Known and Unknown_ A Memoir - Donald Rumsfeld [35]
I had met Ford briefly while I was working as a staff member in Griffin’s office and had a positive impression of him. But as one might expect, opposing the entrenched party leadership was not something a newly elected, unknown freshman—not yet even sworn in—clamored to do. To make things even dicier, Griffin acknowledged that Ford hadn’t yet agreed to run. He was waiting to determine how much backing he could expect. My assignment, if I chose to accept it, would be to round up support from as many newly elected members for a man who wasn’t even sure he would make the race.
This was unusual business for someone who hadn’t yet set foot in his new office. But Griffin argued that the mission was worth the risk. The thought of having Republican leaders who seemed to accept, or at least not be uncomfortable with, a state of permanent minority status was discouraging. Republicans had made a lackluster showing in the 1962 midterm elections when historically the out-of-power party should have made reasonable gains. I knew from my experiences working for two Republican congressmen how frustrating it was to be in the minority, and particularly to feel that your leadership wasn’t mustering the energy and determination to fight back.
So I told Griffin I was onboard and went to work urging other incoming Republican members to support Gerald Ford for conference chairman. With the showing of support we assembled, Ford decided to run for the post, which he eventually won by a vote of 86–78.
As expected, our renegade effort left a lasting impression on the other members of the Republican leadership.
“I was picked as the lamb for the slaughter,” Congressman Hoeven said after his loss to Ford. “This should serve as notice to [other party leaders] that something is brewing.”5 As it turned out, Hoeven’s warning proved prophetic.
PART III
The U.S. Congress: From Camelot to Quagmire
“[W]e stand today on the edge of a New Frontier—the frontier of the 1960s—a frontier of unknown opportunities and perils—a frontier of unfulfilled hopes and threats.”
—John F. Kennedy, 1960 acceptance speech
The White House
FEBRUARY 25, 1966
For nearly ninety minutes, the President of the United States fired a barrage of confident-sounding words at us. He was up and down from his chair like an oversized yo-yo that had been wound too tight.
“Now I don’t want to hear any of y’all leave here and say you haven’t been briefed!” he insisted in his booming Southern drawl.1
The briefing Lyndon Baines Johnson was providing to members of Congress that frigid February morning was a last-minute affair. My office had received an invitation to the White House late the previous afternoon. It was on a Friday, a day when there were no votes scheduled in the House of Representatives, which meant that many members of Congress would be out of town. Yet because of the profound importance of the subject—the war underway in the country LBJ called “Veet-NAMM”—I was one of more than one hundred members of Congress who braved the snowy Washington roads to hear what the President had to say.
We were gathered in the East Room ostensibly to receive an update from Vice President Hubert Humphrey on his recent trip to Southeast Asia. But from the start this seemed more like a political presentation. The Vice President was a warm, lively person, filled with optimism, and his remarks held true to his character. Yet despite Humphrey’s enthusiasm, the presentation was thin on new information and heavy on upbeat platitudes.