Since my father was a local real estate agent, I came to know a number of area realtors. If they had a position on civil rights at all, it tended to be for the status quo. Their clients were often concerned that property values would go down if minorities moved into their neighborhoods. Some of my supporters preferred I stay away from the issue.

At the height of efforts to pa.s.s civil right legislation, I was invited to be part of a meeting with a group of black leaders to hear their thoughts. The meeting was arranged by Clarence Mitch.e.l.l of the NAACP, a civil rights pioneer who did a great deal to advance the cause of black Americans. He was on Capitol Hill so often that he was dubbed the 101st senator. Mitch.e.l.l brought with him a number of African American leaders, including Jim Farmer from the Congress of Racial Equality, the Reverend Ralph Abernathy of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, and the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr.

The group was realistic about the challenges they faced but determined to achieve change. They wanted more pressure placed on the Johnson administration. Though President Kennedy had publicly supported civil rights, they noted, he had not been willing to tackle the Southern Democrats in Congress. In fact, Kennedy's hesitancy about the issue had inspired Dr. King to take his cause to the streets of Washington for his stirring "I have a dream" speech in August 1963. With other members of Congress, I went to a balcony in the Capitol to listen to King's speech over the radio while we looked out over the sea of humanity on the Mall. The peaceful crowd stretched out from the Lincoln Memorial, where King was speaking.

As protests increased, the issue of the civil rights legislation became even more controversial. The Chicago Tribune Chicago Tribune editorialized against pa.s.sage. editorialized against pa.s.sage.10 The paper even put the term "civil rights" in scare quotes, as if there were something suspicious about the phrase. The editorial page labeled a number of the black leaders working to pa.s.s the legislation "racial agitators" and cautioned Americans about the bill's potentially adverse consequences. The bill being considered by Congress, one The paper even put the term "civil rights" in scare quotes, as if there were something suspicious about the phrase. The editorial page labeled a number of the black leaders working to pa.s.s the legislation "racial agitators" and cautioned Americans about the bill's potentially adverse consequences. The bill being considered by Congress, one Chicago Tribune Chicago Tribune editorial claimed, was "a license for virtually unlimited civil disorder" and would turn "communities over to street mobs" while making black Americans "a privileged cla.s.s." editorial claimed, was "a license for virtually unlimited civil disorder" and would turn "communities over to street mobs" while making black Americans "a privileged cla.s.s."11 It was scary stuff for many nervous white suburbanites who had few interactions with black Americans. It was scary stuff for many nervous white suburbanites who had few interactions with black Americans.

I thought I could make a case to my const.i.tuents that civil rights legislation was a means to better the lives of all Americans rather than a ticket to anarchy. I promised I would weigh any legislation with an eye to our Const.i.tution. I also let them know that I was well aware that no piece of legislation, no matter how well meaning, could end bigotry, racism, or other human weaknesses. "These problems-human by definition-must and can only be solved finally by human beings-not governments or laws, but in the churches, clubs, schools, businesses, and homes," I wrote.12 When civil rights legislation came before the House, a long, heated debate ensued. My records show a total of 111 amendments were brought forward-some designed to strengthen the legislation, others to gut it, and still others designed to make it more moderate so it could garner enough votes to pa.s.s.13 The 1964 Civil Rights Act ultimately was approved by the House on February 10, 1964, by a vote of 290130. Ninety-six Democrats and thirty-four Republicans opposed the bill. I was a proud member of the majority. The 1964 Civil Rights Act ultimately was approved by the House on February 10, 1964, by a vote of 290130. Ninety-six Democrats and thirty-four Republicans opposed the bill. I was a proud member of the majority.

After the bill pa.s.sed the House, Democrats staged a filibuster in the Senate. Though a majority of senators tended to support civil rights legislation, they had failed over the years to obtain the two-thirds supermajority needed to cut off a filibuster. In 1964, Johnson was ready to try again.*

Over those tense, dramatic days, Senate Republicans and moderate Democrats together worked to garner the votes needed to end the filibuster. Senator Everett Dirksen of Illinois, the Republican leader, skillfully led the effort in support of the legislation. The situation seemed to change by the hour as senators worked to pry loose that elusive sixty-seventh vote. Many prominent senators joined the bill's opposition, including Tennessee's Al Gore, Sr., and Robert C. Byrd of West Virginia, who filibustered against the legislation for fourteen hours and thirteen minutes.

Typically, President Johnson was in the thick of things. He used all of the skills he had honed as Senate majority leader to help ensure the bill's pa.s.sage, first making sure that it got to the floor and later arm twisting to get every possible vote. As the historic debate unfolded, some of us from the House went over to the Senate to watch. When the Senate roll call reached the necessary sixty-seventh vote, cheers broke out in the Senate chamber. After years of frustration, this historic legislation had pa.s.sed the United States Congress. Dirksen summed up the battle by paraphrasing Victor Hugo. "Stronger than all the armies," he said, "is an idea whose time has come."

I was grateful and proud that the Republican Party had proved indispensable in pa.s.sing the civil rights legislation. Indeed, one of the generally overlooked facts in the history of the civil rights movement was that in the 1960s a higher percentage of Republicans in both the House and the Senate supported the legislation than did the Democrats, and that without the leadership of Senator Dirksen, it would likely not have pa.s.sed.* I had hoped that the robust and critical level of support by the GOP for civil rights would lead to a revival of the party's historically close relationship with minority voters. For many decades after the Civil War, black voters had voted with the party of Lincoln, but that changed during the New Deal days of the Franklin Roosevelt administration. I had hoped that the robust and critical level of support by the GOP for civil rights would lead to a revival of the party's historically close relationship with minority voters. For many decades after the Civil War, black voters had voted with the party of Lincoln, but that changed during the New Deal days of the Franklin Roosevelt administration.

A few years later, when I was still in the House, I urged civil rights activist James Farmer to seek a seat in Congress as a Republican. If he had been elected in his heavily Democratic Brooklyn district-admittedly a long shot-he would have been the first black Republican in the House of Representatives since the 1930s. Farmer was a masterful orator and a charismatic presence-one of the heroes of the movement, who organized the Freedom Rides that led to the desegregation of busing. Farmer had been linked to a socialist group in his youth. Some of my Republican friends took issue with my support for Farmer's candidacy-some unfairly calling him "a renowned black militant."14 Farmer had pledged to vote for the GOP leadership and was the only hope we'd ever have of picking up that seat in New York City, so I didn't see what the fuss was about. I worked successfully to persuade Gerald Ford and New York City Mayor John Lindsay to support him. Farmer had pledged to vote for the GOP leadership and was the only hope we'd ever have of picking up that seat in New York City, so I didn't see what the fuss was about. I worked successfully to persuade Gerald Ford and New York City Mayor John Lindsay to support him.15 My concern about civil rights issues no doubt led to my developing a reputation with some in the media as a "liberal-leaning" Republican. My concern about civil rights issues no doubt led to my developing a reputation with some in the media as a "liberal-leaning" Republican.16 This was considered by the press to be a compliment. This was considered by the press to be a compliment.

Though I admired President Johnson's important role in the civil rights battle, that was about as far as I went in supporting his legislative programs. A self-described Roosevelt New Dealer, he wanted the initials "LBJ" to be remembered as fondly as FDR's in the history books, and promptly proposed a host of big government programs under the rubrics of the War on Poverty and the Great Society. I thought most of his initiatives, which promised more power for bureaucrats in Washington, were not well considered. But Republicans did not have large enough numbers in Congress to slow even marginally the rush of Great Society legislation.

Moving into the presidential election less than a year after John Kennedy's a.s.sa.s.sination, LBJ was on a quest for his own validation, an electoral triumph that he hoped would shatter all records. The year 1964 was my first reelection campaign and the first presidential campaign I was involved in as an elected official. As it turned out, I had a front-row ticket to a t.i.tanic-sized defeat.

The Democrats knew it would be hard for a still-grieving country to turn its back on the man who had been John F. Kennedy's handpicked vice president, and they made the most of their advantage. At the 1964 Democratic National Convention, the slogan emblazoned across the stage wasn't exactly subtle. Playing off of a line in Kennedy's well-known inaugural address-"Let us begin"-the Johnson convention theme was: "Let us continue." LBJ's acceptance speech referenced his predecessor six times. Notably the word that would be his eventual undoing-"Vietnam"-did not merit a single mention, despite the 23,300 American troops there on the ground.

If it seemed like voting against LBJ would be a vote against John F. Kennedy, Johnson apparently was fine with that. The Republicans, in effect, were battling two presidents at once: one martyred and one sitting. That meant the GOP needed to run a pitch-perfect campaign. What we got was quite the opposite.

The Republicans did not have many outstanding widely known contenders in 1964. The man who once had seemed likely to be the front-runner, Richard Nixon, had suffered an embarra.s.sing defeat in his race for governor of California two years earlier. By all accounts, including his own, he was through with politics. After losing his bruising gubernatorial bid, Nixon bitterly told the a.s.sembled press corps, "You won't have Nixon to kick around anymore."17 He seemed to reiterate the sentiment in the congratulatory note he sent to me (and, I a.s.sume, to other victorious Republican candidates) that year. "As I leave the political arena," Nixon wrote, "I am greatly heartened by the fact that you will be in there fighting for our cause." He seemed to reiterate the sentiment in the congratulatory note he sent to me (and, I a.s.sume, to other victorious Republican candidates) that year. "As I leave the political arena," Nixon wrote, "I am greatly heartened by the fact that you will be in there fighting for our cause."18 Nelson Rockefeller, the governor of New York, was making his second run for the presidency but was considered too liberal to win the nomination. Governor Bill Scranton of Pennsylvania, a former member of Congress and a fine public servant, started too late to make a viable run. That left Senator Barry M. Goldwater, who locked up the delegates needed to win the nomination after a long, well-organized effort.

I didn't know Barry Goldwater at the time, though I had been uncomfortable with his opposition to the 1964 civil rights legislation. Goldwater believed that moral issues were not the business of the legislative branch. I saw his point but thought that if we sat back and waited for good intentions to kick in on civil rights, we might be waiting a long time. I generally agreed with him, however, on economic issues and on national security. I had no doubt in my mind that his administration would have been considerably better for our country than a rerun of President Johnson's.

Goldwater had a reputation for being outspoken, which I found refreshing in a politician. But in Goldwater's case, it occasionally meant trouble for him. He would make comments like, "Sometimes I think this country would be better off if we could just saw off the Eastern Seaboard and let it float out to sea."19 His humorous line played well in the west and with conservative audiences but wasn't helpful for a man who needed to win over some Easterners to get elected. His humorous line played well in the west and with conservative audiences but wasn't helpful for a man who needed to win over some Easterners to get elected.

For his running mate, the Arizonan picked one of my colleagues in Congress, Representative William Miller of New York. Miller was a good man, diligent and serious. But that's not why he was chosen. Goldwater selected Miller, he blurted out one day, because "he drives Lyndon Johnson nuts."20 It was a less than presidential rationale for selecting a vice presidential nominee. It was a less than presidential rationale for selecting a vice presidential nominee.

The Johnson campaign's strategy soon became clear-to exploit Goldwater's outspokenness and try to depict him as a dangerous crackpot who would take America into a nuclear war. Subtlety was not a Johnson strong suit. The infamous "Daisy" ad on television that the Johnson campaign aired-showing a little girl counting daisy petals as a nuclear bomb, presumably launched by Goldwater, went off behind her-was undoubtedly the most cynical campaign ad ever aired by an inc.u.mbent president. It also was among the most effective. Though it was only shown as a paid ad once, the controversy it stirred up ensured that it was aired over and over again by news organizations and became etched in voters' minds. The Johnson campaign didn't stop there. They ran ads showing someone tearing up a Social Security card, implying Barry Goldwater intended to abolish Social Security. Capitalizing on his vote against civil rights, they also prepared a commercial showing a Ku Klux Klansman saying, "I like Barry Goldwater. He needs our help." Even the media started to criticize the Johnson campaign's vicious tone.21 Goldwater didn't help himself. After being characterized as a right-wing extremist for months, he decided to challenge the premise of the criticism. At the Republican National Convention in San Francisco, I watched Goldwater deliver his now well-known acceptance speech, in which he declared that "extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice.... Moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue."22 Goldwater, true to form, stubbornly refused to distance himself from those remarks-which his opponents suggested were an admission of his extremism-while the Johnson team reveled in their good fortune. Goldwater, true to form, stubbornly refused to distance himself from those remarks-which his opponents suggested were an admission of his extremism-while the Johnson team reveled in their good fortune.

Though LBJ had not mentioned the words "Vietnam" or "communism" once in his convention address, Goldwater went after both in his usual frank manner. "Make no bones of this," he warned his audience. "Don't try to sweep this under the rug. We are at war in Vietnam." He accused LBJ of failing to define a strategy for victory in the conflict.23 And he cautioned the country about the expansive aims of the Soviets. The substance of his remarks was lost in the furor over the charge against him of extremism. And he cautioned the country about the expansive aims of the Soviets. The substance of his remarks was lost in the furor over the charge against him of extremism.

It soon began to look like Goldwater might lose so badly that many otherwise safe Republican House and Senate seats were in jeopardy. At that moment, in fact, I was being attacked by my Democratic opponent, who was trying to paint me as even more right-wing than Goldwater.* To avoid giving my opponent any ammunition, a supporter suggested I come up with some plausible excuse to stay clear of appearing with Goldwater. But Goldwater was our party's nominee, and though I didn't see eye to eye with him on civil rights, I certainly intended to vote for him. I thought it would be disrespectful and misleading not to show up when he came to my district to give a speech in Evanston, Illinois. To avoid giving my opponent any ammunition, a supporter suggested I come up with some plausible excuse to stay clear of appearing with Goldwater. But Goldwater was our party's nominee, and though I didn't see eye to eye with him on civil rights, I certainly intended to vote for him. I thought it would be disrespectful and misleading not to show up when he came to my district to give a speech in Evanston, Illinois.

When I arrived at the meeting, it was clear that the Goldwater supporters were pleased that their local congressman was showing his support. After experiencing months of criticism of their presidential candidate, including from many Republicans, someone, at least, was on their side. When Goldwater arrived I greeted him warmly, knowing the photo of our appearance together would likely appear in my opponent's next brochure. I made sure to smile.

As the Senator began speaking, he turned to introduce the state and local officials gathered on the platform. Then he turned toward me. Goldwater glanced at his notes and said, "And I'd like to thank your fine congressman, Don Rums-field." No doubt some people on Goldwater's staff winced at the misp.r.o.nunciation. Not I. Goldwater had just proved to the press that he really didn't know me very well.

With nothing seeming to go right for the Goldwater campaign-he was down by double digits in nearly every national opinion poll-I still held on to the slender hope that we might win a few more seats in the House and Senate for voters who wanted a check on the excesses of the Johnson administration. Instead, the Republicans ended the election in considerably worse shape. Thirty-six Republicans in the House were defeated, and our minority hit a low of 140 seats out of 435. We were outnumbered by the Democrats by more than two to one. I was one of the fortunate ones able to hang on, winning by what must have looked like a comparably comfortable margin of 57 to 43 percent. That turned out to be the closest of my four elections to Congress.

My fellow Republicans and I were a dwindling, lonely group in the House of Representatives. Though Democrats long had outnumbered Republicans in Congress, after the 1964 election there were so many Democrats in the majority that when all the members were in attendance, the Democrat side spilled over across the aisle into the Republican side of the chamber. The press suggested the Republican Party was on a course toward permanent minority status. The entrenched GOP leadership appeared to regard this state of affairs as a fact to be accepted rather than a problem to be solved. I saw the situation differently.

CHAPTER 6

Young Turks.

After the Goldwater defeat, a small group of like-minded Republicans in Congress began considering what to do next. Some thought we needed a fresh approach in the House Republican leadership. We had made a start with the election of Congressman Gerald Ford as the Republican conference's chairman in 1963. Now we could either accept the status quo or keep working for change.

The first call I placed the day after the elections was to a veteran in our party, Congressman Tom Curtis of Missouri. Curtis had been a mentor of sorts to me since I first came to the House. He was a sober, scholarly type who would become interested in an important issue, consult the leading national experts on the subject, develop a conviction, and then pursue his position aggressively. I liked that approach. He had a tenacity that sometimes grated on opponents, but he also had in abundance the best qualities of a legislator-he was principled, studious, honest, and courageous. Just elected to his eighth term, Congressman Curtis shared my concerns about our party's situation. We agreed to meet in Washington with a few other members to talk about what might be done next.1 The legend surrounding those days-among those who followed it-was that those of us who met in the aftermath of the 1964 elections had mutiny on our minds from the beginning. But my recollection is that no one at our early meetings was talking about trying to oust the House Republican leadership. After talking with a few congressmen, including Bob Griffin, Charles Goodell, and Bob Ellsworth, we decided to encourage adoption of a reform agenda that would pose a more aggressive challenge to the Democratic majority and provide Republicans with a sharper contrast in the next congressional elections.

The Republican leader, Charlie Halleck, and his number two, Minority Whip Arends, both resisted the idea. Halleck was a decent man, a staunch conservative, and a supporter of civil rights. But he had been elected to Congress in 1934 and was a symbol of a different era. Arends continued to resent my defiance of his authority as the chairman of the Illinois delegation. Both remembered that Griffin, Goodell, and I had been involved in the earlier effort to unseat another member of the leadership in favor of Gerald R. Ford.

As chairman of the Republican conference, Ford was wary of opposing his fellow members of the leadership. But when evidence of substantial support of the reform agenda emerged among rank-and-file Republicans, Ford signed on. The groundswell of GOP enthusiasm for a new, invigorated agenda didn't seem to move Halleck. He didn't take the substance of our proposals seriously. Rather than partic.i.p.ating in the reform effort, he spent his time trying to ensure he had enough votes to keep his job.2 Appearing with Ford at a press briefing, one reporter noted that Halleck "seemed nervous and apprehensive, constantly deferred to Ford, and literally kept looking over his shoulder." Appearing with Ford at a press briefing, one reporter noted that Halleck "seemed nervous and apprehensive, constantly deferred to Ford, and literally kept looking over his shoulder."3 Halleck's actions won him few if any fans among the reform minded. If Halleck had enthusiastically embraced our idea and worked to incorporate the concerns of the "Young Turks," perhaps his fate would have been different. He acted like the entrenched, inflexible member of the old guard-exactly what we did not need.

"Halleck has played his cards wrong," reported the columnists Bob Novak and Rowland Evans.4 Indeed, I didn't see how he could have played them any worse. Ironically, Halleck's paranoia about a leadership challenge led him to act in ways that made a challenge all but inevitable. Along with several other members of the House, I concluded that it was time for Halleck to go. Once again the Young Turks turned to the man we thought had the best hope of beating Charlie Halleck in a leadership contest. And once again our candidate was reluctant to seek the post. Indeed, I didn't see how he could have played them any worse. Ironically, Halleck's paranoia about a leadership challenge led him to act in ways that made a challenge all but inevitable. Along with several other members of the House, I concluded that it was time for Halleck to go. Once again the Young Turks turned to the man we thought had the best hope of beating Charlie Halleck in a leadership contest. And once again our candidate was reluctant to seek the post.

Gerald Ford, by his own admission, was not a bomb thrower, nor was he anyone's image of a political revolutionary. We had to work hard to convince him that running for the post of Republican leader was in the party's best interests. Due to Ford's p.r.o.nounced reluctance, not everyone in our group was enthusiastic about the idea of a Ford candidacy. Tom Curtis, for one, thought he was not resolute enough. But despite the qualms expressed by some in our group, it finally came down to one hard fact. Ford was the only one who had a reasonable chance of defeating Halleck. So several of us pressed Ford hard to run, until he finally agreed.

At a press conference announcing his candidacy, Ford made it clear that the upcoming battle was not personal. "It is a question of having new, dynamic, bold, innovating leadership," he explained. "It is a question of using all the talent that we have available among Republicans in the House."5 I had strong reason to agree with Ford's remarks-I had helped to draft them. I had strong reason to agree with Ford's remarks-I had helped to draft them.

I had not worked closely with Ford during my first term in Congress, but intense political contests have a way of forging friendships. Throughout the Ford-Halleck contest, I came to appreciate Ford's strengths that were sometimes overlooked. Once he made up his mind to run, Ford proved to be a smart and tenacious campaigner. He was also unfailingly likable, even by his opponents. That meant that when members looked for someone to blame for the GOP revolt, they turned not to the genial Ford but to those of us considered to be running things behind the scenes. I quickly received attention as one of the primary agitators. One Democratic congressman put it somewhat facetiously, "Rumsfeld held the dagger that Ford plunged into Halleck's back."6 For the next month the Ford and Halleck forces battled. Halleck was saying we needed to stay the course, he had the experience to help us win a majority, the Goldwater disaster was a fluke, and other comments he felt might appeal to specific members of the Republican conference. The Ford message, by contrast, was as effective as it was simple: It was time for a change.

I kept our group's daily tabulation of where we believed each of the 140 Republicans stood on the Ford-Halleck race. Every morning we made a.s.signments for our "whips" to talk to the members, to try to find out what they seemed to be thinking at the moment, where they stood, where they thought others stood, and to revise and adjust our latest head count. At the end of each day I would log in their reports as "for Ford," "leaning Ford," "undecided," "unknown," "leaning Halleck," or "for Halleck." The race was so close, and so many members were noncommittal, that we could never be certain of the exact count. It seemed that it could come down to a vote or two.7 Though we were a reform-minded group, the Ford campaign team was not above playing old-school politics. This was the United States Congress, after all. We crafted a strategy for the vote-rich Ohio delegation that would have made Charlie Halleck proud. Among the Buckeye State's GOP delegation were a number of old-timers who initially favored Halleck. But we had an advantage Halleck didn't. Gerald Ford was the ranking minority member on the House Appropriations Committee, which had significant power over determining how and where tax dollars were spent. We pointed out to the large Ohio delegation that if Ford became the Republican leader, by tradition he would step off of the committees on which he served. Once he vacated his senior position on the appropriations committee, the next in line for that powerful position was Representative Frank Bow, from the great state of...Ohio. It was a strong incentive for the Ohio members to vote for Ford.

With the January conference approaching, we thought we might still be behind by a few votes. At that point, one bloc of uncommitted votes was in the Kansas delegation. And it just so happened that my next door neighbor in the Cannon House Office Building was a friend of mine from Kansas named Robert Dole. A World War II veteran who lost the use of his right arm in combat, Dole was a hardworking legislator and a wonderfully witty man. He and I would often walk together from our offices over to the House floor when a vote was called. We both often worked on Sat.u.r.days if we were not back in our congressional districts, and sometimes brought our children to the office with us. Dole and I were fiscal conservatives concerned about waste in the federal government and occasionally worked together to highlight the spending excesses of Congress. After I turned to Dole for his help in the leadership race, he invited Ford to speak to the Kansas delegation to help swing a few precious votes our way.

Gerald Ford was on the verge of an upset, but we couldn't celebrate just yet. As the vote approached, I became concerned that some members-in an abundance of caution-might be leading both sides to believe they would be with them. So on the day of the balloting, I made a point of sitting right next to a key congressman from Ohio to try to make sure we kept his delegation in our camp.

With Halleck and Ford both present, the vote was taken. We each wrote our choice on a ballot and turned it in. When the ballots were counted, we noticed something unusual about the tally. While there were only 140 Republican members, there had been 141 votes cast. For a moment, it seemed we were back in Chicago. It was clear that a second vote was needed. This time each of the members would be observed carefully as they brought their ballots up to the box. When the final results came in-with everyone voting just once this time-the outcome was what we had hoped. Ford had won, by a vote of 7367. We were elated. Ford was pleased as well, but, as was his way, also modest. He immediately reached out to Halleck and his supporters.8 From the time he first came to Washington, Ford's goal had been to become Speaker of the House of Representatives.9 History, of course, had other plans for him. If Ford had not made that run against Halleck, he would not have become the House Republican leader, nor would he later have been selected by President Nixon as vice president when Spiro Agnew had to resign. Indeed, it can probably be said that the man who was never elected president by the American people became president of the United States by the narrow margin he received to become House minority leader on January 4, 1965. History, of course, had other plans for him. If Ford had not made that run against Halleck, he would not have become the House Republican leader, nor would he later have been selected by President Nixon as vice president when Spiro Agnew had to resign. Indeed, it can probably be said that the man who was never elected president by the American people became president of the United States by the narrow margin he received to become House minority leader on January 4, 1965.*

Our informal group that had helped elect Ford to the leadership continued to press for many of the reforms we had been urging. We were hopelessly outnumbered by Democrats in the Congress who liked things the way they were and by some Republicans who didn't want to make waves. At one point we stood in front of the Capitol with a large banner showing the last time the rules were changed in the House-1909. We called these "horse-and-buggy rules." Over time our group was dubbed Rumsfeld's Raiders. Our tactic was to make parliamentary moves at opportune moments during legislative debates to try to enact some of our reform planks. Our proposals included the establishment of a House ethics committee, the opening of more congressional hearings to the public, and the recording of yea or nay votes on spending bills rather than the more typical unrecorded, anonymous voice votes.

By 1966, Republican fortunes were on the rise, thanks in part to a rein-vigorated GOP as well as the drooping popularity of LBJ as the public focused more on Vietnam. In the midterm elections that November a string of Republicans were elected across the country-notably Governors George Romney of Michigan and Ronald Reagan of California. Republicans gained forty-seven seats in the House, which brought to Congress a number of bright freshmen members: William Steiger of Wisconsin and Edward "Pete" Biester of Pennsylvania particularly stood out. Both were fine examples of legislators willing to dig down on issues and consider legislation on its merits. They thought as I did about the Congress-rather than serving as a stepping-stone to the Senate or the White House, there was important work to do where we were.

Another new member who supported some of our reform efforts was George Herbert Walker Bush, the son of Senator Prescott Bush of Greenwich, Connecticut. Bush attracted notice by managing to secure a coveted seat on the Ways and Means Committee as a first-term congressman. Bush and I would find each other in the same circles many times in the years that followed.

Our group's renegade activities also caught the attention of a young Republican who was looking for a job on Capitol Hill. In 1968, d.i.c.k Cheney had won an American Political Science a.s.sociation Congressional Fellowship and applied to be an intern in my congressional office. To this day d.i.c.k contends he flunked our first interview-and has gotten a good deal of mileage over the years in telling his amusing but completely inaccurate version of our first meeting, calling it the worst interview of his life. The fact is that I didn't take him as an intern at the time because my office needed a lawyer, not a budding academic. I thought he seemed like a fine person, bright and talented. But I confess that as he left my office that day, I had no expectation that I'd be working so closely with him over so many decades.

Not long after Gerald Ford won the top Republican leadership post in the House in 1965, he received a phone call from President Johnson. LBJ wasted no time in applying the Johnson treatment to prod the new GOP leader to support his policies on the war in Vietnam. After bellowing, "Congratulations!" Johnson expressed annoyance that Ford had stated, accurately, that Republicans were not getting much in the way of actual information from the White House about the situation in Vietnam.

"There's not anything that we know that we don't want you to know," LBJ a.s.sured him. The President then tried to persuade Ford that the key to increasing the number of Republicans in Congress was to go along with the administration on the war. "I think it will get you more Republican seats than anything else, if you show that you are not picayunish and not fighting," he advised.10 He was a "Ford man," the President said, but of course he couldn't say so publicly.11 No matter how heartfelt Johnson's remarks might have been, I found it hard to believe that bolstering the ranks of his Republican opposition in the Congress was part of LBJ's agenda.

When it came to the Vietnam War, the Republican Party was in something of a quandary-and Johnson knew it. Republicans in Congress were likely to be the last ones to counsel retreat in the face of Communist aggression. I too was sympathetic to the Kennedy and Johnson administrations' expressed aims in Vietnam-to check Communist expansion-as were most Americans in the early years of the war.

But I started to have concerns in May 1965, when a Vietnam War appropriation bill came before the House, and President Johnson urgently requested an additional $700 million for the Department of Defense. The vote turned into a proxy fight between supporters and opponents of the war. I could see no reason for Johnson to try to ram through an appropriations bill so quickly. It seemed to me it was another maneuver designed to show the American people that Congress supported the war. But in the end, I voted for the appropriations, basing my decision, as I wrote at the time, "on the more fundamental fact that we cannot know what is in the mind of the President and certainly we cannot function if we operate on the a.s.sumption that his motives are bad." I concluded, "Frankly, I do not have the vaguest idea whether I voted properly or improperly."12 Shortly after our memorable White House briefing in February 1966, it was clear that the war in Vietnam had become the single most important issue facing the country.13 Many members of Congress were questioning Johnson's credibility, including his use of the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution to justify any action he took. Many members of Congress were questioning Johnson's credibility, including his use of the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution to justify any action he took.14 While LBJ and others in the administration would offer comforting words like "the tide is turning" and that there is "light at the end of the tunnel," for the first time in history the world was watching a war on television and was beginning to sense that the words did not match what they were seeing. The administration's rhetoric gradually evolved into cliches a.s.sociated with what was beginning to feel like a failing effort. While LBJ and others in the administration would offer comforting words like "the tide is turning" and that there is "light at the end of the tunnel," for the first time in history the world was watching a war on television and was beginning to sense that the words did not match what they were seeing. The administration's rhetoric gradually evolved into cliches a.s.sociated with what was beginning to feel like a failing effort.

As I had seen firsthand, President Johnson avoided difficult questions about the conduct of the war from members of Congress and the press. He believed that media reporting was providing aid and comfort to the enemy and said as much. I concluded that if I wanted to better understand what was going on in Vietnam, I should go there myself.15 In May 1966, our House Subcommittee on Foreign Operations and Government Information traveled to Vietnam to look into charges of waste and mismanagement of taxpayer dollars by the Agency for International Development (AID). I saw this trip also as an opportunity to talk to the troops without a filter and to hear from the military and diplomatic leadership in Vietnam firsthand.

Almost immediately I observed one telling sign about our difficulties in Vietnam. When we arrived at the AID office in Saigon, the television set wasn't working. The picture was on but there was no sound. The AID employees tried to fix the set, but couldn't. Then someone tried to ask the Vietnamese personnel on duty there for a.s.sistance. But none of the Americans around were able to communicate with the Vietnamese to tell them what was needed. If the folks on the ground at AID were not able to communicate well enough with the Vietnamese they worked with to fix a television set, I wondered how they could work together to win a war.

The language barrier extended well beyond the AID office. We were told that of 260,000 U.S. personnel then stationed in Vietnam, roughly 1,500 could speak some Vietnamese.16 While language differences could be manageable in a conventional war, they posed particular difficulties in a conflict where U.S. forces needed to appeal to local populations for support. While language differences could be manageable in a conventional war, they posed particular difficulties in a conflict where U.S. forces needed to appeal to local populations for support.

There were other revelations ahead. When our delegation traveled to the port of Cam Ranh Bay, we noticed a mammoth construction project underway. I asked an engineer how many U.S. troops the new port facilities would be capable of supporting. The answer was, up to a half million. Since there currently were fewer than three hundred thousand troops in Vietnam, this suggested that the administration might be preparing for a sizable increase in the U.S. military presence in the period ahead. This would have been stunning news to the American people. During the presidential campaign in 1964, in fact, Johnson had suggested that Goldwater, not he, would expand the war if he was elected president.

In South Vietnam the briefings we received from military leaders, including General William Westmoreland, were discouraging. We received little information on efforts to build up the military, political, and economic capabilities of the South Vietnamese. I thought it was easy for the administration to order the American military, largely made up of draftees, to Vietnam, but it was a vastly more difficult task to marshal diplomatic or economic experts who could help the Vietnamese develop the capabilities they needed to be able to sustain themselves.

It was clear that the Vietnam War was an unconventional conflict that the American military and other elements of our government were not well enough organized, trained, equipped, funded, or staffed to manage. The enemy America was fighting didn't have to win a single direct engagement with our military to survive, and they never did. Indeed, it was in their interests not to fight our kind of battle at all. They would ambush American troops on Monday and go back to harvesting rice on Tuesday. They would selectively engage our forces when it suited them, but generally avoid direct confrontation, because they knew they would lose. Their strategy was simply to hold on and make the war costly enough so that the Americans and our allies would eventually call it quits.

Further, there seemed to be little success in engaging in the ideological component of the conflict. The Viet Cong were fighting for something. Ho Chi Minh promised his followers economic progress, while the United States had been portrayed as promising only more bombs and bloodshed. Unquestionably, the people of Vietnam would have been vastly better off free of a repressive Communist regime and with freer political and economic systems. But neither we nor the Vietnamese we were supporting had developed an ability to communicate that truth persuasively. We were fighting dedicated ideological revolutionaries who would not surrender their Marxist ideology or bargain away at the negotiating table their hope for a united, single Vietnam under Ho Chi Minh.

By increasing American troop levels still further in the country, we were increasing the number of targets, which would lead to more casualties and further undermine support for the war at home. The U.S. approach seemed to be playing into the hands of the enemy-with more military bombardments and more American troops and without successfully enabling our South Vietnamese allies to take on more of the burdens of the fighting. In a report to my const.i.tuents I noted that it was unlikely that the United States "could 'win' this type of insurgency war for the South Vietnamese."17 Despite our country's good intentions, I was concerned that we were creating a dependency on the part of the South Vietnamese.18 During one of my stops in the country I visited a training facility where American flight instructors were teaching Vietnamese pilots how to fly. It seemed to me that it would have made more sense to teach the Vietnamese pilots how to be flight instructors, so they could train other Vietnamese pilots. As long as Americans were the ones training the Vietnamese, they would remain dependent on us to keep turning pilots out. During one of my stops in the country I visited a training facility where American flight instructors were teaching Vietnamese pilots how to fly. It seemed to me that it would have made more sense to teach the Vietnamese pilots how to be flight instructors, so they could train other Vietnamese pilots. As long as Americans were the ones training the Vietnamese, they would remain dependent on us to keep turning pilots out.

There was growing sentiment in Congress, particularly among Democrats, that the best way to express their objection to the conduct of the war was to deny it funding. That wasn't how I saw it. My view was that even if one disagreed with the way the policy was being implemented, as I and others increasingly did, the best way to respond was to recommend corrections at the policy level.19 I wished Congress could be more involved, on a substantive level, rather than simply yanking the purse strings shut when displeased. I wished Congress could be more involved, on a substantive level, rather than simply yanking the purse strings shut when displeased.*

In September 1967, I cosponsored a resolution to bring the conduct of the war to the House floor for debate and discussion. Resolution 508 proposed to determine if "further congressional action is desirable in respect to policies in Southeast Asia."21 I didn't think anyone knew with certainty what the balance should be between the branches on these matters. I was not proposing specific reforms; rather, I was suggesting that Congress undertake a study of the topic. I didn't think anyone knew with certainty what the balance should be between the branches on these matters. I was not proposing specific reforms; rather, I was suggesting that Congress undertake a study of the topic. Unfortunately, at the request of the administration, a majority of Democrats blocked Resolution 508 from consideration. Unfortunately, at the request of the administration, a majority of Democrats blocked Resolution 508 from consideration.

On a number of occasions I joined other members of Congress in expressing concern about what appeared to be the White House's attempts to manage the news on the war. This was an understandable inclination on the administration's part, since no doubt they felt the media coverage of the war was unfair. But the administration made matters worse with their seeming reluctance to provide much, if any, doc.u.mentation that would have given members of Congress a better sense of what was taking place.23 By this time, I had become a cosponsor and advocate for the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA), auth.o.r.ed by Congressman John Moss, a Democrat from California. The legislation, which pa.s.sed unanimously in 1966, was crafted in reaction to the Johnson administration's behavior. As a Democrat, Moss was in the awkward position of promoting a bill that went against the express wishes of the President, so I helped him develop the legislation and move it through the House. For me, support of the bill came down to one long-held belief: Good judgments require accurate information.24 I'm still a supporter of FOIA. But once I joined the executive branch of government in 1969, I began to understand the costs our well-intentioned law imposed. Under FOIA, for example, it often proved difficult to differentiate between the many legitimate requests for information and frivolous fishing expeditions by those who want to bury government in paperwork or those with an ax to grind. Federal officials spend many hours and considerable expense trying to decide what information is and is not releasable under FOIA. We wanted to pa.s.s a law to solve an immediate problem. In retrospect, I wish we had been able to better understand the long-term ramifications of the legislation we were championing.

The situation in Vietnam, and the demonstrations against the war and the draft, strengthened greatly my support for a transition to an all-volunteer military. The draft had been in place since World War II. By the mid-1960s, many young Americans were asking why they were being forced to fight in a war they did not understand and that they did not see as critical to our country's security. Since the various draft exemptions-being a college student, a teacher, married, or a conscientious objector-seemed to favor the more affluent, the draft also exacerbated racial and social tensions in the country. In October 1967, one of the largest antiwar demonstrations in the Washington area was held on the steps of the Pentagon, with many protesting that conscription was unwarranted, discriminatory, and unfair. I agreed with them.

In our free system of government, I believed, conscription was appropriate only when there was a demonstrated need.25 A volunteer system offered many advantages. First and foremost, it would preserve the freedom of individuals to make their own decisions about how they wished to live their lives. Volunteers who chose to enter the military would be more likely to make it a career, instead of serving for a short period. It also would avoid the implicit discrimination and the inherent inequities caused by the various deferments and exemptions in the draft system. A volunteer system offered many advantages. First and foremost, it would preserve the freedom of individuals to make their own decisions about how they wished to live their lives. Volunteers who chose to enter the military would be more likely to make it a career, instead of serving for a short period. It also would avoid the implicit discrimination and the inherent inequities caused by the various deferments and exemptions in the draft system.

Because of my interest in a volunteer military, I was invited to be part of a conference at the University of Chicago convened to discuss the topic. There I met one of the most pa.s.sionate proponents of the all-volunteer system, the economist Dr. Milton Friedman, who I would turn to many times over the years for advice and guidance. Friedman's belief in the power of freedom was inspiring, and he felt the same way about giving people the choice to serve in the U.S. military as he did about giving them a choice about their education. Other partic.i.p.ants on the panel included Senator Edward Kennedy and the anthropologist Margaret Mead, both of whom favored continuing the draft.

Many arguments were offered to bolster both sides of the issue. Some contended that without the draft we would not be able to recruit enough troops. My view was that in every other activity in our society, in both the public and the private sectors, we were able to attract and retain the personnel needed without resorting to compulsion. It was done simply by paying them a compet.i.tive market wage. The critics also contended that it would be too expensive to pay the men and women in the U.S. armed forces what would be paid in the private sector. My response was why should government pay those serving in our military less than a compet.i.tive wage, namely, what the market says they are worth? specifically, why should government draft only some and then say, in addition, we will pay you only 50 percent or 60 percent of your worth? No one ever had a good answer to those questions.26 As members of the Joint Economic Committee, Tom Curtis and I proposed and held a hearing on whether or not the military draft was still necessary and whether a volunteer military was or was not economically feasible. One Pentagon official testified that the Department of Defense had as its objective "to obtain as many or all of its personnel through voluntary means."27 But that wasn't what was happening in practice, and they knew it. I tried to test the willingness of members of Congress to study the feasibility of ending the draft by offering a nonbinding resolution. The resolution stated simply that it was "the sense of Congress" that the draft should be enforced "only when necessary to insure the security of this Nation." But that wasn't what was happening in practice, and they knew it. I tried to test the willingness of members of Congress to study the feasibility of ending the draft by offering a nonbinding resolution. The resolution stated simply that it was "the sense of Congress" that the draft should be enforced "only when necessary to insure the security of this Nation."28 With bipartisan opposition, I was not able to get it considered-it later fell to the Nixon administration to pursue the issue. With bipartisan opposition, I was not able to get it considered-it later fell to the Nixon administration to pursue the issue.

I came to believe it was only a matter of time before the federal government and the country would have to take the idea of an all-volunteer military seriously. I was convinced then, and remain convinced now, that if the country had had a volunteer system in place during the Vietnam War, the level of violence and protest across the country would have been considerably less.

The conventional wisdom is that because of the opposition to the Vietnam War, Lyndon Johnson's political fate was sealed by early 1968. In fact, at first things were looking pretty good for President Johnson. Though later changing his mind, one of LBJ's chief rivals for the Democratic nomination, Robert F. Kennedy, had announced he would not challenge Johnson in the Democratic primaries. The nature of some of the more radical antiwar demonstrations seemed to have increased sympathy for Johnson across Middle America, and he was holding steady in the polls. Like many, I was amazed to see pictures of American celebrities, such as Jane Fonda, expressing solidarity with the North Vietnamese. It is one thing to oppose a war policy. It is quite another to support the enemy. Indeed, even though I thought President Johnson brought some of his problems on himself, I didn't like to see any president so hounded, and I certainly did not like to see our troops besmirched.

Then, in January 1968, North Vietnamese and Viet Cong forces broke a truce during their country's Tet holiday. Their surprise offensive consisted of a.s.saults on more than a hundred cities across South Vietnam. In military terms, the Tet Offensive was not a victory for the Viet Cong and the North Vietnamese. But military victory was not the enemy's intent. Their effort was targeted at war-weary Americans watching the bloodshed on their TV screens. And the message was unmistakable. The enemy was telling the American people, "We will never give up." Toward the end of the Johnson administration, I had mistakenly accepted as credible the certainty in the media that the 1968 Tet Offensive had been a defeat for America and the South Vietnamese. But, in fact, after the initial surprise, our forces had pushed back effectively. The fury of the Tet Offensive, coupled with the fact that the mighty U.S. military was taken by surprise, made a powerful impression. At home, Americans were ill prepared for the shocking images from the attacks and the increasing impression that the United States might actually lose the war.

A few weeks later, CBS Evening News CBS Evening News anchor Walter Cronkite traveled to Vietnam. Returning to the United States, he aired a special commentary on February 27 that may have been the single most devastating moment for the Johnson administration in the long years of the Vietnam War. Cronkite soberly concluded that we were "mired in stalemate" and needed to negotiate with the Viet Cong. After the broadcast aired, the President was reported to have said, "If I've lost Cronkite, I've lost middle America." It was undoubtedly true. anchor Walter Cronkite traveled to Vietnam. Returning to the United States, he aired a special commentary on February 27 that may have been the single most devastating moment for the Johnson administration in the long years of the Vietnam War. Cronkite soberly concluded that we were "mired in stalemate" and needed to negotiate with the Viet Cong. After the broadcast aired, the President was reported to have said, "If I've lost Cronkite, I've lost middle America." It was undoubtedly true.

On March 31, the President appeared before television cameras for an address from the Oval Office. He talked about making 1968 "the year of decision in South Vietnam-the year that brings, if not final victory or defeat, at least a turning point in the struggle." By then there had been so many turning points, so many decisive moments, so many tides turned that it seemed to ring hollow. LBJ then uttered words that deliberately had not been included in his teleprompter text, surprising everyone but those closest to him. "With America's sons in the fields far away, with America's future under challenge right here at home, with our hopes and the world's hopes for peace in the balance every day," he said, "I do not believe that I should devote an hour or a day of my time to any personal partisan causes or to any duties other than the awesome duties of this office-the presidency of your country. Accordingly, I shall not seek, and I will not accept, the nomination of my party for another term as your president."29 The war in Vietnam had been a test of political wills. But it was not our enemy's will that had been broken. The turmoil of the year had left the Johnson administration in ruin and American policy on the war uncertain. It also abetted a most unlikely political comeback.

PART IV

In Nixon's Arena

Provence, FranceAUGUST 8, 1974 The French seaport of Saint-Tropez was the landing site for Operation Dragoon during World War II, where the Allies began their drive to liberate southern France from n.a.z.i control. A decade later the town again achieved notoriety as the setting for a film that launched the career of actress Brigitte Bardot. With its pristine beaches and skies as clear and blue as the nearby Mediterranean, it soon became a haven for European glitterati.

If there was anything the Rumsfelds were not, it was part of the glitterati. We pa.s.sed through the town's narrow, winding roads in an aging but resilient maroon Volvo.1 Our three young children were squeezed together in the backseat, and our trunk was stuffed with bags and suitcases. Our destination was Grimaud, a small, sleepy village where Amba.s.sador Andre de Staercke, the distinguished dean of the North Atlantic Council, had a vacation home. Our three young children were squeezed together in the backseat, and our trunk was stuffed with bags and suitcases. Our destination was Grimaud, a small, sleepy village where Amba.s.sador Andre de Staercke, the distinguished dean of the North Atlantic Council, had a vacation home.

While most Americans were transfixed by the Watergate scandal we were thousands of miles away from those epic events. As the U.S. amba.s.sador to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, I had to fly back to Washington for meetings periodically. But for the most part Joyce and I were removed from the day-to-day Watergate developments that spring and summer. We were living in Belgium, where the news on TV was in either French or Flemish, and I didn't speak either language. Two of our children were in neighborhood Belgian schools, and I couldn't even read their report cards. We received English newspapers, of course-the International Herald Tribune International Herald Tribune and some British papers-but we weren't able to keep up to speed with events in Washington as one would expect today with the internet and cable TV. and some British papers-but we weren't able to keep up to speed with events in Washington as one would expect today with the internet and cable TV.

Instead, during that period I had been deeply involved in helping alleviate a dispute teetering on the verge of war between two of our NATO allies, Turkey and Greece, over the island of Cyprus. Every once in a while I would turn on the local television and see pictures of President Nixon and sometimes hear an announcer say recognizable names like "Hahl-dah-mann" and "Err-leek-mann" in a thick accent. I didn't need to speak Flemish to know that what they were describing wasn't good.

But that was half a world away. And when tensions lessened over Cyprus, I welcomed the chance for some time away from official business with my family. En route to Grimaud, Joyce purchased a copy of the International Herald Tribune. International Herald Tribune. She was so absorbed in it that I noticed she wasn't paying the slightest attention to the picturesque countryside along the French coast. She was so absorbed in it that I noticed she wasn't paying the slightest attention to the picturesque countryside along the French coast.

"Don," she finally said, with a tone of unusual insistence, "I think you should stop and read this."

I knew that what had caught Joyce's attention had to be something to do with Watergate, but we didn't talk about those problems in the car, because mentions of the scandal seemed to bother our seven-year-old son, Nick, who had met Nixon several times. I had taken Nick with me on my last visit with the President in the Oval Office before leaving for NATO headquarters in Belgium. Having the undivided attention of our nation's commander in chief-who allowed Nick to sit in his chair-had left a strong impression on him. So Joyce and I avoided discussing accusations against the President when Nick was within earshot.

I was not all that eager to learn the bad news, either, so I kept driving until we reached a beach where our kids could go swimming. I took Nick's hand and walked with him across the white sand. As our son saw for the first time what pa.s.sed for typical swim attire for women on a Mediterranean beach, his expression was one of amazed innocence. He had not seen anything like that along the sh.o.r.es of Lake Michigan. It was another reminder that the Rumsfelds were a long way from home.

Eventually, I sat down on the sand and turned my attention to the newspaper. President Nixon, the reports said, might be close to resigning. Despite his deteriorating political and legal situation, I never thought he'd actually have to surrender the office. I thought at worst he might be forced to accept a reduced presidency with less influence. Knowing the tenacious Richard M. Nixon, I found it hard to envision him giving up. If the news stories were accurate, however, it seemed that my friend from my days in the Congress, Vice President Gerald R. Ford, could become president of the United States.

Early that evening we arrived at Amba.s.sador de Staercke's house. De Staercke had a.s.sembled an eclectic group for dinner, including the Belgian amba.s.sador to the United Kingdom, Baron Robert Rothschild, and Brigitte Bardot's business manager. While the gravity of the situation in Washington, D.C., had become clearer to Joyce and me, the European dinner guests were surprised by the Herald Tribune's Herald Tribune's a.s.sessment that the situation might be coming to a head. To the Europeans, Watergate seemed a relatively minor problem. Even Nixon's secret tapings in the White House were shrugged off as not particularly unusual. a.s.sessment that the situation might be coming to a head. To the Europeans, Watergate seemed a relatively minor problem. Even Nixon's secret tapings in the White House were shrugged off as not particularly unusual.

My secretary at NATO headquarters in Brussels, Leona Goodell, telephoned de Staercke's house to tell me that an aide from Vice President Ford's office was trying to reach me, and shortly thereafter his call came through. The Grimaud telephone switchboard was not used to receiving calls from the White House, and our dinner companions began to appreciate the seriousness of the matter. The Vice President's aide made it clear that Ford wanted me to fly back to Washington at once. We all stayed up and listened to President Nixon's dramatic remarks to the nation. "I have never been a quitter," the President said solemnly. Then Richard Nixon did exactly that, announcing that he would resign his office at noon the very next day. The man who had spent much of his adult life in pursuit of the White House was suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, returning to his home in San Clemente, California.

CHAPTER 7

1968: Year of Turmoil.