The Presidency: Consensus of a Different Kind

Lyndon Johnson, the supreme cultiva tor of consensus, last week pondered a bitter paradox. He came to the presidency with a wide consensus created by the assassination of his predecessor.

He won election in his own right be hind a consensus of unprecedented breadth. He used the mandate afforded by that consensus to steer a sweeping program through Congress. But now, as Johnson approaches the end of his fourth year as President, the only audi ble consensus in the nation is the one that is building against him.

On the farms and in the cities, in suburbs and slums, among intellectuals and businessmen, a consuming sense of unease has gripped Americans. “There is,” says Health, Education and Wel fare Secretary John Gardner, “a kind of negativism, a grumbling, complaining mood.” Viet Nam, urban riots and rising prices have all contributed their part to what a White House aide candidly describes as “a general malaise.” Ultimately, Johnson shoulders the blame.

The upshot is a crisis in confidence and leadership so severe that it threat ens to impair the conduct and prestige of the presidency.

Chasm of Mistrust. The pollsters of fer disquieting statistics. A Louis Har ris sampling shows that only 31% of the nation approves of Johnson’s han dling of the Viet Nam war — a precipitous 15% drop in three months.

Gallup reports that a bare 38% of the citizenry likes L.B.J.’s overall conduct of his job — down 10% from last year.

Other Gallup polls indicate that 1) New York’s Democratic Senator Robert F.

Kennedy has surged to a commanding 51-to-39 lead over him in a popularity contest among adults of all political persuasions; and 2) New York’s Governor Nelson Rockefeller and California’s Governor Ronald Reagan would swamp a Johnson-Humphrey ticket 57 to 43.

Some of the nation’s major publica tions echo the pollsters’ findings. A spot survey by the Wall Street Journal pointed to “a chasm of mistrust, anger and frustration — mostly over the Viet Nam war.” The Christian Science Monitor predicted that America’s 22 million Ne groes, who were 94% behind Johnson in 1964, may give as many as 30% of their votes to a Republican (other than Reagan and Richard Nixon) next year. Reason: “He overpromised.”

Pressure Ploy. In both houses of Congress, Johnson’s predicament was painfully apparent. In the Senate, criticism of the Viet Nam war grew so noisy among previously quiescent Republicans that the White House had to ask Minority Leader Everett Dirksen to defend its policies (see following story).

The House was in an openly rebellious mood on taxes and spending, thanks largely to the President’s efforts to shift responsibility for any action to Congress. Loath to offend any voters by cutting spending on their pet projects, the President suggested the House wield the economy ax itself; he also urged it to enact his 10% surcharge on income taxes as speedily as possible. The House tossed the ball back to Johnson. By a lopsided 20-to-5 vote, the Ways and Means Committee deferred all action on the tax increase “until such time as the President and Congress reach an understanding on a means of implementing more effective expenditure reduction and controls.”

Having failed at persuasion, Johnson tried ill-disguised pressure. He ordered a freeze on all nonessential government spending—notably the pork-barrel, river and harbor projects so dear to most Congressmen—as an economy move. To avoid the appearance of arm twisting, Johnson did not announce the move himself, instead reiterated his plea to Congress to enact his tax bill and cut expenditures. “I know it is not a popular thing for a President to do—to ask anyone for a penny out of a dollar to pay for a war that is not popular,” Johnson told savings-and-loan officials in an off-the-cuff talk. “If I were concerned only with my own popularity or my own poll, that wouldn’t be the way I would go about it—to suggest higher taxes or more wars. But you have to do what is responsible, and you have to do what is right if you sit in this place.”

Ways and Means Chairman Wilbur Mills was infuriated by the President’s tactics. He accused Johnson of “buck passing” and made clear that there is no hope he will get his tax increase. “The tax bill,” said Mills, “is dead as of now.”

Al Fresco Toast. Johnson’s money troubles with Congress are hardly unique. Practically every President with an ambitious, expensive program has encountered stiff resistance on Capitol

Hill. But Johnson’s problems go deeper.

He is widely regarded as devious, even dishonest. He brought to the presidency all the skills that he had perfected during 23 years in Congress—in particular, an adroitness at backstage maneuvering and a devout belief in secrecy and surprise. But what may be assets on the Hill have proved to be liabilities in the White House, and Johnson’s lingering image as the crafty manipulator has done him immense harm. Many Americans seem convinced, as one observer of the presidency has written, that Johnson is a man who believes that “the shortest distance be tween two points is through a tunnel.”

The President’s all too evident egotism reinforces this pervasive distrust.

Recently, White House aides all at once told how much Johnson has always admired Longshoreman-Philosopher Eric Hoffer (The True Believer). Actually Johnson had never met Hoffer, and nobody had heard him mention his name, but the reason for his sudden enthu siasm was clear. During a TV interview last month, Hoffer predicted L.B.J. would be “the foremost President of the 20th century.” Wasting no time, Johnson brought Hoffer to the South Lawn of the White House last week for a chat. “The Trumans and the John sons get things done,” Hoffer was overheard assuring the President at one point. “Don’t worry about the polls,” he said at another. The two toasted each other in Fresca, which Johnson calls “Fresco,” then posed for photos, which were sped across the nation to show there are still those who go all the way with L.B.J.

Johnson is well aware that he is in trouble. He has asked virtually all his close friends and associates to write memos telling him what has gone wrong. But there is some question whether they will really do so. All too frequently, candor-on-request has resulted in a speedy exit from Johnson’s inner circle.

One friend recalls how, when Johnson was a Congressman during World War II, he informed Cook Zephyr Wright that he was bringing some important people home for a steak dinner. Unable to scrape up enough red ration stamps for steak, Zephyr fretfully asked Nellie Connally, wife of Texas’ Governor John Connally, who was then a naval officer, what she should tell Johnson. “Nellie said to tell him that he’s just like everybody else,” said the friend. “Zephyr thought a moment and then said, ‘Well, Mrs. Connally, you know he is like everybody else, and I know he is like everybody else, but I’m not going to tell him he is like everybody else.’ ” Zephyr is still Johnson’s cook, and there are several men still enjoying his confidence because they exercised similar prudence. The result has been to insulate Johnson from reality.

Uncle Sugar. Like most of his predecessors, Johnson took office genuinely determined to be the President of all the people all the time. Unlike them, Johnson has refused to recognize that in a society as diverse as the U.S., a President frequently has to take sides and act as a contender against some of the people. Said an aide: “I just wish that he would be the bastard that he really is.” Instead, he has attempted the impossible feat of trying to please all of the people all of the time, chiefly by posing as a benign granddaddy and an openhanded Uncle Sugar. In consequence, he has managed to alienate a sizable number of them.

“We’ve got to get over the fear of making mistakes,” says one of the President’s closest associates. “We can’t be afraid to admit we’ve been wrong.” Rarely has Johnson made such an admission—as John F. Kennedy did after the Bay of Pigs. Quite the contrary. Last week, for example, with problems swirling all around him, he told the National Co-op Conference in Washington: “With all of our complaints, with all of our sufferings, our inconveniences, our setbacks, our frustrations, I think that all of us have good enough judgment to know that we are on the way, that we are moving, that we are getting better every day.”

The President, of course, had a point: no nation has ever enjoyed such fantastic wealth, and that wealth is increasing steadily. But the U.S. is also in the midst of a debilitating war, a racial upheaval of immeasurable proportions, and a crisis of seemingly irreversible decay in its cities. In such circumstances, when the President grandly declares that the country never had it so good, he is adding a few more voters to the great consensus that he is creating—against himself.