallace allowed. “We feel like we're the courtesy capital of the nation, and so if you want to pay a courtesy visit, this is the courtesy capital of the country-” and he suddenly asked, “That right, Eddie?”-the first of several small moments in which he gave Reid a tactical, psychological tug toward his side, though Reid had accompanied Kennedy to help him explain his position. “That's right, governor,” said Reid.

  After another awkward little pause, Wallace said, “This is the Alabama flag over there. This is the governor's flag, I beg your pardon. Of course, this is the Stars and Bars, and that's the state flag over there. You all know what the American flag is. We all recognize that…” He cleared his throat.

  “This is a beautiful office,” offered Reid.

  “This is not as ornate as some offices at all,” Wallace hastily protested. “The mansion at Mississippi is the most magnificent thing I've ever seen. They got twenty-nine rooms in it, spent a million dollars or something renovating it last year. It's a landmark. Eighteen-thirty-nine was when it was built…”

  Reduced to hopeless triviality, Kennedy said, “This is a terrific-looking building.” From a corner, Trammell whispered reverentially, “Yes… Yes…”

  This tortured patter lasted approximately five minutes, ending in a final long pause. Abruptly, clearing his throat, Kennedy delicately proposed, “I don't know whether we might discuss the problem that we are perhaps facing here in the state in connection with the integration-”

  “I don't hear good,” said Wallace.

  Kennedy raised his voice just a notch higher. “I said, I don't know whether you would care to discuss the problem we might face here in the state in connection with the integration of the university … and perhaps the …”

  For Wallace, it was an almost sensuous moment of triumph, a soft small warm inward explosion of glee and gratification which he sought to prolong as long as possible. “Well, uh, of course, in other words, your telegram said you wanted to come by and see me. Of course, I assumed that you would decide what to discuss, and that's up to you…”

  “It was primarily a courtesy visit, governor, but I don't- I mean, it's up-I would be glad to discuss this matter. I think it might be helpful, but I think it's completely up to you, whether-I'm here as your guest, and I just-”

  “Well,” said Wallace, “that's-that's the reason, you're here as my guest. I thought I would leave that up to you as to what you want to discuss.”

  “Fine. Well, then, I think we might discuss that.”

  Exquisitely, Wallace inquired, “You want to discuss that?”

  “That'd be fine,” said Kennedy with what seemed considerable relief.

  “Well, uh, what-you have anything-?”

  “Well, I just thought that-perhaps I'd just explain our position that, uh-that, uh-I would hope that all of these matters could be handled at a local level… without any outside influences at all. I have a responsibility that goes beyond integration and segregation to enforce the law of the land, and to ensure court orders are obeyed… If you were in my position, you would do no less…”

  Wallace, insisting that he made a commitment in his campaign to resist the integration of any school in Alabama with “a legal course of action,” said that it was up to the governor of a state to ensure the welfare and safekeeping of his state, and “you just can't have any peace in Alabama with an integrated school system.”

  Kennedy snapped, “You think it would be so horrifying to have a Negro attend the University of Alabama, governor?”

  “Well, I think it's horrifying for the federal courts and the central government to rewrite all the law and force upon the people that which they don't want, yes… I will never myself submit voluntarily to any integration of any school system in Alabama. And I feel it's in the best interests of the country and Alabama, and everybody concerned, that these matters ought to be-attempts ought to be-at least, delayed. In fact, there is no time in my judgment when we will be ready for it-in my lifetime, at least. Certainly not at this time.”

  By now Kennedy seemed to have the growing suspicion, the growing realization that, in this office confronting Wallace and Trammell, with the lawn outside swarming with state troopers, he was actually in another country. But he persisted. “It transcends, as I say, the question of segregation or integration or anything like that. If the orders of the court can be disobeyed by you, governor-in all respect to you and your position then they can be disobeyed by anybody throughout the United States who doesn't happen to think that a particular law of a federal court applies to them, or feels it's not the kind of law that would be good for them. I don't know what you would have other than complete havoc and lawlessness throughout the United States if that philosophy is accepted.”

  “Well, let me say this,” declared Wallace, “we have more peace and law and order in Alabama in one minute than you have an entire year up in Washington, D.C. And that's the place where-you can't maintain law and order in a sort of system that exists, for instance, like you have in Washington. I believe that we should obey the law, but I also feel”-he clamorously cleared his throat, and then spat, presumably into the wastebas-ket beside his desk-“that the governor of a sovereign state has the right to-” At this point, a secretary stuck her head through the door to inquire cheerfully if she could get anyone anything. Wallace grunted, “Yawl want anything?”

  “I might have a Coke,” said Kennedy.

  Orders were quickly taken all around, and then Kennedy resumed. “I think we've got a lot of problems in Washington, D.C, governor-no question of that. I think a lot of it arises out of the fact that we have difficulty between the races. I think we have problems in Chicago, my own city of Boston…There's a feeling between whites and Negroes, I think-”

  Wallace interrupted, his voice quiet and hurried. “We don't have that problem here, though. We have safety and peace and goodwill, and there's no place in Montgomery, Alabama, or Birmingham that you cannot walk at night-white or colored section… But you can't do that in Washington. You can't do that in Chicago, or Philadelphia. We think that too much politics is involved in it. We people feel that eventually this whole effort is going to bring a breakdown between the races.”

  Kennedy began speaking at a faster and higher clip, with a mixture of urgency and despair. “I don't know how politics really gets into it, governor, because we don't have any control over the fact that somebody's going to come here to the University of Alabama… Just let me give you an example. I never heard of Mr. Meredith, governor, until-”

  “Who?” said Wallace, cupping his hand behind his ear- another immemorial little tactic of countrymen in debate.

  “Mr. Meredith at the University of Mississippi,” said Kennedy. “f never heard of him until three weeks or four weeks before we had the difficulty there. I couldn't
tell you for the life of me the names of anybody that's gone to this University of Alabama-”

  “I imagine you're sorry you ever heard of him, frankly,” Wallace murmured deliciously. “I would think that, uh … well, I also think that in the Mississippi matter, if you want to just get right down to it, there were more civil-rights violations in Mississippi as a result of the troops shooting at students and the gassing of students and search and seizures… They opened people's suitcases and belongin's, they had colored troops stop-pin' white women and searchin' their belongings, and there was no martial law declared … Why, the courts are so disrespected here in our part of the country, that it's the popular thing to defame the courts…”

  Kennedy's voice had sunk to almost a whisper. “I would say to you that probably the most painful thing the President has to do or might do, and that President Kennedy did, is to use troops in any of these matters. I think the matter can be handled at a local level, and South Carolina indicated that, Georgia indicated that.”

  Wallace replied a bit hotly, “Well, let me say this-we don't want you to be under any misapprehensions or misconceptions of our attitudes. I am not, as the governor of this state, going to use the courts of the state to integrate any institution. And Alabama is just different from South Carolina in that respect. I'm sure they had their reasons for no more legal resistance than they made, but that will not be the case in this state…”

  Kennedy finally snapped, “Would you get angry if your orders were not obeyed? Did you when you were judge? Did you care?”

  “Did I care?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don't recall any were ever disobeyed…”

  “Oh? What would your reaction be if they did disobey?”

  “If they did what?”

  “Disobeyed your orders.”

  “Well-of course, you are assuming that my actions as contemplated would be an outright disobedience of a court order…”

  “Ultimately, after that's litigated, governor, will you follow the orders of the court?”

  “I will never submit to an order of the federal court ordering the integration of the school system…”

  “How would you feel if your orders were not obeyed?”

  “It's not an analogous situation-”

  “But don't you think it's fundamental?”

  “-because we're dealing in great constitutional questions in this matter…”

  Wallace was rescued by the fortuitous appearance of the coffee and Coke. As they were being passed around, Reid said, “One thing that Mr. Kennedy was talking about coming up here, he doesn't know whether he wants to say anything to the press. He thinks it ought to be left up to you whatever is said to the press.”

  “Well,” said Wallace, “I think that-I think that whatever Mr. Kennedy wants to do about that-I mean, I can't tell- these Washington folks won't listen to me about anything-” He sniggered, and there was a general round of laughter.

  “No, we'll listen to you,” said Kennedy, and then, rapidly, as if striking at what he recognized as a psychologically propitious moment, he announced, “I think the President will be down here. He's going to come to the state in the next few weeks-I don't think that he's disclosed it yet, perhaps we could keep it among ourselves. I would hope that you would have the opportunity to see him.”

  But Wallace answered cautiously, “I know the President. He doesn't know me, he's met so many people just like I met 'em in the campaign for governor, but I carried him to the airport once in fifty-seven… I voted for him in the national convention for Vice-President. In fact, we defeated Kefauver in the Alabama delegation. In 1960 I spoke wherever I was called upon to speak within this state for the party-”

  Reid interrupted to mention that Wallace had raised money for the national Democratic ticket in that campaign, and Wallace hastily added, “Didn't raise much, but I gave two hundred and fifty dollars myself, I think it was, I'm not sure of the amount, maybe that may be a-anyway, that's not much.” It had probably occurred to him that the tape recorder was still quietly twirling over in the corner. “But I raised one thousand dollars in my little rural county.”

  “Yes, I heard you were very good,” Kennedy remarked dryly. “I have read indications that that's not going to be true in 1964.”

  “What's that?” Wallace said-of all his Barbour County devices in debate, this is his fondest.

  Somewhat louder, Kennedy said, “I have read indications that that's not going to be true in 1964.”

  “Well, let me say this, I-uh-I do feel that both national parties are beginning to consider the attitudes of people in our section of the country. I feel that we've been kicked around by both parties, and especially by our own national Democratic party…”

  Finally Kennedy murmured, “Well, uh, governor, I just say we're going to enforce the orders of the court for the reasons I've stated, because I think it gets to the integrity of the whole system. No matter what the political ramifications or the political losses, I don't think we have any choice…”

  Wallace now seemed to sense Kennedy's weariness. Suddenly he ventured, “I think you could use your influence, though, and in Washington or the Justice Department, because the NAACP and all these groups feel that you people”-he paused again to spit into the wastebasket-“are almost gods,” He gave a brief, barely audible snigger. “I believe you could exert some influence on them. This business of marching, the registration, this business of registration suits-every registration suit that's filed does the Kennedy administration no good because it-all you're doing is making the white people solidify for whatever efforts they're going to make politically in the future…”

  “I think everybody in the United States should be permitted to register and vote, governor,” said Kennedy. “We never come in-I mean, I'm-I mean-” There was almost a desperate and pleading tone in his voice: “I'm in favor of states' rights. I'm in favor of the people, and-and the President is, and this administration is, trying to get people to make these decisions, remedy the situations themselves.”

  “But you might give 'em some time,” came a voice from offside. It was Seymore Trammell, the governor's finance director. A taut, quick, brisk little man with a quick, tight grin full of round little teeth, a cap of sandy wiry hair kept closely cropped, and shell-rim glasses which, when reflecting the light, stamp a certain opaque blankness over his face, he is given to wearing dark pinstripe suits with white ties and glossy shirts, and his movements have the abrupt sharp quality of a mechanical toy. His voice is clipped, harshly flat, and savage; it sounds somewhat like the gnashing of teeth. Of all Wallace's aides, he seems the readiest, the most eager, to reduce all confrontations to the terms of a street rumble. “But you might give 'em some time” he said, his tone faintly agonized and squeezed.

  “We do,” said Kennedy.

  “Maybe in a year,” persisted Trammell softly, “maybe in five years, maybe ten years-”

  “What, permit somebody to register to vote?” Kennedy's voice was suddenly sharp. It seemed that, after carefully restraining himself with Wallace, these hisses from the side of the road had finally caused his patience to snap.

  “In view of what the overall circumstances are, looking at it objectively,” Trammell continued, “the inflammatory nature of it, and how it'll upset the-”

  “Now, the governor said that he thinks everybody should be able to register to vote-”

  “I do,” insisted Trammell. “I do. And the governor does … so we would educate 'em accordingly.”

  “Would you keep a Negro college professor from registering to vote in an election for five years?” Kennedy demanded.

  “I certainly-I wouldn't want to myself, nor would the governor want to,” said Trammell. He seemed to realize now that he had eased himself in too close to Kennedy. “And I think it can be worked out on the local level without intervention.”

  “Well, that's what we try to do, we go to the local level,” asserted Kennedy.

  Wallace, stepping i
n to extricate Trammell, said quickly, “Well, about the integration matter. Of course, I understand your position and I-I'm sure you understand mine, and it looks like we may wind up in court.”

  Kennedy's voice was soft again. “As long as we wind up in court, I'll be happy, governor. That's all I ask… I just don't want it to get into the streets. I don't want to have another Oxford, Mississippi; that's all I ask.”

  “I don't want another Mississippi myself,” said Wallace, “but you folks are the ones that will control the matter.” And then, as an idle, fleeting lure, he added, “Because you have control of the troops.”

  “We have a responsibility to ensure that the orders of the court are followed, and all the force behind the federal government must be used for that purpose.”

  It was like the snapping of a trap. “I know that. I know you're going to use all the force of the federal government. In fact, what you're telling me today is that if necessary, you're going to bring troops into Alabama.”

  “No,” said Kennedy, “I didn't say that, governor.”

  “You didn't? Well, you said all the force of the federal government.”

  “To make sure that the orders of the court are obeyed.” Kennedy's voice was low and anxious as he began to realize what had happened.

  “But all the force includes the troops, doesn't it?”

  “Well, I would hope that would stay in the courts and be litigated.”

  “But it does involve troops if the law is not obeyed?”

  “I'm planning and hoping that the law will be obeyed.”

  “But I mean,” insisted Wallace, “so if it's not in your interpretation of obedience, you will use troops?”

  Kennedy repeated that he hoped the court order would be honored.

  “But you gonna use all the power of the federal government, which involves troops-”