The Presidency: An Unusual Ceremony

THE PRESIDENCY

Whatever the time, place or local custom, nearly all weddings exert the same powerful tug: they draw all but the young back through the years to luxuriate, if only briefly, in their own memories. Last week millions of Americans took this trip to reverie, propelled by the nationalized nuptials of Luci Baines Johnson, the first daughter of an incumbent President to marry in 31 years, and Patrick John Nugent, the boy from Waukegan, Ill., who brashly wooed and won her.

In this sophisticated age, there was no poet to sing, as Walt Whitman did for Nellie Grant in 1874: “O bonnie bride! Yield thy red cheeks today unto a Nation’s loving kiss.” Instead, the bride and groom were greeted outside the church by anti-Viet Nam pickets. Inside though, there were no Republicans or Democrats, no hawks or doves, no Northerners or Southerners—only guests at a solemn ceremony. No TV or radio was allowed within, but millions of people throughout the U.S. kept a sort of vigil while the couple knelt inside the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, under the gaze of a huge mosaic of a stern Christ in red robes, and vowed to each other: With this ring I marry you and pledge to you my ever faithful love.

The 700 guests who heard the traditional “What God has joined together let no man put asunder” constituted one of the most distinguished guest lists in U.S. marital history. They included all the members of the Cabinet, the Supreme Court Justices and leaders of Congress, plus a liberal sprinkling of the merely wealthy and famous. But there was also a goodly number of quite ordinary citizens from Texas and Illinois, a particularly fitting assortment for the marriage of the President’s daughter to a nonEstablishment young man.

Hand in Hand. Luci’s last days as Miss Johnson and her first as Mrs. Nugent were, like Luci herself, a beguiling blend of the gay and the sentimental, the hectic and the religious, the Texan and the presidential. There were parties every day, starting with a reception for the diplomatic corps, progressing through a Western-style cookout to a black-tie dinner dance on the wedding eve, where President Johnson sentimentally declared in a toast that he was “as proud as a man can be when his youngest daughter is doing the most wonderful thing in the world: beginning a life with the man she loves.”

In the midst of all this, Luci gave a party for 60 White House staff members of all stations, including Vice Admiral George Burkley, the chief physician, and Electrician Trophes Bryant, the unofficial keeper of the presidential kennels. She had stayed up the night before until 3 a.m., autographing color photographs of herself and Pat to be used as gifts for the staff. One sample, for Assistant Chef Nick Salvador: “With deep appreciation for yummy fried eggs and homemade toast, but most of all for your delightful sense of humor, your ever-smiling face and your friendship.” At dawn, when the President of the U.S. went to the kitchen for an early snack, he found Luci there, too wound-up to sleep.

Some of the wedding party moved into the White House, bag, baggage—and, in one case, baby. The month-old son of one husband-and-wife team could be found gurgling on the historic Lincoln bed. In the halls, long-legged, short-skirted girls in sandals were a common, if temporary, sight. Luci pressed some of her visiting bridesmaids into mail-room service to read and answer letters that mounted to 3,700 during the final week. Gerard and Tillie Nugent, Pat’s salt-of-the-earth parents, seemed to fit in easily enough, helped perhaps by the President’s habit of kissing Tillie at almost every casual meeting.

On the wedding day, as on the days before, the White House resounded to the laughter of young people—the wedding party totaled an impressive 42—who sometimes strolled through the corridors hand in hand. On the fateful morning, as the bridesmaids had their coiffures fixed, Elder Sister Lynda Bird, the maid of honor, led them in a few choruses of Get Me to the Church on Time. Everybody was punctual—some even a bit early—but the beginning of the Nuptial Mass, scheduled for noon, was delayed 18 minutes while the wedding party got organized.

Modern Usage. The ceremony was almost as unusual as the occasion. It contained liturgical changes in the Nuptial Mass authorized by Pope Paul VI after the Ecumenical Council, but, for the most part, still not widely used in the U.S. The Mass, said facing the congregation, was celebrated by Washington’s Archbishop Patrick O’Boyle with the assistance of two priest friends of Luci and Pat. Pat and Luci gave the water and wine cruets to the celebrant at the Offertory, later received Communion “under both species”—a practice only recently allowed for such occasions as the Nuptial Mass. It involved drinking from a gold chalice the Eucharistic wine formerly reserved to the priests as well as partaking of the host.

Another modern usage was the reading of the Epistle—in this case, that of Paul to the Ephesians 5:22-33—by a layman rather than by a clergyman. The reader: Democratic Representative Hale Boggs of Louisiana, who intoned to Luci and Pat Paul’s solemn admonitions: “Wives should be submissive to their husbands, as though to the Lord; because the husband is head of the wife, just as Christ is head of the Church, his body, of which he is also the Savior. Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the Church.” Luci kept glancing at Pat, and from time to time they whispered. After the vows and exchange of rings, Archbishop O’Boyle read a papal blessing—an honor that can be obtained by any marrying Catholic couple that petitions Rome and pays a nominal fee for postage.

Luci seemed to hold up better than anyone else in the heat and emotion that permeated the church and caused many to fan themselves with the white-and-gold missals printed especially for the occasion. Lynda and Matron of Honor Susan Ray both became faint and needed whiffs of spirits of ammonia. Bridesmaid Helene Lindow left her place briefly for a breath from an oxygen tank, and several ushers sneaked out to the air-conditioned cafeteria in the basement. Lyndon Johnson looked utterly serious, as if he were considering the archbishop for a position in the Department of State.

Then came the nuptial blessing: May this yoke that she is taking on herself be one of love and peace. May she be faithful and chaste, marrying in Christ, and may she always imitate the holy women. May she be beloved of her husband, as was Rachel; wise, as was Rebecca; long-lived and loyal, as was Sara. Faithful to one embrace, may she flee from unlawful companionship. May she be grave in her modesty, honorable in her chastity, learned in the teachings of heaven.

Quite a task—but Luci Johnson Nugent looked up to it, as she emerged, smiling and sparkling, to drive to the White House in a bubble-top car with her new husband.

Dance with Daddy. The President’s daughter can afford to ignore a certain amount of tradition. Because of his position, Lyndon Johnson was placed at the head of the receiving line, and Luci had her first dance with him instead of with her bridegroom. Luci also set a new pattern for brides when she and Pat went out on the south lawn and, stooping down in her wedding regalia, she patted the collie and two beagles. The first people through the reception line were Speaker and Mrs. John McCormack, two of Washington’s social hermits, and Luci showed that she was her daddy’s daughter by lavishing effusive attention on the aging couple.

Pat Nugent, a novice at the game of politics, handled the names like a well-briefed pro and made lively small talk to the guests. With obvious relish, the President bestowed kisses on a number of ladies. And, of course, almost everyone wanted to kiss the bride. Republican Senator Everett Dirksen, on crutches, received the most benign of greetings from the President as he came through the line, got his second kiss of the day from Luci. Cooed Luci: “Oh, I could do that all afternoon.” Alice Longworth, Teddy Roosevelt’s daughter, whose own dazzling wedding set a White House mark in 1906, was asked to stop and pose between Pat and Luci, the only one so honored.

The warmest greeting of all was given to Zephyr Wright, the Johnson family cook for 23 years. “Oh, Zassie,” said Luci, “you look so pretty. I love your dress.” Much was made of Zassie’s fried chicken and spoon bread, without which, apparently, the Johnsons would never have endured. Zassie, at any rate, got busses from both bride and groom. When much-divorced Supreme Court Justice William Douglas came through the line, pulling along his newest young bride for introductions, the reaction was quite different. Luci’s effusive manner cooled noticeably, and she offered only a perfunctory handshake.

When Luci finally got around to trying to cut the 13-tier wedding cake, it balked. The President of the U.S. brought his considerable pressure to bear, but the cake still would not cut. Luci cried, “I quit,” but Pat suggested trying the fifth layer. The knife finally cut through, and Pat submitted to the bridegroom’s traditional cake-eating indignity. Before the couple made their farewells and departed on an unknown honeymoon about 6:45 p.m., Luci made a last speech from the south balcony, then tossed her bouquet. It wound up, with a little sisterly collusion, in the possession of Lynda Bird, whose escort at the wedding was Actor George Hamilton. “Thank you all,” said Luci, “for this beautiful, wonderful day, the most magnificent day of our lives.”

The honeymoon destination was about the last secret that the White House had managed to preserve since the engagement was announced Christmas Eve. Right up to the wedding day, bits of hitherto classified information continued to dribble out. Pat disclosed to an interviewer that he was a Democrat after all, despite those rumors that he shared his parents’ Republican loyalties. The President himself cleared up the question of how the young Nugents would support themselves while attending the University of Texas. Luci, he said, has an income of her own of undisclosed size and source, and Pat’s parents, Gerard and Tillie Nugent, had set aside some money for their son’s graduate-school education. Further, it developed that the couple would not receive a small ranch in Texas as a wedding present from the Johnsons—at least not yet. They would get, instead, a large savings bond, denomination secret (the largest has a face value of $10,000). Luci, the White House said, wanted it that way.

With nearly all the secrets gone, and the guests along with them, there ended the climactic day of a spotlight-spangled courtship and engagement. And, since it was a White House wedding, it was fitting that the President have the last word. “She’ll have a family, just as many as the good Lord will let her,” he said. “She’ll have a houseful of kids.”