Nation: The Senior Staff Man

See Cover His head bowed, his face lined with weariness and worry, the President of the U.S. sat glumly on the dais in the Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf-Astoria. To his right and to his left, white-tied politicians traded good-natured gibes in the spirit of the Al Smith memorial dinner that Francis Cardinal Spellman stages each year. But the guest of honor smiled wanly or not at all. When his time came to speak, he cut his talk in half, delivered it in a hoarse monotone. Lyndon Johnson looked for all the world as if he had just lost one of his best friends.

In a sense he had, for just before the banquet began, the news broke that Special Presidential Assistant Walter W. Jenkins, 46, one of Lyndon’s oldest, closest friends and most trusted aides, had been arrested on the night of Oct. 7 in a Y.M.C.A. washroom just two blocks from the White House and charged with “disorderly conduct (indecent gestures).” Moreover, newsmen checking into Jenkins’ police record discovered that on Jan. 15, 1959 he had been arrested in the same washroom on a charge of “disorderly conduct (pervert).”

Even while President Johnson was brooding in the Waldorf ballroom, White House Press Secretary George Reedy summoned reporters to a special briefing in a makeshift press room near by. Red-eyed and visibly shaken, Reedy announced: “Walter Jenkins submitted his resignation this evening as special assistant. The resignation was accepted, and the President has appointed Bill D. Moyers to succeed him.”

Into the Limelight. Sordid in its details, tragic in its personal consequences, and of unmeasured significance in its political effects, the story was splashed atop front pages all over the country. Ironically, the man around whom the storm swirled had been the most self-effacing, quiet and publicity-shy member of Johnson’s White House team. Quartered in Sherman Adams’ old office in the southwest wing of the White House, he was the mysterious, slightly-out-of-focus fellow who seldom had his picture taken or got in the papers but who knew everything that was going on. A whiz at shorthand, he sat in on meetings of the Cabinet, on breakfasts with congressional leaders, and occasionally on sessions of the National Security Council. He had access to any national secret.

The senior White House staffer, Jenkins was the one to whom such other aides as Reedy and Jack Valenti went when L.B.J. was busy. During the Democratic Convention in August, he was Lyndon’s chief of staff in Atlantic City; when the summons finally came for Hubert Humphrey to be anointed the vice-presidential candidate, it was Jenkins who did the summoning.

Despite his aversion to the limelight, Jenkins was exposed to its glare on two notable occasions before last week. After the Billie Sol Estes scandal broke in 1962, it was learned that Jenkins, on behalf of then Vice President Johnson, had spoken to the Agriculture Department about Estes during the previous year. Jenkins requested information about any decisions involving Estes’ cotton-acreage allotments, which were then being scrutinized for irregularities. But his involvement was at most peripheral, and no evidence was ever presented to prove that Jenkins or his boss ever tried to pressure the department in the Estes case.

Jenkins was more deeply implicated in the Bobby Baker scandal. During the Senate investigation, Maryland Insurance Broker Don Reynolds testified under oath that while he was trying to sell a $100,000 policy to Lyndon Johnson, Jenkins forced him to buy $1,208 worth of advertising time on Lady Bird Johnson’s KTBC television station in Austin. Reynolds said he had no use for the advertising, but bought it anyway “because it was expected of me.” “Who conveyed that thought to you?” asked Nebraska’s Republican Senator Carl Curtis. Replied Reynolds: “Mr. Walter Jenkins.”

Jenkins sent the committee an affidavit swearing that he “had no knowledge” of such an arrangement. But when the three Republicans on the nine-member investigating committee demanded that Jenkins be subpoenaed to testify, the Democrats turned them down cold. After the Baker flare-up, Jenkins withdrew even deeper into the shadows.

“Little Brother.” Bom March 23, 1918, in Jolly, Texas, Walter Jenkins was the youngest of six children of a farmer. He grew up in nearby Wichita Falls. “Walter was the baby of the family, and they all doted on him,” recalls Mrs. Macon Boddy, a rancher’s wife who went to high school with Jenkins and used to date his older brother Bill, a veteran FBI agent now stationed in Amarillo, Texas. “We called him ‘Little Brother.’ He was a wonderful person, and a sort of child genius in school.”

Jenkins finished high school at 15, junior college at 17, worked for a couple of years, and then entered the University of Texas. Just before he was to graduate in 1939, he quit and went to work for Lyndon Johnson, then a bright young second-term Congressman. He has worked for Lyndon ever since, except for a four-year stint in the Army, which he entered as a private and left as a Quartermaster Corps captain after serving in North Africa and Italy. Even when he ran for Congress, from Texas’ 13th District in 1951, it was at Lyndon’s behest. Jenkins finished second in a field of eight candidates, was probably hurt by the fact that though he was raised a Baptist, he converted to Roman Catholicism in 1947, two years after his marriage to Marjorie (“Babe”) Whitehill, a Catholic.

Johnson’s life became Jenkins’ life. He was a stockholder in the LBJ Co., and its treasurer until December 1963. He handled many of Lyndon’s personal and financial affairs, looked after the lobbyists for him, kept tab on the Texas delegation in Congress. He named one of his six children Lyndon, and his daughter Beth, now at Marquette University, became one of Luci Baines Johnson’s closest friends.

The Best Man. “There were two great devotions in his life,” said a friend of Jenkins’, “L.B.J. and his own family.” But as Lyndon moved up from the Senate to the vice-presidency and to the White House, Jenkins saw less and less of the family. “The only time he could call his own was when he was driving home,” says an old friend. “And then Lyndon had him put a phone in his car so he could talk to him on the way to and from home.”

Lyndon repaid Jenkins’ devotion with expressions of the highest regard. Talking with reporters one night not long ago, the President buzzed for Jenkins, said warmly as Walter trotted in with a worn folder full of political polls: “He’s always here. He’s the best man I’ve got.” With his rather heavy humor, the President called Jenkins “the Pope,” in reference to Jenkins’ Catholicism. Once, standing beside the swimming pool at the L.B.J. ranch, the President confided: “I had this pool put in just for the Pope’s kids.”

But Johnson is a hard taskmaster, and in recent months friends noticed that the pressures seemed to weigh heavily on Jenkins. He grew increasingly nervous, last January was told by his doctor to lighten his load because of dangerously high blood pressure. He ignored the advice, kept working hard for Johnson. And the work always seemed to be piling up. After one lengthy meeting with the President, Jenkins rushed back to his desk, found 43 telephone calls waiting to be answered.

Two Peepholes. On Oct. 7, the evening of his arrest, Jenkins went to a party given by Newsweek magazine to celebrate its move into a new office, 1½ blocks down Pennsylvania Avenue from the White House. Jenkins was in good spirits. He had one or two highballs, chatted about his family, particularly nine-year-old Lyndon and his newspaper route. President Johnson, who usually discourages his men from attending cocktail parties, was away that night, barnstorming in Iowa and Illinois. Soon after 8 p.m., Jenkins left, ostensibly for the White House.

But Jenkins took a detour, headed instead for the Y.M.C.A. on G Street. Meanwhile, two plainclothes members of the Washington morals squad, Privates Lamonte P. Drouillard and R. L. Graham, walked through the front door of the “Y” into the lobby, then descended to the basement men’s room. A 9-ft. by 11-ft. spot reeking of disinfectant and stale cigars, the room is a notorious hangout for deviates. During one five-hour period earlier this year, police arrested eight homosexuals there, including two college professors and several Government workers.

The two cops entered the room, walked past two adjoining pay toilets and up four narrow steps leading to a shower room that has been padlocked for ten years.

Drouillard and Graham had a key to the lock. They entered the shower room and stationed themselves at two peepholes in the door that gave them a view of the washroom and enabled them to peep over the toilet partitions. (There are two peepholes in this and several other washrooms in the area because two corroborating officers are required in such cases.) On that night the cops spotted Jenkins in a pay toilet with Andy Choka, 60, a Hungarian-born veteran of the U.S. Army who lives in Washington’s Soldiers’ Home. Jenkins’ back partly obstructed the detectives’ view, but they figured they had seen enough to arrest the two men for a misdemeanor, if not for a more serious morals rap.

Back to Work. At the fifth-floor office of the morals division at police headquarters, Jenkins identified himself as Walter Wilson Jenkins, giving his rarely used middle name. He gave his address, birth date and birthplace correctly, but listed his occupation as “clerk.” Under questioning by Lieut. Louis A. Fochett, he admitted that he was indeed the President’s aide. Fochett immediately telephoned Inspector Scott E. Moyer, chief of the morals division, for guidance. Moyer gave a two-word order: “Book him.”

Jenkins and Choka were booked. Since the police had a full set of prints from Jenkins’ arrest in 1959, only a thumbprint was taken. At the central cell block in the basement, Jenkins paid a $50 bond and was freed. Forfeiture of the bond is, in effect, a waiver of the right to trial but not a confession of guilt.

It was 10:10 p.m. when Jenkins left the police station. Incredibly, he went on to the White House, worked at his desk until midnight.

Real Trouble. Only two days after Jenkins’ arrest, anonymous tipsters began advising newspapers that there was an interesting item on the Oct. 7 blotter of the morals squad. The tips were widely dispersed: a man from Pravda even showed up for a peek. At least one of the tips was traced to the Republican Congressional Campaign Committee, and the Republican National Committee was known to be on to the story. Delaware’s Republican Senator John J. Williams said he heard of the case several days before it got into print.

Early Wednesday, the Washington Star got the tip, called the White House to check it. With Lyndon and several top aides on the road, Liz Carpenter, Lady Bird’s press secretary, was the only White House press staffer on hand. She took the call. Unbelieving and upset, she phoned Jenkins in his office. Within minutes, a distraught Jenkins got in touch with Lawyer Abe Fortas,* an old Lyndon crony, and told him almost hysterically that he was in “real trouble.” Fortas called Fellow Lawyer Clark Clifford, a top trouble-shooter in the Truman, Kennedy and Johnson Administrations.

Fortas and Clifford hurried to the Star. “They made what I would regard as a plea to have us not break the story,” said Star Editor Newbold Noyes. “I agreed to go along at that time.” Clifford and Fortas next called on Washington Daily News Editor John O’Rourke. “There was no pressure,” recalled O’Rourke. “I agreed not to break the story—provided it wasn’t in print elsewhere. But it couldn’t be kept secret.” The lawyers paid a third call, this one on the Washington Post’s editors. Both Fortas and Clifford later insisted that they acted solely on Jenkins’ behalf, and that the President did not even know what was going on.

Cryptic Statement. By 4 p.m., Jenkins, who spent the day at Fortas’ home, was nearly out of control. His personal physician, Dr. Charles W. Thompson, summoned there earlier by Clifford and Fortas, concluded that Jenkins was “worn out,” had him admitted for an “indefinite” stay at George Washington University Hospital for “high blood pressure and nervous exhaustion.”

At about the same time, Republican National Committee Chairman Dean Burch, who had expected the Jenkins story to appear in Washington’s Wednesday afternoon papers, was beginning to wonder why nobody had printed it. Figuring that someone had managed to suppress it, he issued this cryptic statement shortly after 6 p.m.: “There is a report sweeping Washington that the White House is desperately trying to suppress a major news story affecting the national security.” Two hours later, at 8:09 p.m., United Press International broke the story, and morning papers across the U.S. rushed it into print.

According to White House spokesmen, President Johnson went through the entire day’s campaigning in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and New York without knowing what was afoot. But between 6 and 7 p.m., just before Lyndon was to call on Jackie Kennedy at her new Fifth Avenue apartment, a newsman called Press Secretary Reedy with details of Jenkins’ arrest and hospitalization, and Reedy passed the news on to Johnson. After a few minutes, the President said simply: “We’ve got to have a resignation.”

No Snare. The initial reaction among Jenkins’ friends was utter disbelief, followed by dismay. “His worst enemy—if he has any enemies—could never have conceived of such a thing,” said another Texan, Wichita Falls Postmaster Pat Hardage. Texas Governor John Connally, a member of Lyndon’s court for as long as Jenkins, suggested that it might be a frame-up, that Choka had somehow entrapped Jenkins. But CBS newsmen, who picked up Choka at 1 a.m. Thursday and took him to an undisclosed spot, quoted him as denying entrapment. Choka, who is separated from his wife Lieslotte and their two children, said that he “neither asked nor was offered money to snare Jenkins.”

Barry Goldwater, who heard the news as he arrived at Denver’s Brown Palace Hotel, said, “I don’t know what the hell this is about.” Later he added, “I don’t intend to comment on it at all.” G.O.P. Vice-Presidential Candidate William Miller told a luncheon for Chicago’s blue-chip Executives Club: “If this type of man had information vital to our survival, it could be compromised very quickly and very dangerously.” Democratic Vice-Presidential Candidate Hubert Humphrey appeared shocked, refused to comment. But an aide said gloomily in Milwaukee: “It’s bound to cost us votes.”

Point of Exhaustion. Lady Bird Johnson quickly issued a statement saying: “My heart is aching for someone who has reached the end point of exhaustion in dedicated service to his country.” In the months since the Bobby Baker case was first aired, the President has made only one belated, curt and inadequate comment. This time he waited for 24 hours before saying anything publicly. Finally, accused by Dean Burch of having “covered up” Jenkins’ earlier arrest “for 51 years,” he issued a statement in Washington.

“Walter Jenkins has worked with me faithfully for 25 years,” it said. “No man I know has given more personal dedication, devotion and tireless labor. Until late yesterday, no information or report of any kind to me has ever raised a question with respect to his personal conduct.” While expressing “deepest compassion for him and for his wife and six children,” Johnson added that “on this case, as on any such case, the public interest comes before all personal feelings.”

Johnson also ordered the FBI to assign 50 to 100 men “to make an immediate and comprehensive inquiry and report promptly to me and the American people.” He instructed Treasury Secretary Douglas Dillon to look into security procedures of the Secret Service, an arm of his department. And the Central Intelligence Agency quietly began probing the possibility that the Jenkins case might involve foreign espionage through blackmail.

“Q” Clearance. There was plenty to investigate, since there had obviously been serious security lapses. Before his first arrest in 1959, Jenkins had at least two security checks. In 1956 the Air Force gave him top-secret clearance in connection with his reserve status; he is a colonel in Capitol Hill’s 9,999th Air Reserve Squadron, whose commander, of all people, is Reserve Major General Barry Goldwater. Two years later, the

Atomic Energy Commission asked the FBI to run a full field investigation because Jenkins would be handling atomic data in connection with L.B.J.’s work with the Senate Preparedness subcommittee. At that time, Jenkins was given a top-secret “Q” clearance, an AEC classification.

A few months later, on Jan. 15, 1959, Jenkins was arrested for loitering in the same Y.M.C.A. washroom where he was nabbed two weeks ago. At first he was booked on an open charge, photographed and fingerprinted. Inspector Roy E. Blick, then head of the morals division, quizzed Jenkins for 31 hours, finally learned he was a top aide to Majority Leader Lyndon Johnson. He allowed Jenkins to list his occupation as “unemployed,” apparently because he had previously run into trouble in cases involving important people. Blick, now retired, said last week that he had been “leary of talking to the Hill” because he had been “burned” in the past.

A duplicate card with Jenkins’ prints was sent to the FBI the next day as a matter of routine; the agency receives some 23,000 such cards a day from all over the U.S. On that card, Jenkins was listed as “unemployed,” and the charge was listed only as “investigation —suspicious person,” the standard notation used by police for a misdemeanor of that sort until they decide on a more precise charge.

Later, the police listed the charge on the blotter, in black ink, as “disorderly conduct.” Still later, in a different hand in blue ink, the word “pervert” was added in parentheses.

In on Everything. When, in 1961, Jenkins needed a White House pass, the Protective Research Section of the Secret Service fingerprinted him and sent a copy to the FBI for a check. Sure enough, the bureau turned up his old record, told the Secret Service about his having been arrested in 1959 on the vague charge of “investigation—suspicious person.” As the Secret Service tells it, nobody checked further with the police about the arrest because it was only a misdemeanor and because Jenkins already had a “Q” clearance. According to all present accounts, nobody told Johnson about his aide’s 1959 arrest. Jenkins got his White House pass.

Ten days after John Kennedy’s assassination, a White House staff member phoned the CIA and requested immediate top-security clearance for four Johnson men who would be “in on everything”—Bill Moyers, Jack Valenti, George Reedy, and Walter Jenkins. The CIA, responsible for such clearances whenever intelligence documents are involved, suggested a full FBI field investigation for all four.

Such FBI field investigations were required by Dwight Eisenhower for all his presidential assistants. One check eliminated a possible appointee to Ike’s personal staff on the ground of perversion just before Eisenhower’s inauguration. Kennedy, in his turn, ran checks on some aides, but not all. But in 1963, when the CIA suggested field investigations on Johnson Aides Moyers, Valenti, Reedy and Jenkins, there was a long, hostile silence on the White House end of the phone. The CIA, lacking legal authority to require investigations of presidential staffers, had no alternative but to give the four men top clearance.

Unquenchable Penchant. Though a preliminary, unpublicized check by the CIA has unearthed no evidence that either Jenkins or Choka was involved in anything worse than what they were caught at, it is axiomatic that sexual deviates are vulnerable to blackmail. Walter Jenkins could at any time have laid his hands on the most closely guarded secrets of the U.S., including the workings of the most advanced nuclear weapons. Any questions now to be asked of Jenkins, however, may take some time to be answered. In his dark, 8-ft.-square room on the hospital’s second floor, he is under partial sedation and almost constant surveillance.

The Jenkins case raised new doubts about the effectiveness of U.S. security agencies. Are the FBI and the Secret Service, recently rebuked by the Warren Commission for their sloppy work before the Kennedy assassination, once again guilty of grave inefficiency? Should the CIA or any other security agency be denied the authority to check out White House staffers who handle the nation’s top secrets? Just what kind of atmosphere prevails in Washington when local police would rather let a case rest than risk getting “burned” by Government officials or Congressmen?

One characteristic of Lyndon Johnson familiar to all Washington is his unquenchable penchant for intimate knowledge and gossip about everyone of importance in the capital. Was this one case where cops and security agencies—and who knows who else—were simply afraid to tell him about his aide?

*The man appointed by the Supreme Court to represent Florida Convict Clarence Earl Gideon in his milestone battle to establish that any man who faces trial but cannot afford to pay a lawyer is entitled to counsel, even in state courts, for anything beyond a petty offense.