Advise and Consent (62 page)

Chapter 5

All across the great room with its deep scarlet carpets, its blue, starred walls and ceilings, its hundreds of white tables set with gleaming silver, its giant angular statues representing some awkward, self-conscious, mid-Forties concept of Humanity, the pride and pomp of America was assembling. The White House Correspondents’ banquet for the President, along with the Gridiron Club a major socio-political event of the year for the press corps, was drawing its usual complement of Senators, Congressmen, Supreme Court Justices, Cabinet officers, high-ranking military, diplomats, and reporters. For all practical purposes, the Government of the United States was concentrated on that evening in the Statler, for anyone who was anyone in that government, anyone who was anyone diplomatically assigned to that government, anyone who was anyone in the business of recording the events of that government, was present. In from northwest, up from southeast, down from Bethesda and Chevy Chase and Silver Spring, out of Georgetown and across the river from Virginia they had flocked in their formal attire for this annual gathering, and now they were slowly beginning to fill up the ballroom amid a clatter of waiters rushing about banging dishes and silverware, a steadily rising babble of voices, greetings, laughter, and joking talk, and above it all the Navy Band softly playing “Velia” and “The Banks of the Wabash” and similar sentimental compositions on the platform at one end of the room. There was excitement in the air and it was rising steadily as more guests entered and the crowd grew. It was always an enjoyable affair, and tonight the nomination lent it a spice that promised to make it even more memorable than usual.

So they were coming to it from all over the world of Washington, Lord Maudulayne picking up Raoul Barre in a British Embassy limousine and stopping by also, although not without some mild acerbic protest from his colleague, for the Indian Ambassador, who had been invited to sit at the head table and couldn’t help burbling about it most of the way down until he was quietly informed that both his companions had been invited too, after which he relapsed into an obviously miffed silence; Orrin Knox and Arly Richardson, sharing a cab in from Spring Valley, which gave Orrin a chance to fill Arly in on the plan for the White House conference, which he divulged, as soon as he reached the Statler, to his host, the Arkansas
Gazette
; Seab Cooley and Bob Munson, riding down together from their hotel through the soft breezes of Rock Creek Park, amiably telling one another lies about what they knew of the latest turn in the nomination; Harley Hudson, ordering his chauffeur to stop by Tom August’s in the park near Dolly’s so that the chairman of Foreign Relations could join him and arrive in style in the Vice President’s limousine; the nominee being picked up by his host, a very happy AP staffer who had covered Defense Mobilization for a decade and had suddenly found the patient drudgery of years sensationally rewarded by the fact that his guest had overnight turned out to be not only the director of ODM but the Secretary of State-designate as well; the Chief Justice and five of his colleagues, including Mr. Justice Davis, who was baffling his host, the legal reporter for the
Times
, by remaining deep in a brown study which certainly bore no resemblance to his usual pleasant presence; the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the Joint Chiefs, the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of the Treasury, the Secretary of Commerce, the Secretary of the Interior (Howie Sheppard, moved by an unhappy premonition that his days were numbered, had some weeks ago turned down the invitation of UPI’s chief diplomatic correspondent at State), the Secretary of Labor, and the Secretary of Agriculture.

Now the head-table guests were beginning to come in with their hosts, walking along the dais looking for their seats, and suddenly somebody on the floor cried, “There’s Leffingwell!” and there was a sudden burst of applause that rose and swelled through the glittering room until it almost drowned out the music. The nominee acknowledged it with a pleased smile, first bowing formally and then clasping both hands above his head in a prize fighter’s salute. The applause rose and doubled, not dying until he reached his seat and sat down. During this, from different entrances to the room, the senior Senator from Utah, the senior Senator from Illinois and the senior Senator from South Carolina could be observed entering with their hosts; it was noticed that while Brigham Anderson did not join in the applause, neither did he display any particular emotion at all, that he only smiled in a calm, unworried way and turned to chat pleasantly with his host, AP, as soon as the sound died down; it was noticed that Orrin Knox and Seab Cooley exchanged a glance across the tables between them, that Orrin made a grimace he made no attempt to conceal and that Seab gave a dry little nod that might have meant many things. There was much interest in all this and much excited gossip all around as the Chief Justice and his colleagues, the Joint Chiefs, Lord Maudulayne, Raoul Barre, Krishna Khaleel, Vasily Tashikov, and the Ambassador from Libya also came in and found their places along the head table. Expectancy and excitement mounted, for there remained now only one more entry to be made, and no matter how often those present had witnessed it, there was always a stirring and an emotion and a thrill.

Abruptly there was a roll of drums and over it the two traditional challenging announcements by the trumpets, “Ta—ta-ta-ta-ta—
ta!
Ta—ta-ta-ta-ta—
ta!
They got to their feet, the band swung into, “Hail to the Chief,” and the President came in with the officers of the Association and made his way along to the center of the table, grinning and smiling at them all, waving first one arm and then the other, and finally, as he reached his seat, raising both arms together in his characteristic gesture that combined the best features of yell leader on Saturday afternoon and spiritual leader blessing his flock. He held this pose for several moments while they stamped and whistled and applauded, and then at the height of it he suddenly looked down the table to his left where Bob Leffingwell was standing applauding with the rest. With a vigorous gesture as the excitement rose he beckoned him forward, and when the nominee reached him he grabbed his right arm and raised their two hands together in a triumphant gesture while the cheers and whistles grew to a steady roar. When this had lasted just long enough, he lowered their arms, gave the nominee a hearty pat on the shoulder, and sat down with a happy grin and satisfied shake of his head.

“So much for me,” Brig murmured to his host, but he had underestimated the President, for just at that moment men around him began calling loudly to attract his attention, pointing to the head table, and looking toward it he could see the President gesturing frantically. For a moment he hesitated, but he was helpless in the hands of a master showman, and there was no stopping this new scene in the drama. The President was half on his feet, reaching over for the microphone on the lectern at the center of the table. “BRIGHAM!” his voice boomed out. “BRIGHAM, COME UP HERE AND SAY HELLO TO ME, YOU SON OF A GUN!” And so after a moment, while the laughter and applause again mounted and rolled over the room and the spotlights in the control booth in the ceiling suddenly singled him out and accompanied his progress, the Senator from Utah slowly made his way to the head table.

“Brig, it’s great to see you!” the President exclaimed, leaning over the table edge and shaking hands vigorously as the Senator stood beneath
him reaching up and the flashbulbs flared and the cameras snapped and the photographers fell over one another in their zeal.

“Mr. President,” Brig said with the exact degree of politeness necessary and no more, “I hope you have a good dinner.”

“I’m looking forward to dessert, eh, Brigham?” the President said with a wink and a chuckle and a hearty laugh, and the angry expression that flashed across the Senator’s face came and went so fast no camera caught it.

“I hope you don’t find it indigestible!” he shot back sardonically as he turned away, and in response to some wild inspiration on the part of the conductor the band suddenly swung into the Stanford Fight Song and once again the room broke into an uproar of rather hazy, rather woozy, but oh, my, such delighted sound at the great big happy, glowing, wonderful excitement of it all.

With such dramatic beginnings, and coming as it fortuitously did at such a dramatic moment in the Leffingwell nomination, it was not surprising that this particular White House Correspondents’ dinner should have gone down in history as one of the best ever. All the major characters in the drama were there in the great turbulent room filled with music and the uproar of eating, and whether they looked at one another or didn’t, what they said, what they did, who they shook hands with, who they didn’t shake hands with, whether they were relaxed and pleasant or ill-at-ease and nervous, was immediately noted by a thousand pairs of eyes, each belonging to someone who had access to newsprint. That heightened awareness, that extra alertness, that sending out of little perceptive antennae that characterizes every Washington social gathering, and particularly this one, was everywhere present; and although a number of distinguished gentlemen of the government and the press got very well oiled before the evening was over, as usual nothing much was missed by anybody.

Paramount in interest, of course, was the aspect of the President, for the racing rumors about his health that were currently traveling around town had made his physical appearance of extra interest to everyone. But so vigorous and dramatic had been his entry and his opening activities at the head table that only a few paused to note that he looked possibly a little grayer, perhaps a little tireder, than he should look, and that now and then he seemed to lapse into a rather blank look, with a certain slackness around jowls and eyes, that did not augur well. These moods of his seemed to pass so rapidly, and he appeared to be so animated and triumphant most of the time, that even those who saw these signs with some worry concluded presently that probably all he needed was a few days of rest in the sun. There were reports he would head for Key West as soon as the nomination was out of the way, and this was taken to mean that he would shortly be back in top form again.

It was carefully recorded that he seemed to make quite a point of dividing his nods and winks and waves between the nominee, seated down the head table at his left, and the chairman of the subcommittee, seated below and six tables away. These attentions invariably seemed to please Bob Leffingwell, who returned them with a pleased smile, and it was observed that Brigham Anderson, although beginning to look a little bored with the game after a while, nonetheless contrived to return the looks with an air of pleasant politeness that was completely correct. If it was nothing more, that was to be expected under the circumstances, and the President did not seem annoyed. At one point Senator Munson got up from his seat down the table at the President’s right to come along and lean over his shoulder and chat for a moment The newsmen nearby heard only banalities, and the two of them nodded together at Senator Anderson, who smiled back rather cautiously. Several tables away Orrin Knox made a tart comment to his host, who laughed and passed it around the table, and further away Seab Cooley, noting the continuing elaborate presidential performance, smiled to himself over some private joke that his fellows at the table were not privy to, and looked for a second rather grim. Only one odd little moment occurred, which was marked by quite a few, and that was when Senator Anderson left his table for a moment and started toward the head table, apparently intending to speak to Mr. Justice Davis. For a strange moment the Justice looked absolutely panic-stricken, and turning his back on the room with great haste he plunged deep into conversation with the Indian Ambassador, who appeared startled but obliging. After a second Senator Anderson turned back, looking puzzled and a little hurt; but he concluded after a moment that Tommy was just in one of his moods and decided with a certain amusement that he and K.K. were well-matched in that area and deserved one another. He soon forgot the episode.

As for the nominee, he played host all during dinner to a steady stream of well-wishers who came up from the floor to shake his hand and wish him well. Columnists, news analysts, bureau chiefs—the whole dazzling array was there, those who really deserved their fame, and those who had come from little towns to the nation’s capital to master the portentous knack of representing great newspapers and dropping great names. He received them all with the same gracious air, looking dignified and steady and every inch the man who could be entrusted with the great office to which he had been appointed. Just to hedge their bets, for one never knew who had what on whom in Washington, a good many of these famous citizens also came by Brigham Anderson’s table to extend the same courtesy, but it was obvious in most cases that this was something they felt they should do and not, as with the nominee, an indication of warm personal support and endorsement. If Brig received them a little sardonically though with impeccable courtesy, it could be understood under the circumstances.

So the dinner drew on and ended, the time came for entertainment. Upon the stage vacated by the Navy Band two tired dancers, an aging ventriloquist, a shopworn babe with a big bust and a tiny voice, and a weather-beaten jazz trio took their turns; the program ended with a star from Hollywood who thought he was very funny but managed only intermittently to impart the same conviction to his audience. It was noted that the President seemed to be getting a little restive, to be fiddling a little with his cuffs and to be looking, now with a little more direct appraisal, at the impassive face of the senior Senator from Utah and the rock-like bulk of the senior Senator from South Carolina a few tables beyond. The correspondents became nervous at his nervousness, hoped the enter-tainment would end speedily, clapped with hearty relief when it did, and settled back as the president of the Correspondents’ Association made his traditional introduction of the guest of honor.