One of the iron laws of American political history is that, if you are fool enough to rouse Lyndon Johnson from his depths
1) He
will fuck you, and
2) There is no Un-Fucker yet born who can cure what he'll do to you.
During the crisis over Selma at the start of '65, LBJ commanded that George Wallace, then in full schoolhouse-door mode, the executor of the bloody assault on the first march, come on up to Washington for a sit-down. Lyndon started in with his line of questioning, his voice terse and his questions pointed. Wallace prevaricated, and at one point Johnson clasped his hands together like he was praying, leaned them over his drawn-together knees on an Oval Office couch to bring his full size forward towards the bantam-weight Wallace, and through his teeth said, "
Don't you shit me, George Wallace." The people in the room at the time remember genuine, primal fear that Johnson would reach down Wallace's throat, pull out his spleen, and beat him to death with it. LBJ was probably the only mainstream politician in America who Wallace actually
feared. Now that this whole "Brookingsgate" mess has blown up, Johnson has reflected on the decisions made in the autumn of 1968 and decided he made the wrong call. If Johnson had even more of a sense of theatricality he'd have leaked it to Ben Bradlee
first, then had Walt Rostow (who was squarely in the "end his shit" faction about Nixon and the Chennault Affair in October '68) walk into the Oval Office with an advance copy of the
Post's banner headline, lay it on Nixon's desk, and say, "the Democrats send their regards."
And it's hardly the only "October surprise" in play. I count at least five, cards to be laid down in full in the next chapter. That unholy scraping sound in the background, like the gears to the gates of Hell itself? That's Pandora's box. Open for business.
As always it's both surprising and depressing how much suburban America will take this all as though it were sweeps week on the networks, but if you work for any of the three big presidential campaigns, October 1972 in this 'verse is not a place where you can just expect to get through to November without stroking out under the strain.