Jurjen
This is probably the best history book that I have read. Although this period of history interests me tremendously–and is something I have spent a lot of time on while in uni the last few years–the way in which Robert Caro was able to narrativise the history was done very well. The prose and sense of drama invested me hugely, on top of already being gripped by the substantive events in this time period.
Caro takes his time. He goes on tangents. And I think the book is better for it. Master of the Senate starts with a 100 page short history of the American Senate from its founding to the 1940s, and having that deeper understanding of the institution allows us to put things into greater context. Without knowing who the “Senate Four” from the turn of the century were, or just how ingrained seniority rule was, I would not have appreciated the extent to which Johnson was able to change the Senate rules so much in so little time. How he was able to make himself as Majority Leader, nearly as powerful as the US president by 1958, when before Johnson, the Majority Leader role was largely ceremonial with very little power, and not something anyone wanted to be.
My favourite chapter in the book, other than the last few on the 1957 civil rights act (which is the climax of the book, and what all of it builds up to [pretty great structuring I think. Really good scope]), was the one on Russell. Richard Brevard Russell Jr. was such a hugely influential figure within the senate. Arguably one of the most influential congressmen of the 20th century, and his name seems to largely be forgotten. The relationship he developed with Johnson was something I was well aware of because of a thesis I wrote in which I read/listened to dozens and dozens of Russell/Johnson white house tapes from when he was president, but seeing its origins, as well as Russell’s personal origins was just super interesting.
And man alive did I enjoy seeing someone finally shut Russell the fuck up about “states rights, let the south deal with its very complicated racial issues on its own pace, we must not tip the scales”. The man who always maintained his dignity, and pride. Who always felt above everyone else. Richard Russell, who everyone in the senate respected for his intelligence and decorum. He as a person was finally brought as low as the cause to which he dedicated his entire political career, that of white supremacy, and defending the domination of the Southern Black man by the Southern White man. A long passage, but I have never felt as much catharsis from reading a history book as I did from this (huge testament to Caro for how he wrote it):
“Russell's face was a very deep red now. "I am delighted to hear the Senator say that progress is being made," he said. Then he said, "The system which the senator from Michigan wants to impose on Georgia brought about race riots in Michigan.... If the Senator from Michigan would simply not seek to invade our state to fasten the race riot- generating system upon us, we would appreciate it. Let him keep it in Michigan." All over the Chamber, on both sides of the aisle, senators were on their feet shouting for the floor. At first Russell refused to yield it, but one of the senators was Pat McNamara, also of Michigan. "Yes: I yield to the Senator from Michigan,' Russell said at last. "I mentioned his state." McNamara said Michigan needed no defense, that his state could handle its affairs without outside interference. "Then why does not the Senator let us do the same?" Russell asked. There was applause from the southern senators seated around him. But he had asked a question, and he was to receive an answer to it "McNamara,' Doris Fleeson wrote, "roared in the bull voice trained in a thousand union meeting halls: Because you've had ninety years and haven't done it!"
That’s exactly right, McNamara.
Johnson is a complicated figure. If anyone knows anything about Johnson, it’s that. As president he probably had some of the most impressive legislation passed, much of it attributable to his own skill and influence. At the same time, he was greatly responsible for some of the United States’ greatest failures, politically and morally, overseeing escalation in Vietnam, willfully turning the conflict into a full-blown war. What perhaps I did not know about Johnson was how personally loathsome he was as an individual man. He was unbelievably mean, especially to the people he worked for. And sure, “the Johnson treatment” was something that helped Johnson secure political goals which would help tens of millions of Americans. But I see no reason in the degree to which he terrorised his staff. It sure as shit made sure that a lot of very competent people didn’t want to work for him. He knew he had to control himself amongst fellow senators, but he just didn’t care to do that with anyone who was beneath him.
Worst of all, he was a terrible husband. There were two very public affairs which his wife simply had to put up with. Several more private affairs which he barely cared to keep secret from his wife. The single most horrible anecdote is one at a party hosted by the Johnson’s. Ladybird, although very smart and competent (which Johnson never really allowed her to use her competences for anything), was very shy, especially around important senators and other politicians. She hated public speaking and being the centre of attention. At such a party, Johnson would be sitting in his chair in one part of the house, Ladybird working in the kitchen in the other part of the house. Johnson would scream at the top of his lungs: ‘LADYBIRD, GET ME ANOTHER DAMN DRINK’. Husbands in the 1930s-50s were categorically worse human beings than husbands in the modern day, but even in this time period, Johnson’s treatment of his wife was seen as exceptional.
As Caro wrote:
“A researcher trying to get a picture of the Johnsons hears, over and over, the same phrase: ‘I don't know how she stood it.’”
I think I probably also overestimated the extent to which Johnson was personally invested in securing civil rights for Black Americans. Obviously everyone knows how he played a part in the 1960s civil rights legislation being passed, but when you read about his time as Majority Leader during the 50s, he doesn’t really inhibit the behaviour of a person who cared much about it on an individual level. It was about power to him. Before 1957, trying to pass civil rights legislation was not in the political interest of Lyndon. As soon as it was in his political interest, he became the Civil Rights movement’s biggest asset to the cause. Again, Caro puts it very well. For much of his life, compassion and ambition were at odds within the heart and mind of Lyndon B. Johnson. And not once, did the former beat out the latter.
Lyndon Johnson was a complete political chameleon, able to take up any political cause which would favour him. At the start of his career, he had his senate seat to thank to the Texan oil industry, so he made sure he would give them hundreds of millions of dollars in handouts despite the wishes of the American people. At the start of his career, Richard Russell was his mentor, and Johnson realised he was able to get a hold of power through Russell and his fellow Dixiecrats. That meant that Johnson would be all in with segregationism. But by the second half of the 50s Johnson sensed that the tides were turning, and that Civil Rights would be the thing that could finally launch him–despite being a Southerner–into the White House, and there you go. Months later, the first civil rights legislation since reconstruction in the 1880s was passed. That was Lyndon Johnson. But what important to understand there is that he really made himself believe in every cause he took up. He forced himself to feel the pain that a Black man in the South facing unimaginable racism would feel. Because as Sam Johnson told his son, to sell something, you have to believe it, and when Johnson set his mind on something, there would be no bigger believer in the world.
Does anyone know who Lyndon Johnson was? After reading a 1200 page history book on him, that might be a strange question to ask. The answer is, I don’t know. I’d like to believe that the author, Robert Caro knows Johnson, at least, as well as anyone could know him. But Johnson was so many different things at the same time, as well as different things at different times. He is one of the great complex figures of the 20th century.
How could I say I know Johnson, when not even his close friends knew Johnson? Near the end, Caro (almost gleefully) informs the reader that he was finally able to book an interview with a Georgia Senator from the 50s-80s, Herman Talmadge, a segregationist through and through. This interview was in 2000, right before Talmade died, about 45 years after the events of the book. Caro explains how close Talmadge and Johnson were, as Johnson was close to most Southerners.
Caro asks: “How did Lyndon Johnson view the relationship between whites and Negroes? “Master and servant,” Talmadge replied. Well, didn’t he have any sympathy for their situation? “None indicated,” Talmadge replied”
Talmadge said that during the 1950s, Johnson would assure the southerners that they could count on him to weaken a civil rights bill as much as possible, that he was on their side on civil rights, that he had to pretend that he wasn’t, to meet the Southern Caucus as infrequently as possible, but that he really was their ally.
“He would tell us, I’m one of you, but I can help you more if I don’t meet with you.” And, Talmadge said, the southerners believed him, believed that while changes in the civil rights laws were inevitable, Johnson would keep them as minor as possible, that “he was with us in his heart.”
“I believed him,” Talmadge said, but “I changed my opinion.” When? “When he was President,” Talmadge said. How did you feel then? “Disappointed,” Talmadge said. “Angry.” There was a long pause, and then he added, “Sick.” When asked, How did you feel when he said, “We shall overcome?,” Talmadge repeated, “Sick.”
The author then asked, “Did you feel that Lyndon Johnson betrayed you?” There was a longer pause. It could not have been easy for a politician as wily as Herman Talmadge to admit he had been fooled so completely. “Yes,” he finally said.
Lyndon Johnson, the master of the Senate, was able to fool some of America’s greatest as well as most heinous minds. As president, Johnson did more to emancipate the Southern Black man than anyone in American history short of Abraham Lincoln. He lifted millions out of poverty. He got hundreds of thousands killed. He was a terrible husband, a tyrant to his staff, yet at times affable, intelligent, funny, charismatic, and for millions, a source of hope. He was competent and tireless and driven, maybe none more so. In 1957, when he ensured that the civil rights bill would be watered down to such an extent, that Southerners would not filibuster, meaning it could pass but do essentially nothing in effect, liberals called it betrayal. Yet every time Johnson argued that this bill would break the dam, and that more and better things would come to follow, he was right.
This is probably the best history book that I have read. Although this period of history interests me tremendously–and is something I have spent a lot of time on while in uni the last few years–the way in which Robert Caro was able to narrativise the history was done very well. The prose and sense of drama invested me hugely, on top of already being gripped by the substantive events in this time period.
Caro takes his time. He goes on tangents. And I think the book is better for it. Master of the Senate starts with a 100 page short history of the American Senate from its founding to the 1940s, and having that deeper understanding of the institution allows us to put things into greater context. Without knowing who the “Senate Four” from the turn of the century were, or just how ingrained seniority rule was, I would not have appreciated the extent to which Johnson was able to change the Senate rules so much in so little time. How he was able to make himself as Majority Leader, nearly as powerful as the US president by 1958, when before Johnson, the Majority Leader role was largely ceremonial with very little power, and not something anyone wanted to be.
My favourite chapter in the book, other than the last few on the 1957 civil rights act (which is the climax of the book, and what all of it builds up to [pretty great structuring I think. Really good scope]), was the one on Russell. Richard Brevard Russell Jr. was such a hugely influential figure within the senate. Arguably one of the most influential congressmen of the 20th century, and his name seems to largely be forgotten. The relationship he developed with Johnson was something I was well aware of because of a thesis I wrote in which I read/listened to dozens and dozens of Russell/Johnson white house tapes from when he was president, but seeing its origins, as well as Russell’s personal origins was just super interesting.
And man alive did I enjoy seeing someone finally shut Russell the fuck up about “states rights, let the south deal with its very complicated racial issues on its own pace, we must not tip the scales”. The man who always maintained his dignity, and pride. Who always felt above everyone else. Richard Russell, who everyone in the senate respected for his intelligence and decorum. He as a person was finally brought as low as the cause to which he dedicated his entire political career, that of white supremacy, and defending the domination of the Southern Black man by the Southern White man. A long passage, but I have never felt as much catharsis from reading a history book as I did from this (huge testament to Caro for how he wrote it):
“Russell's face was a very deep red now. "I am delighted to hear the Senator say that progress is being made," he said. Then he said, "The system which the senator from Michigan wants to impose on Georgia brought about race riots in Michigan.... If the Senator from Michigan would simply not seek to invade our state to fasten the race riot- generating system upon us, we would appreciate it. Let him keep it in Michigan." All over the Chamber, on both sides of the aisle, senators were on their feet shouting for the floor. At first Russell refused to yield it, but one of the senators was Pat McNamara, also of Michigan. "Yes: I yield to the Senator from Michigan,' Russell said at last. "I mentioned his state." McNamara said Michigan needed no defense, that his state could handle its affairs without outside interference. "Then why does not the Senator let us do the same?" Russell asked. There was applause from the southern senators seated around him. But he had asked a question, and he was to receive an answer to it "McNamara,' Doris Fleeson wrote, "roared in the bull voice trained in a thousand union meeting halls: Because you've had ninety years and haven't done it!"
That’s exactly right, McNamara.
Johnson is a complicated figure. If anyone knows anything about Johnson, it’s that. As president he probably had some of the most impressive legislation passed, much of it attributable to his own skill and influence. At the same time, he was greatly responsible for some of the United States’ greatest failures, politically and morally, overseeing escalation in Vietnam, willfully turning the conflict into a full-blown war. What perhaps I did not know about Johnson was how personally loathsome he was as an individual man. He was unbelievably mean, especially to the people he worked for. And sure, “the Johnson treatment” was something that helped Johnson secure political goals which would help tens of millions of Americans. But I see no reason in the degree to which he terrorised his staff. It sure as shit made sure that a lot of very competent people didn’t want to work for him. He knew he had to control himself amongst fellow senators, but he just didn’t care to do that with anyone who was beneath him.
Worst of all, he was a terrible husband. There were two very public affairs which his wife simply had to put up with. Several more private affairs which he barely cared to keep secret from his wife. The single most horrible anecdote is one at a party hosted by the Johnson’s. Ladybird, although very smart and competent (which Johnson never really allowed her to use her competences for anything), was very shy, especially around important senators and other politicians. She hated public speaking and being the centre of attention. At such a party, Johnson would be sitting in his chair in one part of the house, Ladybird working in the kitchen in the other part of the house. Johnson would scream at the top of his lungs: ‘LADYBIRD, GET ME ANOTHER DAMN DRINK’. Husbands in the 1930s-50s were categorically worse human beings than husbands in the modern day, but even in this time period, Johnson’s treatment of his wife was seen as exceptional.
As Caro wrote:
“A researcher trying to get a picture of the Johnsons hears, over and over, the same phrase: ‘I don't know how she stood it.’”
I think I probably also overestimated the extent to which Johnson was personally invested in securing civil rights for Black Americans. Obviously everyone knows how he played a part in the 1960s civil rights legislation being passed, but when you read about his time as Majority Leader during the 50s, he doesn’t really inhibit the behaviour of a person who cared much about it on an individual level. It was about power to him. Before 1957, trying to pass civil rights legislation was not in the political interest of Lyndon. As soon as it was in his political interest, he became the Civil Rights movement’s biggest asset to the cause. Again, Caro puts it very well. For much of his life, compassion and ambition were at odds within the heart and mind of Lyndon B. Johnson. And not once, did the former beat out the latter.
Lyndon Johnson was a complete political chameleon, able to take up any political cause which would favour him. At the start of his career, he had his senate seat to thank to the Texan oil industry, so he made sure he would give them hundreds of millions of dollars in handouts despite the wishes of the American people. At the start of his career, Richard Russell was his mentor, and Johnson realised he was able to get a hold of power through Russell and his fellow Dixiecrats. That meant that Johnson would be all in with segregationism. But by the second half of the 50s Johnson sensed that the tides were turning, and that Civil Rights would be the thing that could finally launch him–despite being a Southerner–into the White House, and there you go. Months later, the first civil rights legislation since reconstruction in the 1880s was passed. That was Lyndon Johnson. But what important to understand there is that he really made himself believe in every cause he took up. He forced himself to feel the pain that a Black man in the South facing unimaginable racism would feel. Because as Sam Johnson told his son, to sell something, you have to believe it, and when Johnson set his mind on something, there would be no bigger believer in the world.
Does anyone know who Lyndon Johnson was? After reading a 1200 page history book on him, that might be a strange question to ask. The answer is, I don’t know. I’d like to believe that the author, Robert Caro knows Johnson, at least, as well as anyone could know him. But Johnson was so many different things at the same time, as well as different things at different times. He is one of the great complex figures of the 20th century.
How could I say I know Johnson, when not even his close friends knew Johnson? Near the end, Caro (almost gleefully) informs the reader that he was finally able to book an interview with a Georgia Senator from the 50s-80s, Herman Talmadge, a segregationist through and through. This interview was in 2000, right before Talmade died, about 45 years after the events of the book. Caro explains how close Talmadge and Johnson were, as Johnson was close to most Southerners.
Caro asks: “How did Lyndon Johnson view the relationship between whites and Negroes? “Master and servant,” Talmadge replied. Well, didn’t he have any sympathy for their situation? “None indicated,” Talmadge replied”
Talmadge said that during the 1950s, Johnson would assure the southerners that they could count on him to weaken a civil rights bill as much as possible, that he was on their side on civil rights, that he had to pretend that he wasn’t, to meet the Southern Caucus as infrequently as possible, but that he really was their ally.
“He would tell us, I’m one of you, but I can help you more if I don’t meet with you.” And, Talmadge said, the southerners believed him, believed that while changes in the civil rights laws were inevitable, Johnson would keep them as minor as possible, that “he was with us in his heart.”
“I believed him,” Talmadge said, but “I changed my opinion.” When? “When he was President,” Talmadge said. How did you feel then? “Disappointed,” Talmadge said. “Angry.” There was a long pause, and then he added, “Sick.” When asked, How did you feel when he said, “We shall overcome?,” Talmadge repeated, “Sick.”
The author then asked, “Did you feel that Lyndon Johnson betrayed you?” There was a longer pause. It could not have been easy for a politician as wily as Herman Talmadge to admit he had been fooled so completely. “Yes,” he finally said.
Lyndon Johnson, the master of the Senate, was able to fool some of America’s greatest as well as most heinous minds. As president, Johnson did more to emancipate the Southern Black man than anyone in American history short of Abraham Lincoln. He lifted millions out of poverty. He got hundreds of thousands killed. He was a terrible husband, a tyrant to his staff, yet at times affable, intelligent, funny, charismatic, and for millions, a source of hope. He was competent and tireless and driven, maybe none more so. In 1957, when he ensured that the civil rights bill would be watered down to such an extent, that Southerners would not filibuster, meaning it could pass but do essentially nothing in effect, liberals called it betrayal. Yet every time Johnson argued that this bill would break the dam, and that more and better things would come to follow, he was right.