CHAPTER 44
February 10, 1956
“As I was leaving my office this morning, I was visited by a man who I had not seen in nearly forty years. A veteran of the Rainbow Division, he asked me, ‘So, General, how does it seem to be old?’ I told him that I liked it, and when he expressed amazement, I said, ‘With my date of birth, if I were not old, I would be dead.’ But he just scratched his head and walked away puzzled.
“I stand here today with a deep sense of humility and honour, of having been fortunate enough to serve this country for the last fifty-seven years. It has been a time that has seen our ideals spread from our shores to the furthest reaches of the Pacific. We have brought justice, law and liberty as we guided the Philippines from the shackles of colonialism to become a steadfast brother in the community of nations. The opportunities offered by friendship with Asia, cloaked in darkness when my father speculated upon them, are now available to us. Through our allies in Europe, the ideals for which we have fought and struggled are now entrenched in the Old Continent.
“At home, my lifetime has witnessed an enormous growth of American industrial potential, driven on by the hard work and enterprising spirit of the American labourer, artisan and industrialist alike. This success has made our nation the subject of great envy, and numerous forces have combined in an attempt to destroy our freedom, and despite our victories there are those, who call themselves Fascists, Socialists or Communists, that continue to make the capitalistic system a great target. These threats may be on the retreat, but it was the determination of American enterprise that built this republic, and that same determination will be required in order to maintain it. As my life enters its twilight years, the time has come to pass the torch to our next generation of leaders. Accordingly, I shall not seek another term as your President, and will instead ask the Republican Party to consider Senator Knowland of California to succeed me in this office, sure in the knowledge that he will continue to advance the causes for which I have served.
“We have built for the American people a world of opportunity. Use it well.”
***
For Richard Nixon, MacArthur’s announcement was akin to being thrown back into a political wilderness. MacArthur had told him about the deal with Knowland long ago, but he had held out the futile hope that MacArthur might go back on the agreement. No such luck. What he did have was a promise of MacArthur’s endorsement for any role he wanted, and a recommendation to either continue as Attorney General or gain some experience in the State Department (“You’re still a young man, Dick,” MacArthur had said, “You’ll get your chance, and the experience will serve you well when you do.”). Nixon was grateful, but he wondered how much good it would do. Knowland would get rid of the rest of MacArthur’s men as soon as he took office - he hated Willoughby and Almond as much as anyone - and the two Californians had been rivals for years. Perhaps he would be better off running for his old Senate seat again. He didn’t have to decide now - the election was still a good nine months away.
A much more pressing issue for Nixon was MacArthur’s civil rights bill, which by the middle of February was still waiting on the Attorney General’s desk. Nixon had reminded the President several times of the importance of getting it off his desk and onto Congress’ legislative calendar as soon as possible. Every day that passed was a day less that the Southerners needed to obstruct the bill in the Senate committees or on the Senate floor. If the bill was to be passed, it had to be made as difficult as possible for the South to run down the clock. Congress would likely adjourn by August, and a bill as contentious as civil rights would take months to pass in the best of times.
MacArthur had insisted Nixon wait. If the bill was put to Congress and was then followed by his announcement declining a second term, the Southerners might interpret that as the administration backing down on the issue. The President let January pass, all the while informing the press at every opportunity that his administration was working on a civil rights bill that would be introduced and continued making speeches urging senators, especially those from the conservative Midwest who had voted against the 1953 bill, to come out in its support. His withdrawal announcement for the 1956 election was scheduled for his seventy-sixth birthday, on January 26th. The civil rights bill would have soon followed.
Then the tables turned. The Southern senators, upset by MacArthur’s constant speeches on civil rights, spent the month of January drafting their ‘Southern Manifesto’. MacArthur had dismissed it as “a list of petty complaints”, but Nixon saw it as a line in the sand. Whoever signed it would be against the administration’s efforts no matter what, whoever did not would be a potential vote. Knowing who might be for and who was against the bill would be more valuable than another couple of weeks of debate. As long as the prospect of MacArthur’s second term hung over their heads, a second term every poll predicted he would win handily, the Southerners would make their positions known not just for this vote, but as far out into the future as 1961. Signatures would not be based off short-term political gain: they would tell him who was in for the long haul. No-one but Nixon could have convinced MacArthur to delay his withdrawal announcement, but Nixon could, and he did. MacArthur waited until the Southern Manifesto was on his desk.
And once it was, Nixon sprung his trap.
Because the House had passed the 1953 civil rights bill, and every other recent civil rights bill for that matter, Nixon’s attention was fixed squarely on the Senate, and that meant squarely on one Senator in particular. Since MacArthur took office, Lyndon Johnson had not just been the Minority and then Majority Leader, he effectively was the Senate. Johnson could kill a bill with a shake of the head, or he could find votes where votes had never been before. Nixon had been waiting for the Manifesto not for the other twenty-one Southern senators, but for what Johnson would do. If Johnson signed it, civil rights would be dead in 1956 no matter what Nixon did. If Johnson signed it, he would be siding with the South in face of the overwhelming public demand for change that MacArthur had drummed up. If Johnson signed it, he would forever lose any hope of liberal support if he ever ran for President. Nixon knew Johnson wanted the Presidency: he had briefly campaigned in 1955 until a heart attack dashed his hopes for 1956. Because Johnson would likely try again in 1960, Nixon guessed that he would not sign it. He was right.
Just because Johnson had not sided with the South, that did not necessarily mean he was prepared to stand against them either. When Nixon went to the Senate Office Building to meet with the Majority Leader, Johnson attempted to convince him that the bill would be better delayed until the following year, after the election. Though he did not tell Nixon, Johnson hoped to present himself as a candidate suitable both to the South - he was a Texan with a perfect record of opposing civil rights bills - and to the North - because he had not signed the Manifesto - and thereby revive his presidential hopes for 1956. It had to be after the election, and if MacArthur insisted on pressing forward this year regardless, he would eventually be forced to either back down or see his bill filibustered. After months of speeches and campaigns, either would be a humiliation for the President, and might give the Democrats a better chance in the election. Johnson believed he had put MacArthur, and by extension Nixon, into a zugzwang: whatever MacArthur did, his choice would work against him.
A more apt description would have been that of a Gordian Knot. Nixon had realised that the same arguments that applied to the signing of the Southern Manifesto applied to the passage of a civil rights bill as well. If MacArthur and Nixon could get a bill on the table in 1956, the amount of public attention MacArthur was giving it would force there to be a vote sometime this year. Long before the election. Probably before the party conventions in July. When that vote happened, Johnson would have to take a side, and there was only one way that Johnson could vote and maintain his Presidential ambitions.
“Lyndon,” Nixon said. “If you kill this bill, or waste so much time it never leaves committee, who do you think the people that the President has spent half the year rallying, are going to blame for its failure? Are they going to blame MacArthur, or are they going to blame you? Because I can guarantee you now, the President will be one of those people, and he will make sure everyone knows it.”
“Is that a threat?” Johnson demanded.
“Presidents don’t threaten.” Nixon said. “They don’t have to.”
***
Johnson refused to concede the argument, and continued debating with Nixon for another two hours until the Attorney General walked out in frustration, but in the back of his mind he knew that Nixon was right. It hadn’t been that long ago that Richard Russell had said to him that “If you’re marked as a sectional candidate, you can’t win.” Trying to convince MacArthur to back down would do no good - the President wasn’t just stubborn, he was inconvincable, but despite Nixon’s threats it wasn’t MacArthur that Johnson was worried about. It was the liberals, that MacArthur had been rallying, that worried him. They knew who had the power in the Senate, and they had been told that 1956 would finally be the year that civil rights passed.
So, Johnson decided, it would be.
To have a hope of passing anything, and more importantly saving his own career from MacArthur’s wrath, Johnson knew he would have to strike a delicate balance. The bill could not be too strong, or the Southerners and conservatives would filibuster it in spite of his efforts. The bill could not be weakened to the point of impotence, or the liberals and likely the President would decry it as a sham. If it appealed too strongly to the wishes of the Northerners, he would be poisoning his base of support in the South. If he weakened the bill too much, the South would continue to trust him, but the North would become certain that he was a sectional candidate after all.
One of the keys to finding that balance was held not by Johnson, but by Richard Russell, who had always been one of his strongest supporters. Russell would never support any form of civil rights no matter what, but he would have to be convinced to at least acquiesce to any bill that did get put to the Senate. Russell might not be able to run the Senate the way Johnson did, but he was more than capable of gathering the thirty-three Senators needed for a filibuster, so Russell became the first Senator that Johnson had to persuade.
“We have to give the President and all those liberals something.” Johnson said. “Just to make the Negro issue go away.” The bill, Johnson promised, could be weakened to the point where it would hardly matter. The Southern way of life would not be affected. But if nothing was let through? MacArthur hadn’t so much as consulted Congress before he cleaned out the FBI. If Congress didn’t cooperate, wouldn’t he just bypass them again? Desegregation by way of executive order, even the bayonet...
“He thinks he’s a king.” Russell said finally. “I know. I want him off our backs too. If you think you can get the bill down to something that preserves our ways, I’ll convince the others not to filibuster it.”
***
May 25, 1956
Lyndon Johnson looked out across the Senate floor. Minority Leader Knowland was there, and Johnson was not at all happy to see him. If MacArthur was bad to deal with, Knowland was even worse. MacArthur trumpeted what he wanted from the rooftops, and was completely obsessed with his own glory, but once he had someone doing his bidding he left them alone to finish the job - neither the President nor his lackey Nixon had so much as visited the Senate Office Building since February.
Knowland, on the other hand, interfered with everything. Because he was MacArthur’s chosen successor, and MacArthur had made himself some sort of civil rights champion, Knowland’s presidential campaign had civil rights plastered all over it. He called for a repeal of poll taxes. He called for an end to literacy tests. He called for an end to segregation in all public places. And he was adamant that MacArthur’s bill would go through the Senate this year, with as few changes as possible. If that meant a filibuster, then too bad. Johnson was sure Knowland wanted one. After the fuss MacArthur had kicked up, the election was going to have civil rights as a major issue, and a filibuster would let Knowland call the Democrats the party of segregation. With that and MacArthur’s earlier endorsement, he’d be assured of victory. MacArthur wouldn’t blame the bullheaded Knowland’s stupidity for the bill’s failure. He’d blame Johnson.
Johnson had worked too hard, had cut too many deals just to keep this bill alive, to let that happen.
He wasn’t the only one. The moderate Democratic Senator from New Mexico, Clint Anderson, had made the same calculations. Anderson was a supporter of civil rights, though with far less ideological enthusiasm than his Northeastern counterparts, but he also saw the current bill from a far more pragmatic viewpoint. If Knowland put out the call for votes while the bill remained in its current form, the Californian would doom the bill to a filibuster, which would likely split the Democratic Party down the middle, and that split that could easily last through to Election Day. Knowland either hadn’t noticed the opportunity or wasn’t yet willing to kill his President’s treasured bill, but there was no guarantee he wouldn’t do so in the future. Anderson knew he had to act quickly, so for four days he had stayed at his desk tinkering with a copy of the bill - crossing out a word here, changing a phrase there.
Then, just as Johnson was walking past him, he crossed out three whole pages of the bill. “Lyndon,” he said quietly, “this might work.”
Johnson looked over the changes. Most of the sweeping civil rights protections had been struck out. What was left was hardly the grand piece of legislation MacArthur hoped for and Knowland boasted about, but it was equally less likely to inspire rage - and a filibuster - from the South. “Clint, it just might.”
- BNC