by Allen Drury
“Before the press gets on the floor,” the Majority Leader murmured casually, resting one hand on Senator Strickland’s shoulder and looking thoughtfully up at the crowded galleries fifteen minutes before the opening, “I think I should tell you that I would like mighty much to adjourn this here old Senate in about five little old minutes flat. Would you be willing to go along with little old me on that?”
“I might,” the Minority Leader said with a smile, “if the price is right What’s it all about?”
“We have a problem, as you know,” Senator Munson said, “and I don’t want to give anybody a chance to get up and sound off about it and make it worse before we can make it better.”
Particularly Fred,” the Minority Leader suggested, and Bob Munson smiled.
“Particularly that case of overhypoed venom,” he agreed. “I think we’ll get along much better all around if we just quit in a hurry. Harley’s agreeable. Okay?”
“Well, let me see,” Warren Strickland said in mock thought. “Sam Eastwood has his heart set on taking off after the Indian Bureau; Walter Calloway was going to attack the British; Harold Kidd thinks we ought to reduce excise taxes; and I believe Verne Cramer told me he wanted to say a few significant words about Algeria. And of course there is a certain amount of business pending—the Justice Department appropriation, for one thing. Will Seab let you get by with putting that over until next week?”
“I have some hopes,” Bob Munson said, “that we will be long gone by the time both the distinguished Senator from South Carolina and the distinguished Senator from Wyoming reach the chamber.”
“Have you talked to Brig?” Senator Strickland asked, and the Majority Leader nodded.
“Yes, I’m satisfied he has something on his mind,” he said, “and we’re trying to work it out. That’s why I want to avoid aggravating everything here. Are you with me?”
The Minority Leader smiled.
“I’m against this nomination,” he said, “but for you, Bobby”—he bowed slightly, with a little twinkle—“sure.”
“Thanks, pal,” the Majority Leader said hurriedly as the first reporters began to come on the floor for the pre-session briefing. “Collect when you want to.”
“I will,” Senator Strickland promised with a chuckle.
“Well, Bob,” AP said, “anything to add to that clear, forthright statement we got earlier?”
“Not a thing,” Senator Munson said blandly, “so why don’t you run along?”
“What do you think, Senator?” UPI asked Warren Strickland. “Does it make sense to you?”
“Heavens,” Warren Strickland said. “Washington stopped making sense to me about one month after I got here, and it never has since. Surely you old hands don’t expect it to?”
“Are you going to protest the subcommittee’s action?” the Houston Post asked, and the Minority Leader looked more serious.
“Certainly not,” he said. “I’m quite content to await developments.”
“There will probably be some on the floor today,” the Times suggested, and the Minority Leader laughed.
“Oh, I think we’ll get by without too much trouble,” he said comfortably.
“What’s coming up, Bob?” the Herald Tribune asked. Senator Munson looked thoughtfully through the papers on his desk.
“We have the Justice Department appropriation scheduled,” he said, “and maybe one or two minor claims bills.”
“Fairly short session, then,” AP suggested.
“Fairly short,” Bob Munson agreed.
“Think he’ll go for that?” the Post inquired, gesturing toward the back of the chamber, and Senator Munson turned to see the junior Senator from Wyoming enter in a purposeful way.
“I think,” he said impassively, “that we may be able to keep him within reasonable limits.”
“We hope not, Senator,” UPI told him. “Your loss would be our gain—in news, that is.”
Senator Munson chuckled.
“Oh, we’ll give you some news,” he said. “It may not be what Fred expects, but you’ll have some.”
“What’s this,” the Times demanded, “have you got a letter from the White House to read?”
“Nothing so sensational,” the Majority Leader said. “Wait and see.”
“We will,” AP promised as the bell sounded and they began to hurry off the floor. “We'll be right up there in the press gallery waiting.”
The clock stood at noon and the Senate composed itself as the last of the reporters trailed out the door and Carney Birch stepped forward solemnly to give the prayer. There were perhaps fifteen Senators on the floor in addition to the two leaders; George Bowen of Iowa; Walter Turnbull of Louisiana; Clement Johnson of Delaware; and so on. They were going to be surprised, too, the Majority Leader reflected, but it couldn’t be helped. This was the best way. He bowed his head dutifully.
“Lord,” the Chaplain said, “grant us Thy blessings on these deliberations and make us truly worthy of the trust Thou hast placed in us. Amen.”
“Is that all?” Bob Munson started to say, half aloud, and then caught himself with a wink at the Vice President, who winked back. The chaplain gave him a dignified look and disappeared into the back lobby. Carney obviously wasn’t taking any more chances.
“Mr. President!” the Majority Leader and the Senator from Wyoming said together, and Harley said calmly, “The Senator from Michigan.”
“Mr. President,” Bob Munson said, “I move that the reading of yesterday’s Journal be dispensed with.”
“Without objection, it is so ordered,” Harley said, and, “Mr. President!” the two Senators said again.
“The Senator from Michigan,” the Vice President said, and Fred Van Ackerman gave him an indignant look.
“Mr. President,” Senator Munson said, “I move that the Senate stand in recess until noon on Monday.”
“What the hell?” Clement Johnson said audibly to Walter Turnbull, and, “Mr. President!” Senator Van Ackerman cried angrily, but before he could even complete the words Harley was saying calmly, “Without objection, it is so ordered.” And with a bang of the gavel he rose and was out of his chair and on his way off the floor even as the galleries began to buzz with excitement and the few members present, looking at one another in considerable bafflement, gathered up their papers, and began to leave.
“Mr. President!” Fred Van Ackerman cried again to Harley’s disappearing back in one last protesting wail, and then he dropped it and came forward angrily down the center aisle. Above the reporters in the press gallery were still watching intently, and he came forward into the well of the Senate until he was standing almost directly beneath them.
“Come down to the President’s Room right away,” he called. “I’m going to hold a press conference.”
“And so what’s on his little mind?” AP asked as they crowded out of the gallery and hurried to the elevator to go down to the floor.
“I’m damned if I know,” UPI said, “but I imagine after Bob’s little piece of legerdemain it may be newsworthy.”
“Wasn’t that neat?” the Herald Tribune remarked. “Zip, zip, zip. Now you see them, now you don’t.”
“I expect it will be a fairly short session, he says,” the St. Louis Post-Dispatch observed. “And Warren Strickland right there acting as his water boy. Honest to Christ I wonder, sometimes.”
“Oh, well,” The Wall Street Journal said with a grin. “Furious Freddy will make up for it. He ought to be primed for bear.”
And true enough, even as the elevator arrived and they crowded in to make the descent to the floor below, Senator Van Ackerman had turned back to the Majority and Minority Leaders and was making his views known to them.
“Pretty smart,” he said scornfully. “Pretty smart, you two. Is that what you call acting responsibly?”
“We’ll come to your press conference, Fred,” Senator Strickland said pleasantly, “and you can tell us off before the whole wide world, if you like.”
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“You’d better,” the junior Senator from Wyoming said grimly, “because I’m going to.”
“Warren,” Bob Munson said, offering his arm, “be my guest.”
“With pleasure,” the Minority Leader said, bowing low.
“Oh, hell,” Senator Van Ackerman snapped. “Why don’t you get up a minstrel act and be done with it?”
And turning on his heel he hurried away to the ornate, gold-painted, chandelier-hung, mirror-walled room off the Senate floor where Senators meet the press for interviews when the Senate is in session. There where Presidents up through Woodrow Wilson used to come on the last night of the session to sign bills, he found most of the reporters already gathered, seated in the big chairs and crowded on the sofas, leaning against the big green-baize table in the center of the room, standing in little gossiping groups. He waited for a moment until Senator Munson and Senator Strickland came casually along, and then began abruptly and without preamble.
“What you have just witnessed on the Senate floor,” he said, “is typical of the atmosphere of secrecy and stealth which has surrounded the handling of this nomination from the first. You have seen the Majority and Minority Leaders deliberately mislead—yes, I say deliberately mislead, and I’m glad you’re here, Bob and Warren, I take pleasure in saying it to your faces—the Senate and the country as to their intentions. You have seen something I can only describe as a conspiracy, yes, a conspiracy, between the Majority and Minority Leaders to suppress the facts in this matter and keep the truth from the country.”
“Will you slow down, Fred,” AP said wearily. “Some of us aren’t shorthand reporters, you know.”
“Sorry,” Senator Van Ackerman said, and after a moment with a quick glance at his two impassive elders, he went on at a slower clip.
“I charge,” he said, “yes, I charge, that the senior Senator from Utah, the chairman of the subcommittee, is deliberately trying to put the nominee in a bad light and make the country think there is something evil about him, yes, something evil. He is deliberately trying to defeat the nomination by this phony act he has put on, this strange, peculiar secrecy and he is being aided and abetted, yes abetted and aided, by the senior Senator from Michigan and the distinguished Senator from Idaho. I say this is strange and peculiar, and that is what I think the conduct of the chairman of the subcommittee is in this matter, strange and peculiar.”
“Do you think he is strange and peculiar too?” AP inquired in the same bored tone, and for a second the junior Senator from Wyoming looked at him with a gleam of real dislike in his eyes.
“I’m not making any imputations about the Senator from Utah,” he snapped. “You can say that if you like, I won’t.”
“We can’t unless you do,” AP pointed out calmly. “We aren’t editorial writers. Is that all you have to say?”
“No, it isn’t,” Senator Van Ackerman said angrily, and for a second it seemed he might explode into one of his rages. But he didn’t, and his next words came more calmly.
“What I intended to do at today’s session,” he said, “before the Majority Leader and the Minority Leader decided to be so cute about it, was to move again, as I did yesterday, that the Foreign Relations Committee be discharged from further consideration of the nomination, and that it be brought up immediately for a vote. That was what I intended to do today, I will say to the Majority Leader, and now that he has blocked me I tell him that is what I intend to do on Monday.”
“Do you have any reason to suppose that you will get enough votes to do it on the second try, Senator?” the Newark News inquired, and Fred Van Ackerman looked smug.
“I have received some assurances of support,” he said. “I have reason to think I will have enough votes the next time. I will remind you I only lost on a tie vote yesterday. That gives me a good foundation to start with.”
“You actually think you have enough votes to do it?” UPI asked with undisguised skepticism. “You actually think you’ve gained and the Majority Leader has lost?”
“I do,” Fred Van Ackerman said firmly. “I certainly do.”
“What do you think, Bob?” the Times asked, and the Majority Leader looked bland.
“This is Fred’s press conference,” he said. “Warren and I are only here by invitation. And,” he added with a smile, “a cordial one it was, too, I can tell you. No, I haven’t any comment. Do you, Warren?”
“No, indeed,” the Minority Leader said, “except to say that in such close votes involving the traditions of the Senate, when attrition sets in it usually sets in against those who are trying to overturn the traditions rather than those who are upholding them. That is the lesson of history, but then,” he said gently, “this is a newer and more dynamic age we are being ushered into by the distinguished junior Senator from Wyoming, and maybe he has surprises for us.”
“You’ll see,” Senator Van Ackerman said coldly. “You’ll see. Yes, as I said, a strange and peculiar business, and I shall do what I can to expose it and bring the nomination of this great man to be Secretary of State to an early vote. There is something sinister and evil here, yes, sinister and evil.”
“I could name it,” the Times murmured behind his hand to the Herald Trib, and the Trib murmured back, “Strange and peculiar, too. Senator,” he said politely, “is that all?”
“No, it isn’t,” Fred Van Ackerman said. “I also want to announce that I have just heard from the national organizing committee of COMFORT in New York, and they have asked my assistance in arranging for a giant rally here this Saturday night in support of the nominee. I’ve checked the National Guard Armory and find that it is available, and it has been reserved for the rally. Starting time is 8 p.m.”
“Renting the Armory costs a small penny,” the Denver Post remarked. “Who’s putting up the dough, Senator?”
“I told you, the national organizing committee,” Senator Van Ackerman said. “We expect to have cavalcades of cars converging here from as far away as Pittsburgh, Raleigh, and Cincinnati. It will be the biggest thing COMFORT’s ever done.”
“Why?” the Washington Star asked bluntly. Fred Van Ackerman looked as though any idiot would understand.
“Because we feel it is needed,” he said. “Because we feel that Bob Leffingwell needs our help. Because we feel the country wants him, and we’re going to see to it that the country gets him.”
“Will there be working space for the press?” AP asked practically, and Senator Van Ackerman smiled.
“We’ll take care of you,” he said. “You just come along out and see.”
“We’ll think about it, Senator,” the Washington Post said thoughtfully.
“Good,” Fred said. “Well, that’s all, unless you want to ask me some questions.”
“We get the picture, Fred,” the Star told him, and for a second he looked around in a strangely insecure fashion.
“Fine,” he said. Then his face hardened again as he turned to leave.
“You can be ready on Monday, Bob,” he said. “Just be ready. You too, Warren.”
“We’ll be ready,” the Majority Leader assured him as he left. “Now what do you suppose,” he asked the press in a wondering tone, “that all adds up to?”
“Trouble for you, I’d say,” AP suggested, and Senator Munson smiled.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said comfortably. “A vote he can’t win and a rally of crackpots? I don’t think so.”
“Don’t underestimate him, Bob,” UPI suggested. Senator Munson allowed himself to look a little impatient.
“I don’t underestimate him,” he said, “but for Christ’s sake, let’s all try to keep our sanity on this, shall we? We’re working it out with Brig, and I expect he’ll be seeing the President before the afternoon is over, and then everything will be all right—”
“May we quote you on that, Senator?” the Trib interrupted, and Bob Munson waved a generous hand.
“Sure,” he said. “Now run along.”
“Let’s get this s
traight,” UPI said carefully. “You expect Senator Anderson to go to the White House this afternoon and that a satisfactory solution will be worked out then. Can we expect an announcement later?”
“Check with me around four,” Bob Munson said, aware as he made the suggestion that there was something he was supposed to do at four, but it had slipped his mind for the moment, and anyway, it could probably be put off. “I think I’ll have something for you then.”
“Thank you, Mr. Senator!” the Washington Post said happily, and they rose in a body and took flight back to the elevator, up to the gallery, and to their typewriters where they began banging out their stories.
Left alone in the glittering gold room, the Minority Leader looked rather skeptically at the Majority Leader.
“That was going a little far just to top Fred Van Ackerman, wasn’t it?” he asked. “How do you know Brig will agree to see him this afternoon?”
“We’ll work it out,” Senator Munson said comfortably. “Orrin’s got Lafe working on him, and he’ll come around ....Damn, now I remember.”
“Remember what?” Senator Strickland asked.
“I knew I had something at four,” Bob Munson said. “Tommy Davis wanted to come over and see me about Brig, too. Well, it should all be settled by then, so that won’t be any problem. He’ll be pleased to be in on the press conference when it’s announced.”
“You’re suddenly awfully confident of Brig,” Warren Strickland said thoughtfully, “when you were so doubtful before. Why this sudden switch all of a sudden? Have you anything to go on?”
“Just the caliber of his opposition,” Senator Munson said as they left the President’s Room and started to walk down the stairs to the restaurant. “He’s so far above what we’ve just seen that somehow I just feel in my bones that it will work out all right. He doesn’t have anything to worry about, really, and neither do we. Aside from Fred, we’re all reasonable men.”
But in this, as they came up with Bob Randall of New Jersey and Jack McLaughlin of Georgia in the hall and formed an impromptu foursome for lunch, he perhaps was not entirely correct; for shortly after Fred Van Ackerman got back to his office and shortly after the news stories had gone out over the wire, a call came from the White House. He just wanted to congratulate Fred, the President said casually, on his support of the nomination, and why didn’t he drop down sometime at his convenience and get better acquainted? Much flattered, the junior Senator from Wyoming promised that he would.
