by Unknown
The reference to Dirksen’s love of the marigold had to do with his annual attempt to have it named our national flower; that oratorical interlude in Senate business is on p. 565.
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WHEN DANIEL WEBSTER died more than a century ago, a man who differed strongly with him on many public issues rose in Congress to say this in eulogy, “Our great men are the common property of the country.”
Everett Dirksen, of Illinois, was and is the “common property” of all the fifty states.
Senator Dirksen belonged to all of us because he always put his country first. He was an outspoken partisan, he was an individualist of the first rank, but he put his nation before himself and before his party….
Through four presidencies, through the adult life of most Americans living today, Everett Dirksen has had a hand in shaping almost every important law that affects our lives.
Everett Dirksen was a politician in the finest sense of that much abused word. If he were here, I think he might put it this way:
A politician knows that more important than the bill that is proposed is the law that is passed.
A politician knows that his friends are not always his allies, and that his adversaries are not his enemies.
A politician knows how to make the process of democracy work, and loves the intricate workings of the democratic system.
A politician knows not only how to count votes, but how to make his vote count.
A politician knows that his words are his weapons, but that his word is his bond.
A politician knows that only if he leaves room for discussion and room for concession can he gain room for maneuver.
A politician knows that the best way to be a winner is to make the other side feel it does not have to be a loser.
And a politician—in the Dirksen tradition—knows both the name of the game and the rules of the game, and he seeks his ends through the time-honored democratic means.
By being that kind of politician, this “Man of the Minority” earned the respect and affection of the majority. And by the special way he gave leadership to legislation, he added grace and elegance and courtliness to the word “politician.”
That is how he became the leader of a minority, and one of the leaders of our nation. And that is why, when the Senate worked its way, Everett Dirksen so often worked his way….
Some will remember his voice—that unforgettable voice—that rolled as deep and majestically as the river that defines the western border of the state of Illinois he loved so well. Others will remember the unfailing—often self-deprecating—sense of humor, which proved that a man of serious purpose need never take himself too seriously.
Others will remember the mastery of language, the gift of oratory that placed him in a class with Bryan and Churchill, showing, as only he would put it, that “the oil can is mightier than the sword.”
But as we do honor to his memory, let us never forget the single quality that made him unique, the quality that made him powerful made him beloved: the quality of character.
Everett Dirksen cultivated an appearance that made him seem old-fashioned, an incarnation of a bygone year. But that quality of character is as modern as a Saturn 5.
As he could persuade, he could be persuaded. His respect for other points of view lent weight to his own point of view. He was not afraid to change his position if he were persuaded that he had been wrong. That tolerance and sympathy were elements of his character, and that character gained him the affection and esteem of millions of his fellow Americans.
We shall always remember Everett Dirksen in the terms he used to describe his beloved marigolds: hardy, vivid, exuberant, colorful—and uniquely American.
To his family, his staff, and his legion of friends who knew and loved Everett Dirksen, I would like to add a personal word.
There are memorable moments we will never know again—those eloquent speeches, the incomparable anecdotes, those wonderfully happy birthday parties.
But he, least of all, would want this to be a sad occasion. With his dramatic sense of history, I can hear him now speaking of the glory of this moment.
As a man of politics, he knew both victory and defeat.
As a student of philosophy, he knew the triumph of and the tragedy and the misery of life.
And as a student of history, he knew that some men achieve greatness, others are not recognized for their greatness until after their death. Only a privileged few live to hear the favorable verdict of history on their careers.
Two thousand years ago the poet Sophocles wrote, “One must wait until the evening to see how splendid the day has been.”
We who were privileged to be his friends can take comfort in the fact that Everett Dirksen—in the rich evening of his life, his leadership unchallenged, his mind clear, his great voice still powerful across the land—could look back upon his life and say, “The day has indeed been splendid.”
President Jimmy Carter Salutes His Good Friend Hubert H. Humphrey
“I’ll always remember Senator Humphrey sitting there… with brownie all over his face.”
“Eloquence” is not a word associated with President Carter. After his inaugural address, he walked instead of riding in his parade, triggering the assessment from this quarter that the whole day’s work was pedestrian. Yet his “the” speech—the one that he made and remade throughout his campaign to the nomination—touched a chord with many in that post-Watergate period. “All I want is the same thing you want,” he told the California State Senate in May of 1976. “To have a nation with a government that is as good and honest and decent and competent and compassionate and as filled with love as are the American people.”
He delivered set speeches stiffly, smiling at the wrong moments, but could come across warmly in recounting anecdotes. On December 2, 1977, President Carter appeared before a large Washington dinner raising funds for Hubert Humphrey’s institute at the University of Minnesota. He told a few personal stories about his relationship with the guest of honor; the low-key, self-deprecating humor went over well and the three episodes about Humphrey’s brief and sometimes unknowing relationship with three members of the Carter family—especially because of the mental pictures evoked—make a lasting impression.
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HE IS A man who has touched my life and that of my family, as I’m sure he’s touched almost everyone here, in a strange and very delightful way. And I’m going to tell you just a few brief instances that occurred, actually, long before I had any dreams of coming to Washington myself.
The first time I heard about Senator Humphrey was when I was in the navy, and he made a famous speech at the Democratic National Convention. He was quite well known in Georgia. I don’t think anyone else has kept more Georgia politicians from seeing the end of a Democratic convention than Senator Humphrey has, because it got so that every time he walked in, they walked out and came back home.
So, in 1964, when he became the vice-presidential candidate, in Georgia, it wasn’t a very popular thing to be for the Johnson-Humphrey slate. My mother, Lillian, ran the Sumter County Johnson-Humphrey headquarters. And I could always tell when my mother was coming down the road, because she was in a brand-new automobile with the windows broken out, the radio antenna tied in a knot, and the car painted with soap.
In that campaign, Hubert and Muriel came down to south Georgia to Moultrie for a Democratic rally. And because of my mother’s loyalty, she was given the honor of picking up Muriel at the airport. And Rosalynn and my mother and Muriel and my sister Gloria went down to Moultrie to attend the rally. Senator Humphrey made a speech, and they had a women’s reception for Muriel. And they were riding around that south Georgia town getting ready for the reception. Everybody in town was very excited. And as Muriel approached the site, she said, “Are any black women invited to the reception?”
For a long time no one spoke, and finally my sister said, “I don’t know.” She knew quite well that they weren’t. And Muriel said, “I’m n
ot going in.” So, they stopped the car, and my sister Gloria went inside to check and let the hostess know that Muriel was not coming to the reception. But in a few minutes, Gloria came back and said, “Mrs. Humphrey, it’s okay.” So, she went in and, sure enough, there were several black ladies there at the reception. And Muriel never knew until now that the maids just took off their aprons for the occasion. But that was the first integrated reception in south Georgia, Muriel, and you are responsible for it.
Ten or eleven years ago, when I was not in political office at all, Senator Humphrey was vice-president. He had been to Europe on a long, tedious, very successful trip. And he came down to Atlanta, Georgia, to visit in the home of a friend named Marvin Shube. And I was invited there to meet him, which was a great honor for me. I have never yet met a Democratic president, and he was the only Democratic vice-president I had ever met. And I stood there knowing that he was very weary because he had just returned from Europe. But he answered the eager questions of those Georgia friends until quite late in the morning, about two o’clock. And he was very well briefed, because when I walked in the room, he said, “Young man, I understand that your mother is in the Peace Corps in India.”
And I said, “Yes, sir, that’s right.” He said, “Well I’ve been very interested in the Peace Corps. The idea originally came from me, and I’ve been proud to see it put into effect.” He said, “Where’s your mother?” And I said, “She’s near Bombay.” He said, “How’s she getting along?” I said, “Well she’s quite lonely, sir. She’s been there about six months, and she’s not seen anybody, even the Peace Corps officials. She’s in a little town called Vikhroli.”
About a month later, I got a letter from my mother. She was in her room one evening, and the head of the Peace Corps in India had driven up to the little town of Vikhroli. He came in and asked my mother if she needed anything. She said, no, she was getting along quite well, but she would like to go over to Bombay. He said, “Well, can I take you in shopping, Mrs. Carter?” She said, “Yes, I’d like that.” So, they went in, and he bought her a very fine supper and brought her back to Vikhroli. When he got out, he handed her a fifth of very good bourbon. And he turned around to get in the car to leave, and he finally turned back to her and said, “By the way, Miss Lillian, who in the hell are you, anyway?” And that’s a true story. It was not until later that my mother knew who she was. She was a friend of Hubert Humphrey.
And, of course, the next time he crossed my path was in 1968 when he was our nominee for president. And all of us in this room went through that year of tragedy together when he was not elected to be the leader of our country. And I think he felt then an urging to be loyal to his president and, unfortunately, many people were not that loyal to him. And his loss was our nation’s even greater loss in 1968.
The next time I saw him was when I was governor. He came to our home in 1972. All the candidates just happened to stop by to see me that year, and my daughter, Amy, was about four years old. And most of the ones who would come into the mansion—she stayed away from them, having an early aversion to politicians. But when Senator Humphrey came in, she loved him instantly.
And I’ll never forget sitting in the front presidential suite of the Georgia governor’s mansion, a very beautiful room, trying to talk to Senator Humphrey. Amy came in eating a soft brownie, and she climbed up on his lap without any timidity at all. In a very natural way, he put his arm around her as though she was his own grandchild. And I’ll always remember Senator Humphrey sitting there talking to me about politics and about the campaign, smiling often, with brownie all over his face. And each time he frowned, brownie crumbs fell to the floor. And Amy loved him then and has loved him ever since. But I think she recognized in him the qualities that have aroused the love of so many people.
And then, of course, last year all I could hear everywhere I went when I said, “Would you help me become president?” almost invariably they would say, “Well, my first preference is Hubert Humphrey. If he doesn’t run, I’ll support you.” And there again, I learned on a nationwide basis the relationship between Senator Humphrey and the people of this country.
But I think the most deep impression I have of my good friend Hubert Humphrey is since I’ve been president. I’ve seen him in the Oval Office early in the morning. I’ve seen him in meetings with other congressional leaders. I’ve called him on the phone when I was in trouble. I’ve gotten his quiet and private and sound advice. And I’ve come to recognize that all the attributes that I love about America are resident in him. And I’m proud to be the president of a nation that loves a man like Hubert Humphrey and is loved so deeply by him.
Senator Daniel P. Moynihan Spoofs Abstractionist Art at a Dedication Ceremony
“Aesthetic transubstantiation… at once elusive yet ineluctable….”
Pat Moynihan, academic turned White House domestic adviser and later senator from New York, made his mark as a supporter of the dignity of ethnicity and the creator of family assistance programs. He also had an offbeat sense of humor, which led him to the sponsorship of the thirty-two-letter “floccinaucinihilipilificationism” (meaning “the action of estimating as worthless”) as “the longest word in the English language.”
At the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, in the nation’s capital on July 19, 1978, he was asked for dedicatory remarks on the receipt of the massive sculpture Isis by the artist Mark di Suvero. The hard-to-ignore work is apparently the impression of the severed brow of a Grimsby trawler, appropriately given to the nation by the Institute of Scrap Iron and Steel. The senator’s dedication was both succinct and mouth filling.
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AS CHAIRMAN OF the board of the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden it falls to me to accept this splendid gift from the Institute of Scrap Iron and Steel, and I recall that on the occasion that Margaret Fuller declared, “I accept the universe,” Carlyle remarked that she had better.
Isis achieves an aesthetic transubstantiation of that which is at once elusive yet ineluctable in the modern sensibility.
Transcending socialist realism with an unequaled abstractionist range, Mr. di Suvero brings to the theme of recycling both the hard-edge reality of the modern world and the transcendent fecundity of the universe itself; a lasting assertion both of the fleetingness of the living, and the permanence of life; a consummation before which we stand in consistorial witness.
It will be with us a long time.
Actor-Director Orson Welles Eulogizes Another Hollywood Legend, Darryl F. Zanuck
“If I committed some abominable crime, and if all the police in the world were after me… there was one man and only one man I could come to…. He would not have made a speech about the good of the industry…. He would not have been mealymouthed or put me aside. He would have hid me under the bed.”
Orson Welles is remembered as the star and director of Citizen Kane, considered by many the greatest movie ever made, and as the radio producer and actor who, on Halloween eve, panicked a huge audience with his all-too-realistic broadcast of an invasion of Earth by Martians. European audiences hailed his portrayal of the racketeer Harry Lime in The Third Man, but his later years were spent fighting for financing and acting in lesser roles. In a moment of bitterness, he said that his business was “about 2 percent moviemaking and 98 percent hustling.”
Darryl F. Zanuck is remembered as the legendary movie producer who began in the silent era with Rin Tin Tin, headed production of the first talkie, The Jazz Singer, launched Twentieth Century-Fox in the thirties, winning Oscars for Gentlemen’s Agreement, All About Eve, and, after a six-year series of flops, an Oscar nomination for The Longest Day. He was an eccentric and often tyrannical boss; the title of his biography is Don’t Say Yes Until I Finish Talking. After saving his studio from the disastrous budgetary overruns of Cleopatra, he fired his son for financial mismanagement and was himself forced from power a decade before his death.
Welles, a writer as well as a star, delivered this eulogy of Za
nuck on December 27, 1979, at the Westwood United Methodist Church in Los Angeles, in the voice that first scared and thrilled radio audiences as “The Shadow” in the 1930s. It begins with a gripping anecdote about Winston Churchill’s funeral, for which Churchill wrote the script: in England, noted the film director in his industry’s lingo, “they give you the final cut.”
The eulogy is notable for what it leaves out. Welles does not recount the movies Zanuck produced or the stars he worked with, as did the obituaries. He dispenses with the deceased’s harsh reputation in a few lines: “Darryl didn’t sign on to be the recreation director of a summer camp. Of course he was tough…. But unlike many of the others, he was never cruel.” He closes on the quality of friendship and personal loyalty in adversity, which both men had and suffered. Unlike many of Zanuck’s self-protective corporate peers, testified his friend Welles in a conclusion of seven short, declarative sentences, “He would have hid me under the bed.”
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AT WINSTON CHURCHILL’s funeral, there was a moment when the coffin was to be carried out of Westminster Abbey and onto a barge for a trip up the Thames River. A special group of pallbearers from the various military services in Great Britain was selected for this. One, a sailor, broke his ankle carrying the coffin down the stone steps of the Abbey. For a moment it seemed that the coffin would drop to the ground, but it was safely carried onto the barge.
Afterward, officials said to the sailor, “How did you manage to go on?”
And the sailor said, “I would have carried him all over London.”
That’s the way I feel about my friend Darryl Zanuck.
Churchill wrote the script for his own funeral. Lord Mountbatten recently did the same thing in England—in England, if you’re going to have a state funeral, they let you do that. They give you what amounts to a final cut. We don’t have state funerals in our movie community, but if we did, Darryl would certainly have been given one—and he would have produced it. And what a show that would have been. Virginia and Dick have reminded me that Darryl himself would not wish this occasion to be too lugubrious. That’s true. I’m pretty sure that if he was the producer in charge of this occasion, Darryl would have wished for us all to leave this gathering with lightened spirits. The trouble is that I’m the wrong man for that job—I can’t find anything cheerful to say about the loss of my friend.