Master of the Senate
Review 6: Up and Down
"Master of the Senate" is the third book in Robert A. Caro's series, "The Years of Lyndon Johnson." It is more than 1,000 pages long. For the next four Fridays, Flak will follow Caro's work as it unfolds across a critical period in Senate history: 1949 to 1960. This was an era when Lyndon Johnson catapulted himself to the rank of majority leader after a single term, grabbed the Senate by the balls, and started winning the battle for the civil rights.
Caro, a prose stylist with a keen ability to bring re al drama to situations that would turn to muddled dross in the hands of mere mortals, uses vivid contrast to great effect throughout "Master of the Senate." Johnson's frustration in the House is mirrored by his potency in the Senate. His brutal abuse of his staff is mirrored by his skill at charming his elderly patrons. And in the sixth chunk of the book, his ability to fundamentally whup the famously sluggish and obstinate Senate into his own personal bill-passing machine is countered by the image of Johnson, flat on his back, suffering a terrifying heart attack.
To hear, abstractly, that Johnson was a very effective Senator who accomplished a great many things is fairly flat. You can easily read the words and get no real idea of what the accomplishment entails. But in vivid, slashing, meticulously organized prose, Caro paints a picture of an air traffic controller — waving to speed up a roll call vote, physically pushing Senators across the floor to hurry them up, buttonholing men whose vote he needed and backing his friends and foes alike into corners to assure their compliance on critical votes.
In 1954, Johnson became majority leader, in part because of his own shrewd political tactics that boosted the fortunes of Democrats across the country. By siding with newly elected (and overwhelmingly popular) Republican President Dwight D. Eisenhower on issues of foreign affairs — which isolationist Senate Republicans opposed — Johnson's Democrats got national popularity for their bipartisan heroics.
With his new injection of power, Johnson was nigh unstoppable. He quickly moved to help other senators with routine scheduling issues, coordinating bills through a special Democratic committee that served as his own personal rubber stamp. And he brought in the "unanimous consent agreement," a procedural device that artificially limits debate on a bill — providing no senators objected.
When Johnson wanted to use unanimous consent, he made damn sure that no senators objected.
And by walking readers carefully but painlessly through the various hoops and compromises any given bill generally had to go through in order to pass the Senate, Caro properly sets the stage for one of the most amazing accomplishments in Senate history: In a single day, Lyndon Johnson's Senate passed 90 bills, confirmed an ambassador and a Federal Trade commissioner... and then ran out of business and went home after a 5-hour workday.
"Washington was jolted to attention," wrote Newsweek. And soon, Johnson's name was being presented as a possible contender for the presidency.
But then the man who lived on caffeine, cigarettes and pure anger was betrayed by his own body. The man who lived in fear of dying young, who feared danger and became "frantic" when put under physical discomfort was suddenly struck down.
Caro writes of Johnson, driven in an ambulance that was actually a hearse, facing the most grave health problem of his life, a severe heart attack — and taking it with enormous courage. Suffering what could only have been incredible pain, Johnson told his old friend, Frank "Posh" Oltorf,
"I want Lady Bird to have everything I have ... She's been a wonderful, wonderful wife, and she's done so much for me. She just deserves everything I have. That's what was in my will."
In earlier chapters of "Master of the Senate," Caro lays out how Johnson treated Lady Bird as a servant, kept her at his beck and call, derisively asked her to leave the room when he was talking with other politicians about issues of substance — and essentially treated her with cold, sometimes savage disregard. To see him complimenting her with what might have been his dying breath is deeply moving.
And then Johnson asked Oltorf how Alice Glass — one of his most serious mistresses — was doing.
He then asked Oltorf if he'd be able to keep smoking after attack.
"Well, Senator, Frankly, no," and Johnson, with what Oltorf recalls as "a great sigh," said, "I'd rather have my pecker cut off."
Recovering from his heart attack, Johnson made sure to keep an open pack of cigarettes next to his bed, one hanging halfway out at all times. But he didn't smoke them in the hospital. And — with a few one or two cigarette lapses — the 60-cigarette a day smoker didn't smoke at all for 15 years.
— James Norton (jrnorton@flakmag.com)
— Juliette Crane (cran0066 at hotmail dot com)
