The Path to Power

by Robert A. Caro

  AND MONEY was what they got.

  On Sunday, October 27, Sam Rayburn and Lyndon Johnson met with Franklin Roosevelt at the White House. The youngest of the three men reported that eighty-two Democratic Congressmen were in tight contests in which additional financial help—perhaps $1,000 per man—might be decisive. According to a summary of the conversation that Johnson wrote the next day, Roosevelt said that the Democratic National Committee should give the Congressional Campaign Committee at least $50,000 to distribute in these key districts. Johnson relayed his analysis of the situation—along with the President’s message—to Rayburn’s contact at the Democratic National Committee headquarters at the Biltmore, Swagar Sherley.

  Dear Mr. Sherley:

  Unless we are resigned to sizable losses in the House membership which may mean loss of control, the 82 men listed on the attached memo should receive financial help immediately.

  If you will notice, 1,000 is to be given to each member unless otherwise designated. …

  If you could get Ed Flynn to give the Democratic Congressional Committee 50 thousand tomorrow, I will raise the additional 26 [sic] necessary and tomorrow night will get out the funds according to the memo. …

  The Boss said in his conference with the Speaker and me yesterday that he thought the Committee should get us at least 50 thousand in order to save this situation.

  Excuse this hurried note because we are working day and night and am about to go out.

  Sincerely,

  Lyndon B. Johnson

  The money from the Democratic National Committee was not forthcoming, so Johnson raised his own. He went to his original source, obtaining substantial new sums from Brown & Root. (Charles Marsh also sent money, perhaps only the $5,000 a week collected by Mary Louise Glass, perhaps more—it is impossible to be certain because Marsh’s money was collected and distributed not by the Congressional Committee but through channels that Marsh arranged and no written record whatsoever of these transactions has been found.) And he went to his new source, working it this time not through Rayburn but by himself. Oilman W. W. Lechner of Dallas was in Washington, staying at the Mayflower Hotel. On October 29, Johnson spoke with him, and Lechner gave him a check for $1,500. On that same day, another $1,500 check arrived in the mail, from oilman Jack Frost of Dallas, who sent a note: “All of us down here want to see Hatton Sumners hold his position at the head of the Judiciary Committee. It would be a shame if Texas lost its chairmanship of this and other powerful committees.” D. F. Strickland of Mission, Texas, a powerful Austin lobbyist—and an oilman—sent Johnson a money order for $1,000 also with a message: “I am particularly interested in reelecting a Democratic House so that my friends Lyndon Johnson, Sam Rayburn, Hatton Sumners, Milton West and other Texas congressmen may retain their present positions of honor and influence in the House.” C. W. Murchison, First National Bank Building, Dallas, sent $5,000. Toddie L. Wynne, First National Bank Building, Dallas, sent $5,000. If the pipeline for political oil money from Texas had been opened two weeks before, Monday, October 28, 1940, was the date the flow was stepped up. How much money gushed up from Dallas on that date cannot be determined, because some never passed through the Congressional Campaign Committee, but was distributed, at Johnson’s instructions, by others. But on Tuesday, October 29, one week before the election, the anxious Congressmen received a telegram from Lyndon Johnson:

  AM ATTEMPTING TO GET ADDITIONAL HELP FOR CONGRESSIONAL COMMITTEE IN ORDER THAT WE CAN GIVE YOU MORE FINANCIAL ASSISTANCE. IF VERY URGENT WIRE ME TODAY ABSOLUTE MINIMUM AND DEADLINE.

  A week to go—less than a week. There was desperation in those yellow envelopes now. THERE IS NO ABSOLUTE MINIMUM, George B. Kelly of Rochester wired. ANYTHING WILL HELP THE FIGHT AGAINST ODDS, VERY URGENT. Snatching the envelopes from the messengers, Henderson or Connally would read: WE NEED FUNDS AND NEED THEM BADLY, IMPERATIVE. ANY AMOUNT. Or WE ARE SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS BEHIND NOW WITH MORE EXPENSE TO COME. ABSOLUTE MINIMUM NECESSARY $350. Or APPROXIMATELY TEN THOUSAND MAJORITY FOR WILLKIE IN MY DISTRICT. MORE MONEY NEEDED. Or LYNDON URGENTLY NEED AT LEAST FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS BY SATURDAY. WOULD ESTIMATE FIFTEEN THOUSAND MAJORITY FOR NATIONAL TICKET IF OPPOSITION MONEY DOES NOT INCREASE OVER WEEKEND. Or LYNDON SITUATION IN DANGER HERE. … REALLY BELIEVE DISTRICT MAY BE IN TROUBLE DUE TO HEAVY REPUBLICAN EXPENDITURES. ANY SUM WOULD BE MUCH APPRECIATED. COULD USE $1,000. PROSPECTS AND MAJORITY UNCERTAIN.

  Some telegraphed repeatedly. Two wires arrived from the new Congressman from Washington’s Second District. Henry M. (“Scoop”) Jackson, elected just a few months before in a special election, saw danger that his career would be over almost before it had begun. SLIGHT SHIFT MY DISTRICT TO REPUBLICANS. … THIS WILL BE CRUCIAL WEEK. MY ELECTION WILL BE CLOSE. HAVE RECEIVED NO ASSISTANCE FROM DEMOCRATIC NATIONAL COMMITTEE. PLEASE WIRE ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS. When he did not receive an immediate reply, Jackson wired again: ABSOLUTE MINIMUM $750 NECESSARY IMMEDIATELY. … MY RACE EXTREMELY CLOSE. AM ONLY NEW CONGRESSMAN IN STATE. NEED FUNDS NOW. PERSONAL CREDIT EXHAUSTED. WIRE ANSWER. Petrie’s 11,000 pieces of mail had been set in type, but the $350 which would enable him to mail them, the $350 for which he had asked Johnson, had not arrived. He sent another telegram: ANXIOUSLY AWAITING REPLY.

  Some of his fellow Congressmen were trying frantically to get Lyndon Johnson on the telephone. J. Buell Snyder spoke to one of his secretaries, and her report of his message was to the point: “In trouble. Needs help.” Lenhardt E. Bauer of Indiana sent a wire at 1:37 p.m. on October 30: PLEASE CONTACT ME ON TELEPHONE EARLIEST POSSIBLE MOMENT. MUST TALK TO YOU. … When, four hours later, he had not heard from Johnson, he sent another telegram: NEED FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS STILL MUST TALK TO YOU.

  In far-off Washington State, Martin Smith had been running hard, but time for him to make up the ground he had lost because of Congress’ late recess was running out—and he feared he was still behind. Lewis County was his district’s most rock-bed Republican territory, but picking up votes there was his best hope. On the twenty-eighth Smith left for Lewis—with a bullhorn; during the next three days, he was planning to address rallies and speak informally in the county’s little towns. But Smith was afraid that, run as hard as he could, he would not be able to reach enough voters with a bullhorn to pull this race out. He could reach more by radio, and had reserved radio time on all five stations in his district, but FCC regulations required that radio time be paid for in advance. He had reserved space for last-minute ads in the district’s daily newspapers—but they had to be paid for, too. Johnson had done so much for him, but what he had done wasn’t enough. Leaving for Lewis County, Smith wired him: IMPERATIVE EVERY EFFORT BE MADE TO FURTHER ASSIST ME. Then, on the twenty-ninth Johnson’s telegram arrived at his headquarters in Hoquiam. Tracking the Congressman down by telephone, his secretary, Robert A. Leroux, read him Johnson’s telegram, and Smith told Leroux to reply: MINIMUM SHOULD BE FIVE HUNDRED AND DEADLINE SATURDAY. And the secretary added a sentence showing how hard his boss was fighting—and how much he needed Johnson’s help. HAVE JUST SUCCEEDED IN CONTACTING CONGRESSMAN SMITH BY LONG DISTANCE AT ONALASKA LEWIS COUNTY WHERE HE’S HOLDING MASS MEETING WITH LOUD SPEAKER ONE OF TWELVE MEETINGS TODAY IN THIS STRONG REPUBLICAN COUNTY.

  Henderson and Connally summarized, state by state, each candidate who replied, the amount he needed, and any additional information he furnished. Lyndon Johnson sat down with this list, and in the left-hand margin wrote the amount each man was to receive.

  He wasn’t wasting his money. A candidate’s assessment of his chances was discreetly checked and rechecked through other sources; evaluations of the races in Illinois’ twenty-five districts, for example, were telephoned to Johnson by the dean of the state’s congressional delegation, Adolph J. Sabath, chairman of the House Rules Committee. If a report said that the candidate had a good chance to win, the candidate got his money. Assistant Secretary of Agriculture Grover Hill, on a speechmaking tour through rural districts, reported from Kansas’ Fifth that, although the race was close, Democr
at incumbent John M. Houston “has good chance to win.” Houston had responded to Johnson’s telegram by asking for $300; that was what he got. But if a report was highly unfavorable, so was Johnson’s response; Noel P. Fox, Democratic candidate in Michigan’s Ninth District, told Johnson that he was leading by 1,500 votes, but Johnson knew better (Fox in fact was to lose by 12,000); “None,” he wrote next to Fox’s name. Other considerations might also influence Johnson’s response. Montana incumbent James F. O’Connor, who was running well ahead in his district, had apparently antagonized someone in Washington. Johnson had promised him a contribution on the twenty-fourth, but had not sent it, and now O’Connor asked for $300. OPPOSITION USING …LOT OF MONEY TO ELECT REPUBLICAN IN MY PLACE, he said. IF HAVE HELP SURE CAN WIN. “None,” Johnson wrote next to O’Connor’s name. “Out.”

  Many of the candidates who responded received less than they had requested. Thomas R. Brooks telephoned the Munsey Building, telling one of Johnson’s staff that he had a “slight edge,” and said a scheduled election-eve visit to his heavily Norwegian district in Wisconsin by the Ambassador to Norway might pull him through—if he received money as well. He asked for $2,000, then lowered his request to $1,000 and, as the staffer noted, “finally came down to $500.” Then he sent a wire: WHATEVER YOU CAN DO. “$250,” Johnson wrote next to his name. C. Arthur Anderson, who “said he is in midst of a tough fight,” had asked for $350. Receiving no immediate answer, he telephoned Johnson and reduced his request to $200. “$150,” Johnson wrote beside his name.

  Others did not fare that well. Francis T. Murphy said he had a “50–50” chance. He could win, he said, “by getting vote to polls in key wards,” but money was needed to accomplish that. “None,” Johnson wrote next to Murphy’s name. C. H. Armbruster of Ohio asked for $1,000, but said he would take less; “urgent,” he said. “None,” Johnson wrote. “$ 1,000 would be a lifesaver,” George W. Wolf wrote. “Two counties hold fate. … Hard battle.” None.

  Johnson’s decision to cut off some candidates was not due to lack of funds. Most of the candidates who replied received at least a substantial portion of the amount they had requested. Scoop Jackson got $500 of the $750 he had requested, George B. Kelly $350 of the $400 for which he had asked. Some got all they had asked for. Rogers had asked for $500; “O.K.,” Johnson wrote next to his name, “$500.” Mitchell got his $600, Lee Guyer the $200 which enabled him to pay the printer. Some got more than they had requested—Myers of Pennsylvania $700 instead of the $500 for which he had asked, for example; Havenner of California $1,250—and in other instances Johnson did not wait for a candidate’s request, but pressed funds upon him. J. Joseph Smith of Connecticut received a Johnson check—and the next day, November 2, a Johnson telegram: IF I CAN BE OF FURTHER HELP TO YOU IN THE LAST MINUTE RUSH, LET ME KNOW. Some, in fact, were given so much money that they asked Johnson to stop sending it. Michael Kirwan, who had told John McCormack on October 18 that he was “hard-pressed for money,” had since received so much from Johnson—$200 on October 17, $500 on October 21, $350 more on October 24 (and these, of course, are only the contributions of which there is a written record)—that he replied to Johnson’s telegram of the twenty-ninth by thanking him for “your offer of further assistance” but adding, “However, I believe I have sufficient to see me through.” Charles H. Leavy of Washington had written on his questionnaire that he didn’t need money; “Think I will be able to handle situation without outside help,” he had said. Johnson had sent him $600 nonetheless. Now Johnson asked him how much more he needed—and Leavy replied by sending him a gift: a box of State of Washington apples.

  ELECTION DAY. The day on which information—early information—was most precious, because a candidate, his fate riding on the ballots, is impatient for an early indication of a trend; because if he learns early enough that the vote is close, a last-minute effort to get out his voters can be mounted or intensified; and because, in states in which some portion of the vote is controlled (Illinois, with its controlled Republican votes in down-state counties and its controlled Democratic votes in Cook County, was a prime example), early information is helpful in preparing for the necessary late adjustment in the figures.

  Washington’s new source of information had geared up for Election Day. Sending out on October 29 his request for information on their finances to 175 Congressmen across the country, Lyndon Johnson had added a request for other information—early returns not only on their own races but on Franklin D. Roosevelt’s—and (“if you do everything …”) had followed that up in later telegrams, including one on the day itself.

  He had let the White House know he would have information for it. Rowe already knew, of course, but as Rowe himself puts it, Johnson “never did anything through just one person.” He was not well acquainted with Missy LeHand, and this was an excuse to communicate with her. He wired her that IF I FEEL THE INFORMATION IS OF SUFFICIENT INTEREST I WILL TAKE THE LIBERTY TO CALL THE PRESIDENT. FOR THAT REASON I AM LETTING YOU KNOW IN ADVANCE OF MY PLAN.

  The information for which he had asked arrived—early, as he had asked. By 2:47 p.m. on Election Day, the first flash was in from Detroit. MICHIGAN FIRST DISTRICT VOTING HEAVY INDICATES BETTERING PREVIOUS DEMOCRATIC MAJORITY, Tenerowicz reported. By late afternoon, Western Union messengers were racing to the third floor of the Munsey Building in a steady stream. Other news came over the telephone; James Shanley of Connecticut telephoned at 6:45 because, as he was to write, “I certainly wanted to give you the first news in Washington.”

  In the evening, the telegrams bore hard news. The first telegrams from other Detroit districts were less optimistic than Tenerowicz’s: the figures in the initial communication from Representative George D. O’Brien were close—too close (104 PRECINCTS OUT OF 222 … O’BRIEN 28,700, MCLEOD 24,769), but just twenty-four minutes later, O’Brien could dictate another wire (140 DISTRICTS OUT OF 222 … O’BRIEN 39,797, MCLEOD 28,586). Some of the telegrams were tinged with jubilation as well as gratitude. Edouard Izac’s last pre-election wire had told Johnson: ROOSEVELT SHOULD WIN BY 10,000 … MY PROSPECTS DOUBTFUL, but on election night, the wire from California said: APPARENTLY WINNING BY APPROXIMATELY 8,000. THANKS. … Some were not. John G. Green, who had thought up to the last minute that he might beat out incumbent Republican Bernard J. Gehrmann, wired: GEHRMANN APPARENTLY REELECTED, DAMN TIRED. At 2:37 a.m., a single brief line arrived from Ernest M. Miller in Harlan, Iowa: PRESENT PARTIAL RETURNS INDICATE MY DECISIVE DEFEAT. Jubilant or dejected, however, the telegrams, taken together, added up to a great deal of information.

  On the evening of Election Day, Johnson wasn’t at the Munsey Building, but at the spacious Georgetown home of Jim Rowe’s brother-in-law, Alfred Friendly, where a crowded election-night party was in progress. His staff, back at the Munsey Building, was taking the reports as they came in, and telephoning them to Johnson there. Many more reports came in than Johnson had expected so early in the evening, and he telephoned Walter Jenkins and told him to come out to Friendly’s house. Jenkins was installed in a bedroom, where he sat on the bed tabulating the incoming information.

  Johnson and Rowe bantered back and forth throughout the evening in the easy and—then—quite close camaraderie that existed between them. They had several wagers—twenty-five cents each, as befitted two young men with no money to spare—riding on the returns. Rowe, reflecting the prevalent Washington thinking on the likely outcome of the congressional elections, had bet that the Democrats would lose at least thirty seats in the House; Johnson had bet that the Democrats would lose less than thirty. And the two tall young men, both in their early thirties, also bet on several individual races, while they waited for a call from Hyde Park.

  For some hours, no call came.

  In the house above the Hudson, crowded with family and friends, the President sat at the dining-room table, with news tickers clattering nearby and big tally sheets and a row of freshly sharpened pencils lined up in front of him.

  “At first,” as Burns
has written in an unforgettable scene, “the President was calm and businesslike. The early returns were mixed. Morgenthau, nervous and fussy, bustled in and out of the room. Suddenly Mike Reilly, the President’s bodyguard, noticed that Roosevelt had broken into a heavy sweat. Something in the returns had upset him. It was the first time Reilly had ever seen him lose his nerve.

  “‘Mike,’ Roosevelt said suddenly. ‘I don’t want to see anybody in here.’

  “‘Including your family, Mr. President?’

  “‘I said anybody,’ Roosevelt answered in a grim tone.”

  As the news tickers clattered feverishly, Franklin Roosevelt sat before his charts with his jacket off, his tie pulled down, his shirt clinging damply to his big shoulders. “Was this the end of it all?” Burns writes. “Better by far not to have run for office again than to go down to defeat now.” Would his enemies beat him at last, “and write his epitaph in history as a power-grasping dictator rebuked by a free people? … In the little black numbers marching out of the ticker, not only Roosevelt but the whole New Deal was on trial. … Still Willkie ran strong. Disappointing first returns were coming in from New York. … The ash dropped from the cigarette; Mike Reilly stood stolidly outside the door. Was this the end …?

  “Then there was a stir throughout the house. Slowly but with gathering force, the numbers on the charts started to shift their direction. Reports arrived of a great surge of Roosevelt strength. … By now Roosevelt was smiling again, the door was opened, and in came family and friends. …” And the President made a number of telephone calls—including one to Jim Rowe and Lyndon Johnson.