All this made for a laborious and lengthy presentation, and it became the more so thanks to a constant barrage of questions and interruptions. A few of these came from McCarthy’s Republican colleagues, trying to be helpful and amplifying some of the points that he was raising. Thus, both Homer Ferguson of Michigan and Karl Mundt of South Dakota spoke up to emphasize the resignation strategy that had prevailed at State and elsewhere, and failure to use the McCarran rider. Maine Republican Owen Brewster, an experienced student of such matters, hit hard at the Truman secrecy order and the need for Congress to get the underlying data.14
However, these Republican comments and asides were overwhelmed by the sheer volume of Democratic interruptions. Scott Lucas’s early challenge on the Wheeling numbers was merely a warm-up for what would follow. Brien McMahon of Connecticut, for one, went after the issue of the State Department files and the summaries McCarthy was reading, intimating that McCarthy was citing only unfavorable items and that the complete files might show something different. This brought a further statement from McCarthy on the need for Congress to get the records. “The Senator understands,” McCarthy countered, “that I do not have complete State Department files in these matters. I very greatly wish I did. That is one of the things I hope one of our committees will succeed in getting.”
Contributing uniquely to the debate was Sen. Herbert Lehman (D-N.Y.), perhaps the upper chamber’s most prominent liberal. At one point, Lehman had a go at the numbers, deducing that McCarthy was talking about “250” names because “I am adding the 57 names to the 205 names which have been mentioned….” McCarthy answered by once more explaining the distinction between the 57 and the 205, the Byrnes letter and related matters. Lehman then asked “whether these names or any substantial number have been submitted to the Secretary of State.” To this McCarthy answered that Acheson already had the names and cases in his possession—as all of them came from State itself. Lehman then complained again that “I still do not understand why these names have not been submitted to the Secretary of State.”15
The numbers and the question of giving the names to State weren’t the only things confusing Lehman. An even more curious exchange developed on the question of how, exactly, Communists looked and walked and acted. In discussing two of his suspects (Mary Jane Keeney and Gustavo Duran), McCarthy said that if someone looked, walked, and talked like a Communist, then he probably was a Communist. To this Lehman replied, “If we could spot Communists by the manner in which they walk, our task of fighting Communism would be far simpler than it is.” McCarthy explained that he was using the phrase metaphorically and that “I have not…seen them physically walk, I am speaking of [their] records…” Lehman: “I did not think the senator could describe a Communist by the way Communists look.”16
As shall be seen, this would not be the last time McCarthy’s opponents indulged in questioning of this eccentric nature. However, by far the most persistent—and significant—of the questions aimed at McCarthy concerned, not how the suspects looked and walked, but who exactly they might be and whether he would supply their names, then and there, before the Senate. As presaged in his weekend comments, Scott Lucas went after the question early and returned to it often.
Given the standard treatment of McCarthy and his alleged methods of recklessly smearing people by naming them as Communists or security risks, the series of exchanges on this issue may once more be surprising to modern readers. The facts of the matter, as it happened, were quite the other way around. McCarthy had barely begun his presentation, for example, when Lucas interjected: “I want him to name those Communists…. The senator is privileged to name them all in the Senate, and if those people are not Communists the senator will be protected.” A few minutes later, Lucas was back with the same demand, referring to “all the Communists he [McCarthy] is going to name. I want to remain here until he names them.”17
These comments occurred before McCarthy had discussed a single suspect on his roster. When he at last got going on his case No. 1, Lucas was on his feet again, demanding: “Will the senator tell us the name of the man for the record? We are entitled to know who he is. I say this in all seriousness. The Senate and the public are entitled to know who that man is…” Thereafter Lucas repeatedly returned to the subject, saying that “whenever the senator names the names,” he, Lucas, would assist in the investigation. Still later, Lucas asserted, “The sooner the senator can name these names, the better off we will all be.”18
McCarthy demurred from all these suggestions, including the notion that he could rely on senatorial privilege to make false identifications without fear of libel.*106 As instructive as the many demands from Lucas for public naming of the suspects were McCarthy’s repeated refusals to do this and the reasons he gave for not complying. Very early in the proceedings, McCarthy stated his position this way:
“The names are available. The senators may have them if they care for them. I think, however, it would be improper to make the names public until the appropriate Senate committee can meet in executive session and get them. I have approximately 81 cases. I do not claim to have any tremendous investigative agency to get the facts, but if I were to give all the names involved, it might leave a wrong impression. If we should label one man a Communist when he is not a Communist I think it would be too bad. However, the names are here. I shall be glad to abide by the decision of the Senate after it hears the cases, but I think the sensible thing to do would be to have an executive session and have a proper committee go over the whole situation.”19
McCarthy returned to the subject when McMahon raised the issue of fairness to people on the list of suspects. To this McCarthy replied: “The senator from Illinois [Lucas] demanded, loudly, that I furnish all the names. I told him at that time that so far as I was concerned I thought that would be improper; that I do not have all of the information about these individuals. I have enough to convince me that either they are members of the Communist Party or they are giving great aid and comfort to the Communists. I may be wrong. That is why I said that unless the Senate demanded that I do so, I would not do this…It is possible that some of these persons will get a clean bill of health. I know that some of them will not.”20
Still later, again addressing McMahon, McCarthy stated: “If the senator from Connecticut had been here a little earlier, he would have heard the majority leader demanding that [the identities be made public]. He demanded that I present the names and indict them before the country, without giving them a chance to be heard. I said, ‘No, I will not do that unless the Senate demands it….I may be wrong.’ That is why I am not naming them”21
Nor was even this the end of the matter. Still later in the debate, Sen. Garrett Withers (D-Ky.) also urged McCarthy to name the names, on the unusual theory (voiced earlier by Lucas) that not naming them was an unfair practice—allegedly placing all other, innocent staffers of the State Department under a cloud of suspicion. Withers proved to be a full match for Lucas in his persistence, saying: “I should like to ask the senator what reasons he has for not calling names. Does not the senator think it would be a fine thing to let the public know who the guilty are…?” And: “Does not the senator know that I, like all others, am anxious to hear their names?”22 To all of which McCarthy responded:
“I have stated repeatedly I would go before any Senate committee and divulge the names. I have said further that if it were the feeling of the majority of the Senate that…we can do a better job by making the names public on the floor of the Senate, I will be glad to abide by that decision. However, I think that would be a mistake…. Let me say that this matter is too important for meto use it as a utensil whereby I can satisfy someone’s curiosity….I am convinced of the Communist connections of these persons….Nevertheless, I do not think, as a general proposition, one member of the Senate should arise on the floor of the Senate and should make public the names of 81 persons in that way.”23
This is a lot about a single matter, but it is a matter of utmo
st importance in assessing the usual image of McCarthy—and the stance of his opponents. Rather than McCarthy’s recklessly naming people in public as Communists or security risks without providing them a chance to answer, it was Senators Lucas and Withers who demanded that precisely such a course be followed, and it was McCarthy who adamantly refused to do so. The record on this is about as clear as such things can get—and is the more suggestive as Scott Lucas wasn’t merely one senator among many, but the majority leader of the Senate. Quite obviously, Lucas and Withers were trying to bait McCarthy into committing “McCarthyism” in discussion of his cases, and were indefatigable in their attempts to do so.
THIS background takes on additional relevance in connection with the Senate subcommittee hearings that followed. In his exchanges with Lucas, McCarthy repeatedly said such hearings should be in executive session—this obviously congruent with his refusal to name the names before the Senate. The Lucas reply was equally consistent, matching his demands that McCarthy give the names in public with a curt dismissal of executive hearings.
“As far as I am concerned,” said Lucas, “it will not be in executive session. If I have anything to say about it, it will be in the open where every individual in America, every newspaperman, can attend, so that they will know definitely as soon as possible just who is being charged and who is not being charged with being Communists.”24
As Lucas was the Senate leader, he of course had something to say about it, and did. In obedience to the Lucas-Withers logic that not naming the names in public was unfair, arrangements were made to have the hearings in public session. McCarthy had wanted executive sessions, and so did his Republican colleagues on the subcommittee that would weigh his charges, Bourke Hickenlooper of Iowa and Henry Cabot Lodge of Massachusetts. However, they were in the minority and their views did not prevail. As Hickenlooper would tell the Senate (concurred in by Lodge):
It is a matter of fact that the junior senator from Massachusetts [Lodge] and I…at the first executive meeting of the subcommittee, proposed the procedures that the subcommittee meet in executive session, call the senator from Wisconsin before it, and ask him to disclose the names in private, together with whatever information he had in connection with the cases; but the majority of the subcommittee said no, this must be brought out in public…the senator from Wisconsin was required, or requested, to come before the committee in public hearings with klieg lights, television and all the rest of such an emotional occasion, there to bring out his cases, name the names, and produce facts.25
Accordingly, McCarthy made preparations to appear in public session and brought with him information on various cases, including backup data that would be distributed to the press as well as to the subcommittee. The first of these cases, as it turned out, was Dorothy Kenyon, a onetime New York City judge and former State Department appointee to a U.N. commission on women. Judge Kenyon had an extensive record of affiliation with Communist fronts, which McCarthy was primed to discuss in some detail.
Against the backdrop of the Senate debate, Lucas’s statement that there would be no executive sessions, and the recollections of Hickenlooper/Lodge about the way this was settled, the opening exchanges between McCarthy and subcommittee chairman Millard Tydings are instructive. As the hearing commenced, Tydings suddenly announced to McCarthy that it was up to him to decide whether they would be in public or executive session:
TYDINGS: Senator, at any time that you feel that you want to go into executive session with part of this testimony, if you will indicate that I will call the committee right here together and we will see what the situation is…
MCCARTHY: Let me make my position clear. I personally do not favor presenting names, no matter how conclusive the evidence is. The committee has called me this morning, and in order to intelligently present the information, I must give the names…. Let us take the case of Dor—
TYDINGS: I told you when I invited you to testify that you could testify in any manner that you saw fit. If it is your preference to give these names in executive session we will be glad to have your wishes acceded to. If it is your desire to give them in open session, that is your responsibility.
MCCARTHY: Let me say this first case has been handed to the press already…. Let us take the case of Dorothy Kenyon.26
With that the deed was done. “McCarthyism” had at long last been committed, and McCarthy would henceforth be held responsible for naming the names of his suspects in open session, thus smearing them in public. It was a foretaste of what was to come in the hearings chaired by Millard Tydings and other events of curious nature.
CHAPTER 16
The Tydings Version
IN MOST chronicles of the 1950s and their white-hot security battles, the name and work of Millard Tydings loom exceeding large. This is so for one fairly obvious reason and for one that’s less apparent, though critical to our understanding of the era.
The obvious part is that Tydings was a hugely significant player in the drama, occupying center stage for months in a titanic struggle with McCarthy. Not so obvious is that standard treatments of the matter have relied, either directly or indirectly, on information gleaned from Tydings. Indeed, the whole scenario now accepted as historical truth about McCarthy’s early cases comes from the report and dicta of Tydings and his subcommittee allies. The accuracy of the Tydings version is thus a matter of some interest.
Like everything else in the McCarthy story, the choice of a committee to weigh his charges and the scope of its investigation were topics of dispute. From a Republican standpoint, the Senate Appropriations Committee was a favored venue, as it included such knowledgeable GOP stalwarts on loyalty/ security issues as Homer Ferguson of Michigan and Styles Bridges of New Hampshire. The Democratic leadership, however, preferred the more liberal Foreign Relations Committee, chaired by Tom Connally of Texas—a choice that had some surface merit inasmuch as the State Department was the focus of inquiry.
As the Democrats controlled the Senate, Foreign Relations got the job, to be handled through a special subcommittee. The Republicans did somewhat better on the scope of the investigation, or so it appeared at first. Scott Lucas had wanted to confine the probe strictly to McCarthy’s cases, but Ferguson and Sen. Irving Ives (R-N.Y.) objected, urging a much broader survey. The resolution that was adopted, S.R. 231, seemed to promise this, saying the subcommittee was “to conduct a full and complete study and investigation as to whether people who are disloyal to the United States are, or have been, employed by the Department of State.”1
The fourth-ranking Democrat on the full committee, Tydings became the subcommittee chairman. Serving with him on the majority side were former U.S. Assistant Attorney General Brien McMahon of Connecticut, already met with, and octogenarian Theodore Green of Rhode Island, both reliable New Deal liberals. Hickenlooper of Iowa, a staunch conservative of the Robert Taft wing of the GOP, and Lodge of Massachusetts, a leading party moderate, were the Republican appointees. (To give things a bipartisan aura, the Democrats hoped to bring Lodge over to their views, but in this were doomed to failure.) Washington lawyer Edward Morgan, a veteran of such investigations, would be named chief counsel. Internal security expert Robert Morris was later added to the staff, assisting the Republican members.
On the face of it, the choice of Tydings to lead the probe seemed to be a shrewd one. He was one of the grandees of the Senate, chairing the powerful Armed Services Committee as well as serving on Foreign Relations. First elected in 1926, he was high on the seniority ladder and by all accounts a potent force in backroom dealings. He was known to be tough, a bit imperious, and able. Also, he had an independent image, having opposed the Roosevelt Supreme Court–packing scheme of 1937 and thereafter weathering a purge attempt by FDR in the Democratic primary elections of 1938.
As this last suggests, Tydings was then seen as a conservative Democrat of the southern/border state variety, which meant, first and foremost, an opponent of civil rights. (Maryland at the time was as one with oth
er jurisdictions south of the Mason-Dixon line in having segregated institutions.) But Tydings had another side as well, not so visible to the public. He was closely linked with the foreign policy establishment of the New Deal era and had twice championed Dean Acheson for advancement to high office. Tydings thus provided cover to the right, particularly with southern Democrats, but figured to be a solid ally of the State Department in any showdown with McCarthy. In this he would not disappoint.
THE Tydings panel launched its public sessions on March 8, 1950, in the full glare of the media spotlight, with McCarthy as first witness. The Senate Caucus Room—scene of many celebrated hearings—was packed wall to wall. Spectators, press, Hill staffers, and executive employees were jammed together, some behind and within a few feet of the committee dais. Klieg lights blazed, flashbulbs popped, and reporters crowded the press tables as they awaited the appearance of the suddenly famous leadoff witness. The McCarthy era in American politics had now begun for certain.
Once things got rolling, the proceedings turned out to be spectacular, unruly, and extremely odd. The executive-session gamesmanship that occurred beforehand was, as it transpired, only one such maneuver among many. For openers, in a replay of what happened on the Senate floor, when McCarthy tried to read a statement he was repeatedly interrupted. (McCarthy himself would calculate that he was interrupted more than 100 times in the course of his presentation. A more impartial source, historian-biographer Lately Thomas, writes that “in his first 250 minutes on the stand [McCarthy] was allowed to read a statement for 17 minutes, and was interrupted 85 times.”)2
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