[Congressional Record Volume 145, Number 21 (Saturday, February 6, 1999)]
[Senate]
[Page S1329]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
ADDITIONAL STATEMENTS
______
TOWARD A BIPARTISAN SPIRIT
Mr. HOLLINGS. Mr. President, I believe it would be helpful for
all of us to consider the example of bipartisan cooperation and
collegiality set by many of our predecessors. Jack Valenti, a former
advisor to President Lyndon Johnson and a man many of us know
personally, nicely captured that spirit in a recent editorial,
published in the Los Angeles Times, urging a return to ``political
civility.''
There was a time, Mr. President, when leaders of both parties, men
like President Johnson and Everett Dirksen, knew the importance of
maintaining cordial relations and cooperating to further the national
interest. As Jack Valenti puts it, ``they knew that compromise was not
an ignoble word.''
In today's atmosphere, I fear that cooperating on anything for the
good of the country will prove extremely difficult. In this trying
time, we all should consider Jack Valenti's words, as well as the
spirit of the bygone era he invokes.
At this time, Mr. President, I ask that Mr. Valenti's editorial be
printed in the Congressional Record.
The editorial follows:
[From the Los Angeles Times, Jan. 29, 1999]
Two Old Pols Knew the Art of a Bargain
(By Jack Valenti)
Controversy rages in Washington. But there is one fact in
which agreement is universal: Between a majority of the
people's representatives and the people's president, there is
a continuing antagonism that makes civil communication almost
impossible.
But ``what if''? What if, frequently, President Clinton put
his feet up on the coffee table on the second floor of the
mansion with either the speaker of the House (or the majority
leader of the Senate) lounging before him, chatting about
where the nation ought to be heading. Not that either would
change course or declare defeat. But the easy give and take
of an informal conversation, some pieces of worthy programs
might find daylight.
Looking back is usually not very fruitful, but I remember
when it was different than it is now. When I was special
assistant to President Johnson, he charged me with
``handling'' key members of the Senate and the House, which
meant they could call me direct with grievances, needs,
requests. I was authorized to use my best judgment in
responding.
I bore personal witness to long-ago discourses wherein
President Johnson and the minority leader of the Senate,
Everett Dirksen of Illinois, would sip a drink, field some
little joke that poked fun at each other and do the nation's
business. Dirksen, the Republican leader, would call me
around noon in that voice dipped in cream and ladled out in
large velvet spoons, deep, sonorous tones to soothe even the
most obsessively discontented. ``Jack, would you tell the
boss I would like to see him today. Possible?'' Without
hesitation, ``Absolutely, senator. You want to come by around
6 o'clock for a drink with him?''
At 3 o'clock that afternoon, Dirksen would rise on the
Senate floor and flail LBJ with a rhetorical whip, comparing
him unfavorably to Caligula. Three hours later, the two would
gather in the West Hall in the living quarters of the
president, with me as observer.
``Dammit, Everett, the way you treated me today made me
feel like a cut dog. You ought to be ashamed of
yourself,'' the president would say with a mocking grin.
``Well, Mr. President,'' came The Voice, trying in vain to
suppress a chuckle. ``I have vowed to speak the truth so I
had no choice in the matter.'' Much laughter. They both
knew who they were and why they were leaders. They were
two warriors who had fought a hundred battles against each
other. They knew the game, how it was played, no quarter
given, no quarter asked in the public arena. But when the
day was done, they sat around the campfire, as it were, to
recount the details of the fight over a flagon of fine
refreshment. They both knew that each needed the other,
and the country needed them both. If they fumed and
fussed, determined to wound and kill the other, no
ultimate good would come of it. The land they served would
be agitated and stunted by stalemate. They both understood
the meaning of ``duty'' to the nation, and they knew that
compromise was not an ignoble word.
The president would say, ``Now, Everett, I need three
Republican votes on my civil rights bill, and, dammit, you
can get them.'' Dirksen would ponder that somberly, and then
pull a sheaf of papers out of his inside pocket. ``I have
here, Mr. President, some potential nominees to the FCC, the
ITC, the SEC'' and so on through the catalog of acronyms
wherein the nation's regulatory labors get done.
LBJ would sigh, and say, ``Jack, take down the names and
see if Mr. Hoover (J. Edgar) will certify them.'' Dirksen
would smile broadly, sip his drink. LBJ would do the same.
After more intimate joshing between them, Dirksen would
depart. There was no mention of a deal. There was no formal
commitment. But each knew the pact was struck. Each would
redeem the unspoken pledges given. And there was no leakage
to the press. Moreover, the warriors' code was intact.
Neither gloated in a supposed triumph over the other.
By whatever mutations the gods of politics brew, there has
to be a return to political civility, whose end result is to
the nation's benefit. Neither LBJ nor Sen. Dirksen lost their
honor or abandoned their crusades when they talked. Nor did
they lose their bearings. For they knew such damage would
diminish them both, and most of all the country, whose people
they had by solemn oath sworn to serve, would be the loser.
They did their duty.
____________________