Edge of Eternity (74 page)

But if Johnson did not say that, if he affirmed his support for civil rights, there was another question: Would he have the authority to fill Kennedy’s shoes? That question, too, would be answered in the next hour, and the prospects were poor. Lyndon was a smooth operator one-on-one; he was at his least impressive when speaking to large groups on formal occasions – which was precisely what he had to do in a few moments’ time. For the American people, this was his first major appearance as their leader, and it would define him, for better or worse.

Skip Dickerson was biting his nails. George said to him: ‘Did you write the speech?’

‘A few lines of it. It was a team effort.’

‘What’s he going to say?’

Skip shook his head anxiously. ‘Wait and see.’

Washington insiders expected Johnson to screw up. He was a bad public speaker, tedious and stiff. Sometimes he rushed his words, sometimes he sounded ponderous. When he wanted to emphasize something he just shouted. His gestures were embarrassingly awkward: he would lift one hand and jab a finger in the air, or raise both arms and wave his fists. Speeches generally revealed Lyndon at his worst.

George could not read anything in Johnson’s demeanour as he walked through the applauding crowd, went up to the dais, stood at the lectern, and opened a black loose-leaf notebook. He showed neither confidence nor nervousness as he put on a pair of rimless spectacles, then waited patiently until the applause died down and the audience settled in their seats.

At last he spoke. In an even, measured tone of voice he said: ‘All I have I would have given, gladly, not to be standing here today.’

The chamber became hushed. He had struck exactly the right note of sorrowful humility. It was a good start, George thought.

Johnson continued in the same vein, speaking with slow dignity. If he felt the impulse to rush, he was controlling it firmly. He wore a dark-blue suit and tie, and a shirt with a tab-fastened collar, a style considered formal in the South. He looked occasionally from one side to the other, speaking to the whole of the chamber and at the same time seeming to command it.

Echoing Martin Luther King, he talked of dreams: Kennedy’s dreams of conquering space, of education for all children, of a Peace Corps. ‘This is our challenge,’ he said. ‘Not to hesitate, not to pause, not to turn about and linger over this evil moment, but to continue on our course so that we may fulfil the destiny that history has set for us.’

He had to stop, then, because of the applause.

Then he said: ‘Our most immediate tasks are here on this Hill.’

This was the crunch. Capitol Hill, where Congress sat, had been at war with the President for most of 1963. Congress had the power to delay legislation, and used it often, even when the President had campaigned and won public support for his plans. But since John F. Kennedy announced his civil rights bill they had gone on strike, like a factory full of militant workers, delaying everything, mulishly refusing to pass even routine bills, scorning public opinion and the democratic process.

‘First,’ said Johnson, and George held his breath while he waited to hear what the new President would put first.

‘No memorial oration or eulogy could more eloquently honour President Kennedy’s memory than the earliest possible passage of the civil rights bill for which he fought so long.’

George leaped to his feet, clapping for joy. He was not the only one: the applause burst out again, and this time went on longer than previously.

Johnson waited for it to die down, then said: ‘We have talked long enough in this country about civil rights. We have talked for one hundred years or more. It is time,
now
, to write the next chapter – and to write it in the books of law.’

They applauded again.

Euphoric, George looked at the few black faces in the chamber: five Negro Congressmen, including Gus Hawkins of California who actually looked white; Mr and Mrs Wright in the presidential box, clapping; a scatter of dark faces among the spectators in the gallery. Their expressions showed relief, hope, and gladness.

Then his eye fell on the rows of seats behind the Cabinet, where the senior senators sat, most of them Southerners, sullen and resentful.

Not a single one was joining in the applause.

*  *  *

Skip Dickerson laid it out to George six days later in the small study next to the Oval Office. ‘Our only chance is a discharge petition.’

‘What’s that?’

Dickerson pushed his blond forelock out of his eyes. ‘It’s a resolution passed by Congress discharging the Rules Committee from control of the bill and forcing it to be sent to the floor for debate.’

George felt frustrated that these arcane procedures had to be gone through so that Maria’s grandfather would not be thrown in jail for registering to vote. ‘I never heard of that,’ he said.

‘We need a majority vote. Southern Democrats will be against us, so I calculate we’re fifty-eight votes short.’

‘Shit. We need fifty-eight Republicans to support us before we can do the right thing?’

‘Yes. And that’s where you come in.’

‘Me?’

‘A lot of Republicans claim to support civil rights. After all, theirs is the party of Abraham Lincoln, who freed the slaves. We want Martin Luther King and all the Negro leaders to call their Republican supporters, explain this situation to them, and tell them to vote for the petition. The message is that you can’t be in favour of civil rights unless you’re in favour of the petition.’

George nodded. ‘That’s good.’

‘Some will say they’re in favour of civil rights but they don’t like this procedural hurry-up. They need to understand that Senator Howard Smith is a hardcore segregationist who will make sure his committee debates the rules until it’s too late to pass the bill. What he’s doing is not
delay
, it’s
sabotage
.’

‘Okay.’

A secretary put her head around the door and said: ‘He’s ready for you.’

The two young men stood up and walked into the Oval Office.

As always, George was struck by the sheer size of Lyndon Johnson. He was six foot three, but height was only part of it. His head was big, his nose was long, his earlobes were like pancakes. He shook George’s hand then held on to it, grasping George’s shoulder with his other hand, standing close enough to make George feel uncomfortable at the intimacy.

Johnson said: ‘George, I’ve asked all the Kennedy people to stay on at the White House and help me. You’re all Harvard-educated and I went to Southwest Texas State Teachers’ College. See, I need y’all more than he did.’

George did not know what to say. This level of humility was embarrassing. After a hesitation he said: ‘I’m here to help you any way I can, Mr President.’

By now a thousand people must have said that or something similar, but Johnson reacted as if he had never heard it before. ‘I sure appreciate you saying that, George,’ he said fervently. ‘Thank you.’ Then he got down to business. ‘A lot of people have asked me to soften up the civil rights bill to make it easier for Southerners to swallow. They’ve suggested taking out the prohibition against segregation in public accommodations. I’m not willing to do that, George, for two reasons. The first is that they’re going to hate the bill regardless of how hard or soft it is, and I don’t believe they’ll support it, no matter how much I draw its teeth.’

That sounded right to George. ‘If you’re going to have a fight, you might as well fight for what you really want.’

‘Exactly. And I’ll tell you the second reason. I have a friend and employee called Mrs Zephyr Wright.’

George recalled Mr and Mrs Wright, who had been in the presidential box at the House of Representatives.

Johnson went on: ‘One time when she was about to drive to Texas I asked her to take my dog with her. She said: “Please don’t ask me to do that.” I had to ask why. “Driving through the South is tough enough just being black,” she said. “You can’t find a place to eat or sleep or even go to the bathroom. With a dog it’s going to be just impossible.” That hurt me, George; it almost brought me to tears. Mrs Wright is a college graduate, you know. That was when I realized how important public accommodations are when we’re talking about segregation. I know what it is to be looked down on, George, and I sure don’t wish it on anyone else.’

‘It’s good to hear that,’ said George.

He knew he was being romanced. Johnson still had hold of his hand and shoulder, was still leaning in a little too close, his dark eyes looking at George with remarkable intensity. George knew what Johnson was doing – but it was working just the same. George felt moved by the story about Zephyr, and believed Johnson when he said he knew what it was to be looked down upon. He felt a surge of admiration and affection for this big, awkward, emotional man who seemed to be on the side of the Negroes.

‘It’s going to be tough, but I think we can win it,’ said Johnson. ‘Do your best, George.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said George. ‘I will.’

*  *  *

George explained President Johnson’s strategy to Verena Marquand shortly before Martin Luther King went to the Oval Office. She looked stunning in a bright red PVC raincoat but, for once, George was not distracted by her beauty. ‘We have to put everything we’ve got into this effort,’ he said urgently. ‘If the petition fails, the bill fails, and Southern Negroes will be back where they started.’

He gave Verena a list of Republican Congressmen who had not yet signed the petition.

She was impressed. ‘President Kennedy talked to us about votes, but he never had a list like this,’ she said.

‘That’s Lyndon,’ said George. ‘If the whips tell him how many votes they think they’ve got, he says: “Thinking isn’t good enough – I need to know!” He has to have the names. And he’s right. This is too important for guesswork.’

He told her that civil rights leaders had to put pressure on liberal Republicans. ‘Every one of these men must get a call from someone whose approval he cares about.’

‘Is that what the President is going to tell Dr King this morning?’

‘Precisely.’ Johnson had seen all the most important civil rights leaders one by one. Jack Kennedy would have had them all in a room together, but Lyndon could not work his magic so well in large groups.

‘Does Johnson think the civil rights leaders can turn all these Republicans around?’ Verena said sceptically.

‘Not on their own, but he’s enlisting others. He’s seeing all the union leaders. He had breakfast with George Meany this morning.’

Verena shook her beautiful head in wonder. ‘You have to give him credit for energy.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘Why couldn’t President Kennedy do this?’

‘Same reason Lyndon can’t sail a yacht – he doesn’t know how.’

Johnson’s meeting with King went well. But, next morning, George’s optimism was punctured by a segregationist backlash.

Leading Republicans denounced the petition. McCullough of Ohio said it had irritated people who might otherwise have supported the civil rights bill. Gerald Ford told reporters that the Rules Committee should be allowed time to hold hearings, which was rubbish: everyone knew that Smith wanted to kill the bill, not debate it. All the same, reporters were briefed that the petition had failed.

But Johnson was not discouraged. On Wednesday morning, he spoke to the Business Advisory Council, eighty-nine of the most important American businessmen, and he said: ‘I am the only President you have; if you would have me fail, then you fail, for the country fails.’

Then he addressed the executive council of AFL-CIO, the largest federation of unions, and said: ‘I need you, I want you, and I believe you should be at my side.’ He got a standing ovation, and the Steelworkers’ thirty-three lobbyists stormed Capitol Hill.

George was sitting down to dinner with Verena in one of the restaurants there when Skip Dickerson passed their table and hissed: ‘Clarence Brown has gone to see Howard Smith.’

George explained to Verena: ‘Brown is the senior Republican on Smith’s committee. Either he’s telling Smith to tough it out, and ignore the lobbying . . . or he’s saying that Republicans can’t take this pressure much longer. If two people on the committee turn against Smith, his decisions can be overturned by a majority vote.’

‘Could it all be over so quickly?’ Verena marvelled.

‘Smith may jump before he’s pushed. It looks more dignified.’ George moved his plate away. Tension had ruined his appetite.

Half an hour later, Dickerson came by again. ‘Smith caved,’ he crowed. ‘There will be a formal statement tomorrow.’ He walked on, spreading the news.

George and Verena grinned at one another. Verena said: ‘Well, God bless Lyndon Johnson.’

‘Amen,’ said George. ‘We have to celebrate.’

‘What shall we do?’

‘Come to my apartment,’ said George. ‘I’ll think of something.’

32

There was no uniform at Dave’s school, but boys were mocked for being overdressed. Dave took some ribbing on the day he showed up in a four-button jacket, a white shirt with long collar points, a paisley tie and blue hipster trousers with a white plastic belt. He did not care about the teasing. He had a mission.

Lenny’s group had been on the fringes of show business for years. As things stood, they could spend another decade playing rock and roll in clubs and pubs. Dave wanted more than that in 1964. And the way forward was to make a record.

After school, he took the Tube to Tottenham Court Road and walked from there to an address in Denmark Street. On the ground floor of the building was a guitar shop, but beside it was a door leading to an office above, and a nameplate that said: C
LASSIC
R
ECORDS
.

Dave had spoken to Lenny about getting a recording contract, but Lenny had been discouraging. ‘I’ve tried that,’ he had said. ‘You can’t get through the door. It’s a closed circle.’

That made no sense. There had to be a way in, otherwise no one would ever make records. But Dave knew better than to chop logic with Lenny. So he decided to do it on his own.

He had begun by studying the names of the record companies in the hit parade. It was a complicated exercise, because there were many labels all owned by a few companies. The phone book had helped him sort them out, and he had picked Classic as his target.