The Presidency: Greyer, Graver– and Growing

Quietly, with none of the ten-gallon flamboyance that has marked many lesser occasions in his life, Lyndon Johnson turned 57 last week.

The past year has left its imprint on the features and the temperament of the President. The crevices in cheeks and brow are more deeply graven; his hair is markedly greyer. Johnson’s demeanor—in public, at least—has become noticeably more restrained, more responsive to the image of his office. Yet, an erect 6 ft. 3 in., he still exudes irrepressibly the hill-countryman’s crackling vitality; his pace is still hell-for-leather, his self-confidence as massive as ever. When asked by an aide how he felt about the job last week, Lyndon replied buoyantly: “I have no regrets. I’m very happy. I’m very proud. I’m very pleased.”

The pride and pleasure were evident in Johnson’s handling of his press conference. So, too, was the new-found aura of presidential dignity, a blend of artless good humor and consummate professional skill. The impression was heightened by his birthday-week decision to wear plastic-rimmed spectacles, which make him look older, instead of the contact lenses with which he has previously disguised his hyperopia for the benefit of the TV audience. As he gazed at the “people eater,” the combination close-up camera and teleprompter that all but obscures the President from his audience, he looked for all the world like a genial Foxy Grandpa.

“A Tower.” The question-and-answer passages could have been custom-scripted. What about those Republicans who criticize his conduct of the Viet Nam war? Just give them time, L.B.J. suggested. Some day they may grow up to be good Republicans—like the “distinguished Secretary of Defense” once was, or Dwight Eisenhower, whose diplomatic, political and military wisdom has been “a tower of strength.”

Even when a lady reporter all but accused the President of violating the Constitution by vetoing the military construction bill, L.B.J. remained monumentally patient. Savoring every last chuckle from the press, Johnson drawled: “I would refer you to the Attorney Genera]—and I know he would be glad to give great weight to any observations you might have.”

Johnson’s only real news was that the Administration had finally decided to orbit a fully equipped, $1.5 billion manned space laboratory by late 1968 (see SCIENCE). He went out of his way to soothe Soviet suspicion of such militarily useful hardware, promised to invite a “very high-level” Russian scientist to witness the launching of Gemini 6 in October. Said Johnson: “Our American dream for outer space is a dream of peace and a dream of friendly cooperation among all of the nations of the earth. We believe the heavens belong to the people of every country.”

Poetry & a Refuse Bin. The President’s official week was climaxed by a physical that disclosed no evidence of any worrisome aftereffects of his 1955 heart attack. Johnson’s personal physician, Dr. George G. Burkley, repeated the tactful fiction that his patient weighs only 200 Ibs., but added emphatically: “His health is comparable to that of any man of his age. And he is more active than most.”

He was almost too active to join a small, private birthday party at the L.B.J. Ranch. After sticking to his desk for an extra day because of the steel dispute, Johnson finally flew to Texas at week’s end to feast on a 20-lb. birthday cake decorated at Lady Bird’s request with small frosting-symbols of Johnson legislation passed by Congress (a hypodermic syringe for medicare, a schoolhouse for aid to education). His presents were strictly for the Man Who Has Everything. Lady Bird’s offerings: a leather-bound chronicle of the L.B.J. Ranch since 1845; a cowhide portfolio containing a newspaper account of a 1918 visit to Fredericksburg, Va., by Lyndon’s father; and a four-foot-high street-refuse bin decorated with photographs of Lady Bird’s various trips around the country to encourage roadside-beautification projects. Lynda Bird gave him a photograph album from her travels in the Western U.S. this summer, and Luci Baines presented him with a white leather-bound volume of poems that she has written since she was a child. Typical of Luci’s lyrics for Lyndon:

Admiration flows abundantly

From this pen of mine

For the man who’s giving all he’s got

To try to save mankind.