Advise and Consent

by Allen Drury

  “The reason I ask,” Brigham Anderson said pleasantly, “is that much can be told about a man by the way he treats those over whom he has authority. I believe you said your retirement was caused by reasons of health, Mr. Secretary.”

  “I did,” Howie Sheppard said.

  “You do not feel that you have in any way been shoved out of office to make room for Mr. Leffingwell?” Senator Anderson went on in the same pleasant tone. Howard Sheppard flushed.

  “I do not,” he said, a trifle loudly.

  “Yes,” Senator Anderson said, with the same senatorial “yes” of his colleagues, the “yes” that always carries with it the uncomfortable implication of polite and persistent unbelief. “And you gave the President of the United States, at his request, a list of names from whom he might pick a successor. Would you mind telling the committee what other names were on that list?”

  “Oh, now, Mr. Chairman,” Bob Munson broke in sharply. “I don’t think the Senator has any right to ask a question like that. That is a privileged matter between the Secretary and the President, and it is none of the Senate’s business. I really do not see that the Senator is in order with that question.”

  “He volunteered the information that he furnished such a list, Mr. Chairman,” Brigham Anderson said calmly. “He threw the subject open, I didn’t. I think it is something the committee should know.”

  “I do not think it is,” Tom August said with a gentle but determined firmness. “I agree with the Senator from Michigan that the matter is privileged between the President and the Secretary and no business of ours. It would only cause embarrassment to the Secretary and also, no doubt, to those on the list who were passed over. The Senator will proceed in order, if he so desires.”

  “Very well,” Senator Anderson said offhandedly, while the press scribbled furiously and the Secretary looked relieved. “It remains, however, an interesting matter for speculation. What do you know about Mr. Leffingwell’s views on Russia, Mr. Secretary?”

  “I believe them to be those held by most Americans,” Howard Sheppard said.

  “Which are?” Senator Anderson asked.

  “Well,” the Secretary began, then stopped and started over again. “That the situation is serious and we must always be on the alert both against the possibility of surprise and against the possibility of being overly suspicious. We cannot relax our vigilance with them; neither, I believe, can we refuse to accept the possibility that they might ultimately wish to live with us in a peaceful world.”

  “A peaceful world on whose terms, Mr. Secretary?” Brigham Anderson asked, and the Secretary flushed.

  “It would have to be on terms of mutual agreement, Senator,” he said.

  “You think that is an accurate reflection of the views of most Americans,” Senator Anderson said, without other comment.

  “As they have come to me in my office,” Howard Sheppard said.

  “You believe those are Mr. Leffingwell’s views,” the Senator said.

  “Yes,” the Secretary said.

  “But you do not know,” Brigham Anderson suggested.

  “No,” said Howard Sheppard.

  “No further questions, Mr. Chairman,” Senator Anderson said.

  “What’s got into Brig?” The Times whispered to the Herald Tribune, and the Herald Tribune responded, “Damned if I know.”

  “Senator Winthrop?” Tom August asked. John Able Winthrop smiled at the Secretary.

  “No questions, Mr. Chairman,” he said, “except to say that I too appreciate the Secretary’s appearance, regret his departure, and pray that he may be right in his assessment of his successor.”

  “Hm,” the Chicago Tribune murmured to the Washington Post, “that was a neat sideswipe.” Senator Munson, who thought so too, leaned forward, looked down the table to the Senator from Massachusetts, and gave him an ironic little bow. Winthrop of Massachusetts bowed back, and the press tables snickered. Senator August rapped, a little querulously, for order.

  “Senator Knox?” he said. Orrin opened his briefcase and took out some papers.

  “Well, Mr. Chairman,” he said brusquely, “this is all very nice, and I am sure the Secretary’s appearances here are always valuable and always welcome, but I think it is really all rather superfluous. I think the committee would like to see Mr. Leffingwell, since he is the nominee here. I have no questions of this witness.”

  Tom August flushed and was about to reply when Arly Richardson spoke.

  “I agree, Mr. Chairman,” he said. “It is obvious that the Secretary, while his views are always welcome, is in no position to give us a really adequate appraisal of the nominee. I do not know about the rest of the committee, but I shall not be satisfied myself until this committee, or at least a duly constituted subcommittee of it, shall have had a chance to examine Mr. Leffingwell, either in public or executive session.”

  “If the committee please,” Senator August began, in noticeable agitation, but before he could proceed further George Hines got into it from the other end of the table in his hearty, phony, fake-cordial way.

  “Those are my sentiments exactly, Mr. Chairman,” he said. “This seems like a strange proceeding to me. While I give all due credit to the Secretary—Howie, how are yah?—and am always glad to have his views, I feel we should have the nominee before us. This is no substitute for his own appearance, Mr. Chairman.”

  Tom August rapped his gavel sharply on the table and spoke in a rare tone of anger.

  “If the committee please,” he repeated, “I suggest that we proceed in the regular order with this witness, after which I have a letter from Mr. Leffingwell which I propose to read, and then a course of action which I propose to suggest to the committee.”

  “You have?” Bob Munson murmured in surprise at his elbow, and Senator August looked around for a second, startled. Then he went on.

  “I assume,” he said firmly, “that what we have just heard represents the questioning of Mr. Knox, Mr. Richardson, and Mr. Hines. That brings us to Mr. DeWilton. Senator?”

  “Well, Mr. Chairman,” Johnny DeWilton said tartly, “if this is the way this hearing is going to be conducted then I don’t see why I should participate in it. It all seems highly irregular to me, I must say. What’s in that letter?”

  “Better read it to them, Tom,” Senator Munson advised in a hurried whisper, and the senior Senator from Minnesota managed to look at one and the same time angered, upset, chagrined, worried, wistful, and saddened.

  “It is obvious,” he said, “that it is the pleasure of the committee that I read the letter, is that right?” There were vigorous nods from both sides of the table, and Verne Cramer said, loud enough to be heard, “Obvious isn’t the word for it, Tom, boy.” Senator August shuffled among the papers before him and then looked around in some dismay. A committee clerk appeared at his elbow and handed him the letter, Howard Sheppard and his little band of brothers settled back to listen, Arly Richardson made a impatient movement.

  “Who is the letter addressed to, Mr. Chairman?” he asked.

  “It is addressed to me,” Senator August said.

  “I thought so,” Arly said, and then, as Tom August hesitated, he added impatiently, “Go ahead, go ahead.”

  “The letter,” Senator August said with dignity, “reads as follows. ‘Dear Mr. Chairman—

  “It is with real regret that I have to tell you that my scheduled appearance before the committee this morning must be delayed on doctor’s orders. That old devil virus has me in his grip, and neither the ODM nor the Department of State apparently has sufficient strength to counteract his onslaughts this morning. My sincerest apologies to you and to the committee for this unexpected hitch in plans.’”

  “That’s smooth enough,” Brigham Anderson whispered to Stanley Danta, and the senior Senator from Connecticut observed dryly, “Oh, he is smooth enough.”

  “I should like to take this opportunity, however, Mr. Chairman,” Tom August read on, “to express to you and to t
he committee, and for the public record, my feelings of awe and gratitude that the President should have given me this nomination. If the committee in its wisdom sees fit to approve it, and if the Senate in its turn confirms that decision, you have my deepest assurance that I will do everything humanly possible to discharge the high duties of Secretary of State as you and the President would wish me to do. You have my assurance also that in that office I will contribute, insofar as God gives me strength and wisdom to do, to the safe passage of our dear country through these perilous times which beset her. I have served her now, in one capacity and another, for thirteen years; it is my highest aim to serve her always, in whatever duty she may call upon me to perform, truly and honorably and as best I can.

  “If the committee should wish to hear me in person at some later time (“A safe assumption,” Senator Cramer remarked to Senator Hines), then of course I am at your service. I would not presume to suggest to the committee its method of procedure (“That’s nice of him,” Orrin Knox remarked with audible tartness to Arly Richardson), but it would seem to me, as one citizen, that matters of such delicacy in international affairs are involved here, and that members of the committee might wish to question me so thoroughly on my views (“Yes, indeedy,” John Winthrop murmured) that it might perhaps be advisable to hear at least part of my testimony in executive session. I think we could all speak more freely, and certainly we should, on these subjects which concern us all so deeply.

  “With best wishes to you and the committee, and with assurance of my full co-operation, Mr. Chairman, I am, Yours sincerely, Robert A. Leffingwell.”

  As Senator August finished and the wire-service reporters jumped up to hurry downstairs to the press room on the floor below and send out their bulletins, Johnny DeWilton spoke up abruptly.

  “Well, Mr. Chairman,” he said, “I do not propose to let this nominee set the terms on which he will appear before the committee. That seems to me most irregular, Mr. Chairman. I resent his attempt to dictate to this committee.”

  “Mr. Chairman,” Bob Munson said with equal vigor, “if the distin-guished Senator from Vermont will yield, I resent his attempt to prejudge this nominee. It seems to me Mr. Leffingwell’s suggestion is a most fair and reasonable one. It is in line with the suggestion a few moments ago of the senior Senator from Arkansas, Mr. Richardson, that the nominee be heard in executive session—”

  “Public or executive, I said,” Arty interjected.

  “—and it seems to me that that is what we should do.”

  “I think I would be satisfied with such a course,” Orrin Knox said, rather surprisingly, “provided we can be sure Mr. Leffingwell will be here as often as we need him, and will answer us as candidly as we may wish him to.”

  “I was about to suggest,” Senator August said with a mild and wistful sarcasm, “before everyone else began talking, that the committee give serious consideration to hearing Mr. Leffingwell in closed session.”

  “God damn,” UPI said to AP, “there goes our story.”

  “Wait a bit,” AP suggested hurriedly.

  “I am prepared to vouch for Mr. Leffingwell’s willingness to be candid,” the chairman went on, “and indeed you have heard his letter pledging exactly that. I think through the medium of executive hearings we can examine into his qualifications and his views without the distractions that might come about in a public hearing.”

  “If we can be assured of his co-operation, and assured of a thorough study, Mr. Chairman,” Stanley Danta remarked, “then I would see no serious objection to the course you propose.”

  “Well, I do,” Ed Parrish, normally one of the quietest of men, said suddenly from his seat near the foot of the minority side. “This matter concerns the whole United States, indeed the whole world. Why should it not be discussed in public session? What is there to hide? It strikes me, Mr. Chairman, as just one more of those situations where this Congress knocks itself out to protect the secrets of the Executive Branch from the Russians, only to find out when all is said and done that it is something the Russians already know and it is only the American people who have been kept in the dark. I don’t like it, Mr. Chairman.”

  “Why don’t we take a vote, Mr. Chairman?” Brigham Anderson suggested calmly. “It seems to me that would be the simplest and most direct and fairest way to proceed.”

  Senator August looked hesitant for a second and Bob Munson murmured, “Might as well, Tom. We’ve got ourselves in a box and that’s the only way out.” The chairman rapped his gavel and cleared his throat.

  “Very well,” he said, “I shall poll the committee. All those in favor of executive hearings on this nomination will say Aye, all those opposed No... Mr. Munson.”

  “Aye,” Bob Munson said.

  “Mr. Strickland.”

  “No,” said Warren Strickland.

  “Mr. Anderson.”

  “I pass for the moment, Mr. Chairman,” Brig said, and there was a sudden heightening of tension in the room.

  “Mr. Winthrop,” Tom August said, and the senior Senator from Massachusetts, after a long moment’s hesitation, said quietly, “Aye.”

  “Mr. Knox.”

  “Aye,” Orrin said tersely.

  “Mr. DeWilton.”

  “No, sir,” Johnny DeWilton said firmly.

  “Mr. Danta.”

  “Aye,” said Stanley.

  “Mr. Cramer.”

  “Aye,” Verne Cramer said, and the second relay of wire-service reporters got up and stood poised to run downstairs to the teletypes with their second bulletin of the morning.

  “Mr. Richardson,” Tom August said and Arly spoke bluntly:

  “No.”

  “Mr. Parrish.”

  “No,” Ed Parrish said.

  “Mr. Hines.”

  “I’m afraid not, No,” George Hines responded.

  “Mr. Smith,” Tom said, and Lafe said, a little defiantly:

  “I vote Aye.”

  “Is the Senator from Utah ready to vote?” Senator August asked, and Brigham Anderson leaned forward with one hand clasped tightly around his microphone.

  “The Senator from Utah,” he said slowly, “votes No.”

  Tom August paused, and there was silence in the Caucus Room.

  “The committee,” he said gently, “is tied six to six. The chairman votes Aye, the motion is carried, and the hearings on this nomination will be held in executive session. If there are no further questions, I think perhaps we can close this public hearing and recess the committee until Mon—”

  It was then, as the reporters sprinted out and the audience let out a concerted gasp of exploded tension and somewhere a photographer struggling angrily for a picture of the committee wailed bitterly, “God damn it, get out of the way!” that there came a little stirring off to one side of the room and out from behind two high school girls and a Capitol cop there emerged a familiar figure, eyelids drooping, hair atangle, manner slow and subtly ironic.

  “Mr.—Chairman,” it said, and the room, a moment before alive with the shuffling of people getting ready to leave, abruptly quieted down again.

  Oh, now, Seab, Bob Munson thought hurriedly. Now, Seab—

  “Mr.—Chairman,” Senator Cooley said thoughtfully. “Mr.—Chairman, I think I might have a little something to contribute. I do think I might.”

  Senator August hesitated and looked, a trifle wildly, at the Senator from Michigan. Bob Munson shrugged.

  “What is the Senator’s wish?” Tom August asked placatingly. “Would you like to testify, or just file a statement?”

  “Oh, Mr. Chairman,” Seab Cooley said softly. “Much more than that. Much—more—than—that. I would like to testify. Others would like to testify. I think many would like to testify. I would like many others to testify. Do you think it could be arranged, Mr. Chairman?”

  “Why,” Tom August said; and then, hastily, as he became aware of Arly Richardson and Brigham Anderson stirring down the table and Johnny DeWilton preparing to seek r
ecognition, “Why. Why, yes, Senator, I suppose it could. Would you like to take the stand right now—”

  “No, Mr. Chairman,” Senator Cooley said. “No. Much as I would like to oblige you all, I have to meet some constituents for lunch, and then there’s some Appropriations Committee business this afternoon, and I believe after that—”

  “Very well, Senator.” Tom August said hurriedly. “I think we can work out something next week that will be satisfactory to all concerned. But I am afraid the full committee may not be able to hear you, because the foreign-aid request is coming up from the White House tomorrow morning, and some of us are going to be tied up on that.”

  He hesitated, and Bob Munson told him sternly in the privacy of his own mind not to start truckling to the old man, because that would give him the advantage right off the bat; but Arly was stirring again, and Tom August hurried on.

  “Would you mind if I named a subcommittee to hear you?” he asked. There was a movement from Seab and the chairman added hastily, “and any witnesses you may care to present?”

  “That would be agreeable to me, Mr. Chairman,” Seab said calmly, “if I might also sit as a member of the subcommittee to conduct certain cross-examinations after I testify.”

  “You have a right to request that courtesy, Senator,” Tom August told him, and he was entirely correct in that, “and of course we will be glad to accord it to you.”

  “Then,” Seab said, and for the first time the shrewd old eyes flickered briefly over the senior Senator from Michigan, “then I think that would all be mighty fine.”

  “Good,” Senator August said, with so obvious a note of relief in his voice that the press tables snickered. “The Chair will appoint a subcommittee consisting of the senior Senator from Utah, Mr. Anderson, as chairman; the senior Senator from Illinois, Mr. Knox; the senior Senator from Arkansas, Mr. Richardson; the senior Senator from Massachusetts, Mr. Winthrop; and the senior Senator from Vermont, Mr. DeWilton, to hold such hearings on this nomination as may be necessary to ascertain the true sentiments of the Senate and the country. This hearing is now—”