The Presidency: Hurting Good

Holding court on the hospital golf course at Bethesda, Md., Lyndon Johnson allowed that he was gaining “a little more strength” each day. “But,” he added, “I don’t want to leave the impression that I feel the way I did when I came in.” Then, by way of illustration, the President pulled up his blue knit sports shirt and let the whole world inspect the ugly twelve-inch seam in the flesh under his right rib cage where doctors had removed his gall bladder and a kidney stone.

“We had two operations for the price of one,” he explained to startled reporters. “Dr. [George] Hallenbeck went in and messed around for a couple of hours and then stood back and let the other fella go in. There are still footprints everywhere that hand went in, and I can still feel it.”

Less dramatically, the President was also making tracks. At the end of his second postoperative week, his doctors pronounced: “The prognosis is excellent.” He still looked somewhat drawn, and Press Secretary Bill Moyers had informed newsmen earlier that it would take more time than anyone had thought for the President to recover his full strength. Nonetheless, Johnson no longer winced with pain when he walked. The day after his first stiff quarter-mile outing in the hospital grounds, he ventured outside for a 1½-mile stroll and cheerfully shook hands with passersby. He stopped to chat with Mrs. Margaret Pisapia of Silver Spring, Md., who told him: “You look wonderful.” “I’m doing O.K.,” he replied, “for an old man.” When he returned to his third-floor room, he had enough energy left to sign 21 minor bills, then visited a dentist in the hospital to have a tooth filled.

Visit to 4-C. Gradually, the patient—and the presidency—returned to normal. The doctors removed the third and last drainage tube from his abdomen. Lady Bird took a brief out-of-town trip for the first time since the operation. Johnson conferred increasingly with officials. Dressed in a business suit with vest, he held his first ceremonial bill-signing session in the hospital. After putting his signature on a law requiring automobile manufacturers to meet new exhaust-control standards beginning with 1968 models, he delivered a little homily on the perils of air pollution and duly handed out the pens, bestowing two on Michigan’s Senator Pat McNamara. “You passed so damn much legislation,” explained Lyndon. “Take an extra pen home with you.”

Then Johnson visited the sailors and marines in Ward 4-C, who had hung a get-well sign from their window, took a two-mile walk, put in a few practice putts, held an impromptu press conference, and signed the $3.2 billion foreign aid bill, with a warning that “accomplishments, not apologies, are what the American people expect.” Though the doctors announced that he could check out the next day, Johnson, sounding more and more like his old self, admonished reporters not to predict when he would leave the hospital or go to his Texas ranch.

Next day, his 14th in the hospital, Johnson returned to the White House on schedule. Before departing, he visited marines who had been wounded in Viet Nam. “I feel like one of the fellow casualties,” he cracked to one group. To others, more seriously wounded, he said: “Guys like you have made this nation great.”

Advice from Ike. A reception committee consisting of White House aides, Him the beagle and Blanco the white collie waited at the mansion. Lyndon greeted the dogs first, picking up Him for some whispered endearments, petting Blanco.

Despite all the previous disclosures, more information about the operation continued to dribble out. Moyers revealed that before the first announcement was made on Oct. 5th, Johnson had brought Dwight Eisenhower to Washington to seek his advice on news treatment of a presidential illness. Dr. Hallenbeck subsequently disclosed that his medical team had held two rehearsals, primarily to perfect emergency procedures in case the President suffered heart difficulty while undergoing surgery.

Therapeutic Scenery. By this time, Johnson was back in harness, pulling forward rather than looking back. He signed some more bills in private, met with Cabinet officials, and presided at his first postoperative public ceremony, signing the $320 million Highway Beautification Act, otherwise known as “Lady Bird’s bill.” The First Lady got the first pen—and a smooch. Johnson observed there was “no better medicine” for him than the unobstructed view of fall foliage on his ride back from the hospital.

Seeking even more therapeutic scenery, after a day of White House work, he left for his Texas ranch at week’s end to complete his recuperation. On arrival at Johnson City, Johnson promised to watch his weight and otherwise behave as the “model patient” his doctors called him. He was still chipper. But, putting a hand on his abdomen, he observed: “I hurt good.”