Lyndon Johnson Travels

Lyndon Johnson Travels - History

Shortly after Lyndon Baines Johnson died in January 1973, some of his friends began to consider creating a national memorial to the 36th president of the United States in Washington, DC. They decided that a grove of trees, a &ldquoliving memorial,&rdquo would be a fitting representation of a man who valued nature in his personal life and supported environmental protection in his presidency. Lady Bird Johnson selected Columbia Island, lying between the George Washington Memorial Parkway and the Boundary Channel, as the site. The LBJ Grove Memorial Committee raised more than $2 million in donations from people all over the United States. Noted local landscape architect Meade Palmer worked closely with Mrs. Johnson to plan the grove, which opened on April 6, 1976. The memorial grove has two sections. The commemorative area, surrounded by a grove of pine trees, focuses on the life, goals, and accomplishments of Lyndon B. Johnson. The second section consists of a broad grassy meadow encircled by a gravel path for strolling and framed by trees. Intended to provide physical and spiritual rejuvenation, this part of the grove also reflects the solace Johnson found in nature and the outdoors. The grassy meadow, especially set aside to provide a peaceful setting for people to sit, walk, and relax, is in keeping with Johnson's legacy of trying to ensure that all Americans could enjoy what he valued.

In the formal commemorative area, a broad flagstone walkway gently spirals through a grove of white pines to a 19-foot tall, Sunset Red granite monolith in the center of a flagstone plaza. Quarried in Johnson&rsquos native Texas, the stone arrived on the site in 1974. The grove, consisting of 900 white pine trees selected for their form and evergreen color, surrounds the plaza on three sides. The third side is open and looks out across the Potomac River toward Washington, DC. The mature trees create a dramatic feeling of enclosure for visitors walking on the path to the plaza. Azaleas, rhododendron, flowering shrubs, wildflowers, and spring bulbs cover the ground beneath the trees. The form and placement of planting beds and the low, flagstone wall that parallels the path echo the spiral design of the walkway. Mrs. Johnson selected the four quotations inscribed at the base of the granite monolith. They embody the President&rsquos thoughts on the environment, education, civil rights, and the presidency. Four simple benches at the edge of the plaza provide a place to contemplate the view of the Lincoln and Thomas Jefferson Memorials, the Washington Monument, and the Capitol across the Potomac. The Johnsons often stopped here on many occasions as they drove back to Washington along the George Washington Memorial Parkway.

The second area of the memorial grove focuses inward on the sweep of grass that constitutes the meadow. More informal than the plaza area, it provides a variety of passive recreational activities. Benches along the gravel walkway that winds around the meadow give visitors a chance to sit and relax, and there are picnic tables under the trees that frame the meadow. The designer of the memorial thought that an expanse of grass framed by trees was one of the most pleasing of all landscape views. This relatively small space plays the same role as the grand public parks of the 19th century. Like them, it offers visitors-- many of whom are urban dwellers-- rejuvenation, passive recreation, and a chance to enjoy the outdoors.

Using a grove of trees as a living memorial to Johnson was particularly appropriate in view of his record in preserving the nation&rsquos natural heritage. The Johnson Administration oversaw the addition of 3.6 million acres of land to the National Park System, passed the Wilderness Act, and created the Land and Water Conservation Fund. It initiated the first legislation regulating water pollution, in 1965 and 1966, and air pollution, in 1963 and 1967. The Water Resources Planning Act, the National Historic Preservation Act, the establishment of the first National Water Commission, the Endangered Species Act, and the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act were all a part of the surge of legislation directed at protecting the environment and natural heritage that Johnson embraced.

The Lyndon Baines Johnson Memorial Grove was designed by Meade Palmer in collaboration with the architectural and engineering firm of Mills and Petticord and sculptor Harold Vogel. It is an excellent example of contemporary landscape architecture, allowing the site to dictate the form of the design. The designers planned the grove for a variety of users. For visitors, it provides a memorial to the 36th president of the United States and a pleasant outdoor setting. For motorists on the George Washington Memorial Parkway, it is a lovely view. For passengers in planes approaching Reagan National Airport, the grove becomes an abstract expression of landscape art.

The Lyndon Baines Johnson Memorial Grove on the Potomac National Memorial, a unit of the National Park System, is located near the Pentagon and Arlington Memorial Cemetery. The George Washington Memorial Parkway provides direct access to the LBJ Grove parking areas. Click here for the National Register of Historic Places file: text and photos.

The memorial is on Columbia Island, west of the 14th Street Bridge and south of the George Washington Memorial Parkway. The 17-acre park is bounded by the George Washington Memorial Parkway on the northeast, the Boundary Channel on the southwest, and Columbia Island Marina on the southeast. For more information visit the National Park Service Lyndon Baines Johnson Memorial Grove on the Potomac National Memorial website or call 703-289-2500. The Memorial Grove is open year round during daylight hours. The park closes at dusk. Restrooms are at the adjacent Columbia Island Marina and are open from 7:00am until 10:00pm. Admittance is free to the public. The closest Metro station is Arlington Cemetery. Visitors may also want to explore more of Ladybird Johnson Park, of which the memorial grove is a part. This park was created to honor Lady Bird Johnson&rsquos contributions to beautifying Washington, DC and the country as a whole.

The Complicated History Between the Press and the Presidency

On Monday, presumptive Republican nominee Donald Trump sent out a tweet reading, “Based on the incredibly inaccurate coverage and reporting of the record setting Trump campaign, we are hereby revoking the press credentials of the phony and dishonest Washington Post.”

The tweet was in response to a headline the newspaper posted that day about Trump’s comments on the Orlando mass shooting, which first read, “Donald Trump suggests President Obama was involved with Orlando shooting," and then was edited before Trump's comments to read, “Donald Trump seems to connect President Obama to Orlando shooting".

Over the course of his campaign, Trump has denied or revoked press credentials from several outlets, including the Huffington Post, Politico, BuzzFeed, the Daily Beast, the Des Moines Register, the New Hampshire Union Leader and Univision, NPR reports. As a candidate, Trump’s campaign has control over who attends its rallies and which media outlets they choose to cooperate with. If he were to win the presidency, similar bans on press outlets would be without precedent.

According to Joshua Keating at Foreign Policy, to get a press pass to the White House briefing room, a reporter needs to pass a few checkpoints. First, he or she needs to be approved by the Standing Committee of Correspondents, an association of reporters that approves press passes for Congress. To get into the White House, reporters then need to go through a Secret Service background check. Keating says there about 2,000 reporters with “hard passes” allowing them access to the White House, which can be renewed every year. While the White House does have the power to revoke passes, it rarely pulls passes except for security reasons or unusual circumstances, like a 2001 incident in when freelancer Trude Feldman was caught rifling through a press aide’s desk drawer. Even then, Feldman was suspended for 90 days, but didn't have her pass unilaterally revoked.

George Condon, longtime White House reporter and former president of the White House Correspondents’ Association tells Andrew Rafferty and Alex Seitz-Wald at NBC that he knows of “no instance of any newspaper having its [White House] credentials pulled” since the inception of the correspondents' association in 1914.

But that’s not to say media outlets haven’t earned a president’s displeasure. The Washington Post has been a target for several administrations—most notably, after the newspaper broke the Watergate scandal, President Richard Nixon banned reporters from anywhere in the White House outside the press briefing room.

As famed Watergate reporter Bob Woodward tells NBC, “The Nixon White House did not formally pull press credentials of the Post but did begin excluding the Post from covering social events at the White House.” 

In an audio recording, Nixon threatens to fire his press secretary Ron Ziegler if he ever let a Post reporter in.

“I want it clearly understood that from now on, ever, no reporter from The Washington Post is ever to be in the White House. Is that clear?” Nixon says on the tape. “No church service, nothing that Mrs. Nixon does…and no photographers either… Now that is a total order, and if necessary I’ll fire you, do you understand?” 

Lyndon Johnson had a much different relationship with the paper, and in 1963 during a phone conversation he flirts with the Post’s editor Katherine Graham, saying he regretted just talking to her on the phone and wishing that he could be “like one of these young animals on my ranch and jump the fence” to go see her.

But his charm on the phone was likely just a manipulation tactic. Johnson was a keen observer of the media and often tried to wield his influence behind the scenes, even with the Post. As Michael R. Beschloss writes in his book, Taking Charge: The Johnson White House Tapes 1963-1964, in transcripts of his tapes, Johnson calls in FBI head J. Edgar Hoover to see if they can pressure the paper after learning they are planning to run an editorial that would call for a commission to investigate President Kennedy’s assassination, which Johnson opposed. Hoover and Johnson both contacted Post reporters in an attempt to kill the story.

Gerald Ford never made a statement about the Post, but indirectly blamed the paper for his reputation as a klutz, as immortalized by Chevy Chase on "Saturday Night Live". During a visit to Salzburg, Austria, in 1975, Ford fell while descending the stairs of Air Force One. According to Mark Rozell's book, The Press and the Ford Presidency, the Post ran an image of the incident on its front page along with a story that said “the fall summarized the journey. Stumble, fumble, tumble and jumble.”

The image of a bumbling president stuck, and is still part of his legacy today. In his memoir Time to Heal, Ford says, “From that moment on, every time I stumbled or bumped my head or fell in the snow, reporters zeroed in on that to the exclusion of almost everything else. The news coverage was harmful.”

Uncomfortable presidential-press relations date back to George Washington, who "expressed dismay" that his farewell might not be properly covered in the press. Undoubtedly other presidents have had beefs with the Washington Post, and many other outlets without the same national profile. While relations vary—William McKinley had a yellow-headed Mexican parrot named “Washington Post” who was the official greeter for the White House—the dance between reporters and the commander-in-chief has always been seen as a necessity for the nation to function. 

About Jason Daley

Jason Daley is a Madison, Wisconsin-based writer specializing in natural history, science, travel, and the environment. His work has appeared in Discover, Popular Science, Outside, Men’s Journal, and other magazines.

She started her visit on the West Coast

On November 4, 1965, Margaret and her husband, Lord Snowdon, landed in California with a 16-person entourage and 75 pieces of luggage, first setting foot in San Francisco, staying on the 11th and 12th floors of the Huntington Hotel in the Nob Hill area. The group made visits all around the Bay Area, including to the San Francisco City Hall, a fashion show at the Hilton Hotel, the University of California Berkeley campus, a mass at Grace Cathedral and the Monterey peninsula. And of course, they played tourist too at Coit Tower and on a cable car.

“I had heard so much about San Francisco that I was afraid I would be disappointed — but it lived up to my expectations,” she said, according to the San Francisco Chronicle .

Next, they went south to Los Angeles, where — after a tour of Universal Studios — they rubbed elbows with the famous, especially at a party thrown by socialite Sherman Douglas. On the guest list: Judy Garland, Grace Kelly, Mia Farrow, Frank Sinatra, Gregory Peck, Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, Fred Astaire and Natalie Wood. They also made a stop at the set of Torn Curtain, where they met Paul Newman, Julie Andrews and Alfred Hitchcock.

Princess Margaret and Lord Snowdon then hopped on a plane to Arizona, where they spent four days, visiting a friend whose father, Lewis W. Douglas, was the former Ambassador to the Court of St. James, as well as enjoying time at a Sonoita ranch.

Lord Snowdon and Princess Margaret ride a cable car in San Francisco on November 9, 1965

Photo: Keystone-France/Gamma-Rapho via Getty Images

The Presidential Portrait That Was the ‘Ugliest Thing’ L.B.J. Ever Saw

When Barack Obama unveiled his official presidential portrait at the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery on Monday, his response was gracious, if self-deprecatory. That combination has become something of a norm since the museum began commissioning portraits of presidents in the 1990s. Obama praised the likeness, but joked that artist Kehinde Wiley had denied his request to be painted with smaller ears and less gray hair in 2008, George W. Bush praised college classmate Bob Anderson’s portrait as “fabulous” but quipped that he knew a sizable crowd would turn up “once the word got out about [his] hanging.” Even Abraham Lincoln poked fun at his own looks, despite his savvy use of portraiture as political message.

But not all presidents’ reactions to their official portraits have been so joyful. When he first laid eyes on the painting that was to be his official White House portrait, Lyndon B. Johnson disgustedly called painter Peter Hurd’s work “the ugliest thing I ever saw” and refused to accept it. Hurd was already decades into his successful career as a painter, specializing in portraiture and landscapes of the American Southwest. Arrogant enough to be unaffected by the comment and eager to publicize the president’s “very damn rude” behavior, he readily responded to press curiosity about the incident. Americans were sympathetic toward the scorned artist and increasingly skeptical of the president’s character—a slight that Johnson, who was already seen as short-tempered, could hardly afford. After displaying the piece at a Texas museum in retaliation, Hurd later donated his painting to the Portrait Gallery, which agreed to not display it until after Johnson's death.

“It’s a mystery to me,” says David C. Ward, former senior historian at the National Portrait Gallery and author of the new release America’s Presidents: National Portrait Gallery. “It’s a good 20th-century ceremonial portrait, and he hated it.”

America's Presidents: National Portrait Gallery

A striking collection of presidential portraits from the National Portrait Gallery, this volume encapsulates the spirit of the most powerful office in the world.

Unlike Obama’s portrait, which has received praise for its departure from the photorealistic tradition of presidential portraiture, Hurd’s portrait of Johnson wasn’t radical and on its face seemed quite similar to those of his predecessors (Elaine de Kooning’s portrait of John F. Kennedy being a notable exception.) A tall, broad-shouldered, determined-looking Texan in a dignified black suit, Johnson is imagined atop the roof of the Library of Congress, holding a heavy-looking U.S. history book, as the dwarfed U.S. Capitol building lights up Washington, D.C. in the twilit background. Like Wiley, Hurd didn’t shrink the president’s ears, blur the lines in his face or darken his gray, slicked-back hair he portrayed Johnson flatteringly, powerfully, but he portrayed him as he was.

“If you just forget [Johnson’s] opinion—it’s a really good portrait of [him],” Ward says. “The fact that you’ve got Lyndon Johnson in this fictitious space, elevated above the entire landscape of the nation’s capital, I think that’s interesting… That’s what Johnson was. He was master of the Senate and then an extremely important president.”

Despite his power and prominence, though, Johnson was often overcome with insecurity. As a Texan, he saw himself as something of an outsider, according to Ward, and was often paranoid that more refined politicians aimed to take advantage of him. This unease was especially obvious in his relationship with the Kennedys: while they were wealthy, conventionally attractive and largely seen as classy and distinguished, Johnson grew up in poverty and was sometimes thought of as a “crude, kind of buffoonish outsized Texan,” according to Ward.

“He’s a major consequential figure, and we’ve tended to forget about him,” Ward says. “He’s still overwhelmed—and this would drive him crazy––by the glamour of [John F.] Kennedy.”

That tension might explain Lady Bird Johnson’s critique that the portrait of her husband didn’t properly depict his “gnarled, hardworking” hands. Though Johnson’s family was poor, he was no farmhand. He became a teacher right out of college and transitioned quickly to life in politics. Ward theorizes that perhaps Lady Bird felt the portrait didn’t adequately differentiate him from genteel New Englanders like Bobby Kennedy.

“Johnson always thought that people were looking down on him,” Ward says. “I wonder if there isn’t this uneasiness on the part of Johnson that somehow the city-slickers are taking advantage of him.”

But it’s possible—even probable, according to Ward—that Johnson’s disapproval of the portrait had less to do with him being fraught with feelings of self-doubt than it did with him being something of a bully himself. He is known to have driven an aide and a plumber to mental breakdown during his time as a politician (though the aide later said that Johnson was very conscious of his staff’s welfare.) He had a habit of applying the descriptor “piss-ant” to his adversaries, from “piss-ant” reporters to the “damn little piss-ant country” of Vietnam. And upon rejecting Hurd, Johnson arrogantly showed the artist his portrait created by the renown Norman Rockwell, which he claimed to prefer despite later getting rid of that painting as well.

“If he felt that you didn’t have any power, I don’t think he’s somebody you’d want to spend any time with,” Ward says. “He liked bullying people. It was like this compulsion to dominate people.”

But couldn’t his caustic personality simply be a byproduct of his insecurity? Ultimately, the discussion of Johnson’s shocking reaction to his presidential portrait couldn’t be more burdened than the legacy of the man himself. Once a celebrated liberal politician, Johnson championed progressive economic causes, access to education and racial equality with his dream for a “Great Society” at the height of the Civil Rights era. But his disastrous approach to the War in Vietnam—which led to the deaths of more than 58,000 Americans—practically precludes remembering him as a great president. The question of how to remember Lyndon B. Johnson in portrait and in policy doesn’t have a simple answer.

“He’s an increasingly tragic figure,” Ward says. “But on the other hand, the point of being a tragic figure is that you bring about your own demise.”

Reflections on the Civil Rights Summit

But that wouldn't be true. Johnson was a man of his time, and bore those flaws as surely as he sought to lead the country past them. For two decades in Congress he was a reliable member of the Southern bloc, helping to stonewall civil rights legislation. As Caro recalls, Johnson spent the late 1940s railing against the "hordes of barbaric yellow dwarves" in East Asia. Buying into the stereotype that blacks were afraid of snakes (who isn't afraid of snakes?) he'd drive to gas stations with one in his trunk and try to trick black attendants into opening it. Once, Caro writes, the stunt nearly ended with him being beaten with a tire iron.

Nor was it the kind of immature, frat-boy racism that Johnson eventually jettisoned. Even as president, Johnson's interpersonal relationships with blacks were marred by his prejudice. As longtime Jet correspondent Simeon Booker wrote in his memoirShocks the Conscience, early in his presidency, Johnson once lectured Booker after he authored a critical article for Jet Magazine, telling Booker he should "thank" Johnson for all he'd done for black people. In Flawed Giant, Johnson biographer Robert Dallek writes that Johnson explained his decision to nominate Thurgood Marshall to the Supreme Court rather than a less famous black judge by saying, "when I appoint a nigger to the bench, I want everybody to know he's a nigger."

According to Caro, Robert Parker, Johnson's sometime chauffer, described in his memoir Capitol Hill in Black and White a moment when Johnson asked Parker whether he'd prefer to be referred to by his name rather than "boy," "nigger" or "chief." When Parker said he would, Johnson grew angry and said, "As long as you are black, and you’re gonna be black till the day you die, no one’s gonna call you by your goddamn name. So no matter what you are called, nigger, you just let it roll off your back like water, and you’ll make it. Just pretend you’re a goddamn piece of furniture."

That Johnson may seem hard to square with the public Johnson, the one who devoted his presidency to tearing down the "barriers of hatred and terror" between black and white.

In conservative quarters, Johnson's racism -- and the racist show he would put on for Southern segregationists -- is presented as proof of the Democratic conspiracy to somehow trap black voters with, to use Mitt Romney's terminology, "gifts" handed out through the social safety net. But if government assistance were all it took to earn the permanent loyalty of generations of voters then old white people on Medicare would be staunch Democrats.

So at best, that assessment is short sighted and at worst, it subscribes to the idea that blacks are predisposed to government dependency. That doesn't just predate Johnson, it predates emancipation. As Eric Foner recounts in Reconstruction, the Civil War wasn't yet over, but some Union generals believed blacks, having existed as a coerced labor class in America for more than a century, would nevertheless need to be taught to work "for a living rather than relying upon the government for support."

Perhaps the simple explanation, which Johnson likely understood better than most, was that there is no magic formula through which people can emancipate themselves from prejudice, no finish line that when crossed, awards a person's soul with a shining medal of purity in matters of race. All we can offer is a commitment to justice in word and deed, that must be honored but from which we will all occasionally fall short. Maybe when Johnson said "it is not just Negroes but all of us, who must overcome the crippling legacy of bigotry," he really meant all of us, including himself.

Nor should Johnson's racism overshadow what he did to push America toward the unfulfilled promise of its founding. When Republicans say they're the Party of Lincoln, they don't mean they're the party of deporting black people to West Africa, or the party of opposing black suffrage, or the party of allowing states the authority to bar freedmen from migrating there, all options Lincoln considered. They mean they're the party that crushed the slave empire of the Confederacy and helped free black Americans from bondage.

But we shouldn't forget Johnson's racism, either. After Johnson's death, Parker would reflect on the Johnson who championed the landmark civil rights bills that formally ended American apartheid, and write, "I loved that Lyndon Johnson." Then he remembered the president who called him a nigger, and he wrote, "I hated that Lyndon Johnson."

LBJ's medal for valour 'was sham'

For most of his political life, Lyndon B Johnson wore a second world war military decoration for valour under fire despite never having seen combat, an investigation broadcast on CNN yesterday revealed.

LBJ was awarded the Silver Star, the third-highest US combat medal, for a 1942 fact-finding mission over the Pacific while he was a Texas congressman and an acting lieutenant commander in the navy.

The citation, issued in the name of General Douglas MacArthur, said the plane, a B-26 bomber, was "intercepted by eight hostile fighters" and that Johnson "evidenced coolness".

In fact, according to surviving members of the crew, the plane developed mechanical problems before reaching its target and never came under fire. No other crew member received a medal for the mission.

The biographer of LBJ, Robert Dallek, said the medal was the outcome of a deal with Gen MacArthur, under which Johnson was honoured in return for a pledge "that he would lobby the president, FDR, to provide greater resources for the southwest Pacific theatre".

Lyndon Baines Johnson

A Great Society" for the American people and their fellow men elsewhere was the vision of Lyndon B. Johnson. In his first years of office he obtained passage of one of the most extensive legislative programs in the Nation's history. Maintaining collective security, he carried on the rapidly growing struggle to restrain Communist encroachment in Viet Nam.

Johnson was born on August 27, 1908, in central Texas, not far from Johnson City, which his family had helped settle. He felt the pinch of rural poverty as he grew up, working his way through Southwest Texas State Teachers College (now known as Texas State University-San Marcos) he learned compassion for the poverty of others when he taught students of Mexican descent.

In 1937 he campaigned successfully for the House of Representatives on a New Deal platform, effectively aided by his wife, the former Claudia "Lady Bird" Taylor, whom he had married in 1934.

During World War II he served briefly in the Navy as a lieutenant commander, winning a Silver Star in the South Pacific. After six terms in the House, Johnson was elected to the Senate in 1948. In 1953, he became the youngest Minority Leader in Senate history, and the following year, when the Democrats won control, Majority Leader. With rare skill he obtained passage of a number of key Eisenhower measures.

In the 1960 campaign, Johnson, as John F. Kennedy's running mate, was elected Vice President. On November 22, 1963, when Kennedy was assassinated, Johnson was sworn in as President.

First he obtained enactment of the measures President Kennedy had been urging at the time of his death--a new civil rights bill and a tax cut. Next he urged the Nation "to build a great society, a place where the meaning of man's life matches the marvels of man's labor." In 1964, Johnson won the Presidency with 61 percent of the vote and had the widest popular margin in American history--more than 15,000,000 votes. The Great Society program became Johnson's agenda for Congress in January 1965: aid to education, attack on disease, Medicare, urban renewal, beautification, conservation, development of depressed regions, a wide-scale fight against poverty, control and prevention of crime and delinquency, removal of obstacles to the right to vote. Congress, at times augmenting or amending, rapidly enacted Johnson's recommendations. Millions of elderly people found succor through the 1965 Medicare amendment to the Social Security Act.

Under Johnson, the country made spectacular explorations of space in a program he had championed since its start. When three astronauts successfully orbited the moon in December 1968, Johnson congratulated them: "You've taken . all of us, all over the world, into a new era. . . . "

Nevertheless, two overriding crises had been gaining momentum since 1965. Despite the beginning of new antipoverty and anti-discrimination programs, unrest and rioting in black ghettos troubled the Nation. President Johnson steadily exerted his influence against segregation and on behalf of law and order, but there was no early solution.

The other crisis arose from Viet Nam. Despite Johnson's efforts to end Communist aggression and achieve a settlement, fighting continued. Controversy over the war had become acute by the end of March 1968, when he limited the bombing of North Viet Nam in order to initiate negotiations. At the same time, he startled the world by withdrawing as a candidate for re-election so that he might devote his full efforts, unimpeded by politics, to the quest for peace.

When he left office, peace talks were under way he did not live to see them successful, but died suddenly of a heart attack at his Texas ranch on January 22, 1973.

Family, Early Life and Education

Born in Stonewall, Texas, on August 27, 1908, Lyndon Baines Johnson was the oldest child of Samuel Ealy Johnson Jr. and Rebekah Baines Johnson&aposs five children. The Johnson family, known for farming and ranching, had settled in Texas before the Civil War, founding the nearby town of Johnson City in its aftermath. Johnson&aposs father, a Texas congressman, proved better at politics than ranching, encountering financial difficulties before losing the family farm when Johnson was in his early teens.

Johnson struggled in school but managed to graduate from Johnson City High School in 1924. He enrolled at Southwest Texas State Teachers College (now Texas State University) and participated in debates and campus politics. After graduating in 1930, he briefly taught, but his political ambitions had already taken shape. In 1931, Johnson won an appointment as legislative secretary to Texas Democratic Congressman Richard M. Kleberg and relocated to Washington, D.C. He quickly built a network of congressmen, newspapermen, lobbyists and friends, including aides to President Franklin D. Roosevelt.

In 1934, Johnson met Claudia Alta Taylor, known to her friends as "Lady Bird." Taylor soon became Johnson&aposs top aide. She used a modest inheritance to bankroll his 1937 run for Congress and ran his office for several years. She later bought a radio station and then a television station, which made the Johnsons wealthy. The couple had two daughters, Lynda Bird Johnson Robb and Luci Baines Johnson Turpin.

Part Two: The “Whistle Stop” Tour – LADY BIRD JOHNSON Special…

It was the fall of 1964. The November presidential election was looming as parts of the country still seethed over the Civil Rights Act President Lyndon Baines Johnson had signed into law just a few months earlier. The new legislation eliminated the so-called “Jim Crow” laws and guaranteed blacks access to all public accommodations and the right to equal employment opportunities.

First Lady Claudia “Lady Bird” Johnson, center, poses with the “hostesses” who worked the crowds during the campaign stops on the Lady Bird Special whistle-stop tour.

Many white southerners and politicians considered the law an assault on their way of life. Southern Democrats threatened to bolt as racial politics threatened to splinter the party and cost Mr. Johnson the election.

It was during this tumultuous time that Lady Bird Johnson showed the country just how much she could contribute to her husband’s presidency. In a four-day, 1,628-mile campaign trip aboard a train dubbed the Lady Bird Special, the First Lady traveled through eight southern states that were in such racial turmoil it had been deemed unsafe for President Johnson to go there himself.

The whistle-stop tour was key to garnering support for the president among rural southerners, and it propelled Lady Bird into the spotlight as an activist First Lady.

(Left: The Lady Bird Special) Born and raised in the deep, traditional South, Lady Bird understood the shock felt by southerners as they saw their lives altered by a distant government in Washington. She hoped to ease their anger and unrest by showing them that the end of segregation would improve the economic condition of the South and help move it into the modern world.

Lady Bird had grown up as a white woman of privilege accustomed to black maids whose husbands worked her father’s fields and whose children were her young playmates. As she contemplated her campaign in the South, Lady Bird felt the conflict between her loyalty to her southern roots and her belief in her husband’s vision.

“I knew the Civil Rights Act was right and I didn’t mind saying so,” Lady Bird said, “but I also loved the South and didn’t want it used as the whipping boy of the Democratic party.”

This compassion for southern tradition allowed Lady Bird to advocate her husband’s political goals and defend the idea of civil rights without alienating the southern voters.

A lounge car during the 1940s.

Lady Bird liked the idea of a train ride through the South because it would allow her to visit the rural landscape so often ignored by politicians. She said she wanted to go “to the land where the pavement runs out and city people don’t often go.” Her sentiment reflected earlier campaign advice that her husband had received from a former president. Harry S. Truman once told Johnson, “There are lots of people in this country who don’t know where the airport is, but they do know where the depot is. Go find them.” Lady Bird was going to do just that.

(Left: Lady Bird Johnson Special) After the 1964 Democratic convention, Lady Bird set about planning the trip with the help of her staff and other political wives. It was the first time a First Lady would hit the campaign trail without the president, and Lady Bird planned and executed every detail of the trip without any help from her husband.

The campaign had its skeptics. Ken O’Donnell, special assistant to Johnson, did not think that Lady Bird or the other wives would be able to organize the event. Some southern governors were not supportive of the whistle-stop idea because they feared Lady Bird’s trip might push southern voters toward segregationist politicians and bolster support for Republican presidential candidate Barry Goldwater.

Others worried that state leaders could not guarantee the first lady’s safety. Responding to concerns about assassination attempts, Lady Bird said, “I don’t think assassination is part of my destiny.” Still, organizers arranged for a separate engine to precede the Lady Bird Special by 15 minutes to clear the track of potential bombs.

On September 11, Lady Bird called every governor, senator and congressman in the eight southern states she planned to visit. Perceived by the public as soft and gracious, Lady Bird used those perceptions to attract the southern politicians to her train. “I’m thinking of coming down and campaigning in your state and I’d love your advice,” Lady Bird would tell them in her soft southern drawl.

While most of her calls were successful, several politicians turned down Lady Bird’s invitation to join her on the Lady Bird Special. Among those who refused were Sen. Willis Robertson of Virginia, Sen. Strom Thurmond of South Carolina, Governor Dick Russell of Georgia, North Carolina governor nominee Dan Moore, and Louisiana governor John McKeithen. Lady Bird did not bother to call Alabama governor George Wallace, the country’s most vehement opponent to civil rights.

“There was no use in calling Governor George Wallace,” she said in her diary. “I doubt it would even be courteous to do so.”

Lady Bird with President Johnson. The private car’s Pullman porter stands to the left.

On October 6, Lady Bird boarded the 19-car train with her husband, and embarked on her four-day whistle-stop tour. After the 15-minute ride to Alexandria, Va., the president disembarked from the Lady Bird Special, and the First Lady was on her own. At each stop, 15 hostesses would escort local politicians and supporters of President Johnson on to the train for a brief meeting with the First Lady and to pose for photos.

Lady Bird Johnson aboard the train with guests.

She often used southern cuisine to win people’s affection, serving state specialties and distributing recipes for particular southern dishes. Her appeal to the southern appetite worked to identify her with her southern roots. In Wilson, North Carolina, a local politician introduced Lady Bird by saying she was “as much a part of the South as tobacco, peanuts, and red-eye gravy.”

“For me this trip has been a source of anxiety and anticipation,” Lady Bird said at the start of the whistle-stop. “Anxiety because I am not used to whistle-stopping without my husband anticipation because I am returning to familiar territory and heading into a region I call home.”

As she had expected, but had hoped to avoid, Lady Bird encountered angry southerners protesting her husband and his civil rights agenda. She continually found herself having to placate people who called her husband a “nigger-lover” without condoning their racism. As she pulled into Richmond, Va., Lady Bird was greeted by a big banner that read “Fly Away Lady Bird. Here in Richmond, Barry is the Cat’s Meow.” In Columbia, South Carolina, people booed and heckled Lady Bird during her speech so that she could not be heard. The state hosts were unable to quiet the hecklers, but with a raised, white-gloved hand and a firm voice, Lady Bird silenced the crowd.

“This is a country of many viewpoints,” she told the Columbia crowd. “I respect your right to express your own. Now it is my turn to express mine. Thank you.”

Years later, Washington Post publisher Katharine Graham reflected on Lady Bird’s success on her southern tour, noting that “she talked with such authority because she belonged there.”

But Lady Bird’s appeal for respect failed in Charleston, South Carolina, where the boos and catcalls did not stop. The organizers knew that the people of Charleston would voice significant opposition to Johnson, but had included it in the tour because Lady Bird did not want to shun the towns typically avoided by Democrats.

Lady Bird “wanted to go where other Democrats weren’t going,” said Liz Carpenter, Lady Bird’s press secretary. “In 1964, anybody could go to Atlanta and speak out for civil rights and still get out with their hides on. She told us to give her the tough towns. And so we took Charleston.”

The train and hostesses…

As the Lady Bird Special crossed into northern Florida, the Secret Service received an anonymous report that the train might be bombed. FBI and other law enforcement officers swept a 7-mile bridge that the train was scheduled to cross, while a security helicopter and several boats escorted the train across the bridge.

Despite the opposition, media reports widely praised Lady Bird’s whistle-stop trip, and credited it with having a profound impact on President Johnson’s prospects for victory. An editorial in the Atlanta Constitutionsaid that the whistle-stop tour reminded southerners that the president was “the son of a southern tenant farmer and that he asks for the vote of this state not as a distant theorist but as a native southerner who understands his kin.” The editorial asked its readers, “Can Georgia turn away… from the first southern president in a century? That question goes deep, and so did Mrs. Johnson’s visit.”

As the Lady Bird Special pulled into New Orleans on Oct. 9, a huge multiracial crowd joined President Johnson in meeting Lady Bird at the end of her tour. Mr. Johnson was there to thank her for her tireless and courageous efforts. In four days, Lady Bird had made 47 speeches in 47 towns to approximately 500,000 southerners. Speaking to the crowd at the train terminal, Lady Bird said, “I am aware that there are those who would exploit the South’s past troubles to their own advantage, but I do not believe that the majority of the South wants any part of the old business.”

Lady Bird had embarked on her political tour at a time when only 30 percent of married women had jobs, and only 20 percent of women with children were employed. She demonstrated the political prowess women were capable of before feminism became a mainstream force in American society.

After Lady Bird’s tour ended, syndicated columnist Max Freedman wrote that the whistle-stop campaign made clear that Lady Bird was “no passive partner” in her marriage. “Perhaps this marks the emergence of women as central figures in a national contest instead of being on the edges of a campaign,” Freedman wrote.

By Meredith Hindley | HUMANITIES, May/June 2013

Dinner in the dining car.

Just before dawn on Tuesday, October 6, 1964, the Lady Bird Special pulled away from Track 12 at Union Station. Over the next four days, the nineteen-car train carried First Lady Claudia “Lady Bird” Johnson on a whistle-stop tour of the South, covering 1,682 miles from Washington, D.C., to New Orleans. Johnson wasn’t going to be sitting quietly and smiling pleasantly while her husband did all of the talking. Instead, she was going to make speech after speech from the back of the train, telling folks in towns big and small why they should vote the Democratic ticket. Before it was over, she would make forty-seven speeches, shake hands with more than one thousand Democratic leaders, and speak before more than two hundred thousand people. It was the first time that a first lady had campaigned alone, without her spouse. Not even Eleanor Roosevelt had done it.

Laura Bush, Michelle Obama, and other first ladies have stumped for their husbands. But, in 1964, it was a decidedly uncommon event, made more so by Johnson’s choice of where to go. The South had become hostile territory for Democrats because of the party ’s role in championing civil rights. And no candidate was more identified with civil rights than Lyndon Baines Johnson.

Several factors made the 1964 election especially contentious. President Kennedy had been assassinated, Cold War hostilities with the Soviet Union were a grave concern after the Cuban Missile Crisis, and Americans had good reason to feel they were living through a moment of great social change. President Johnson had become the major advocate of civil rights legislation among officeholders, while the Republican candidate, Senator Barry Goldwater, tapped into a significant stream of negative feeling against an activist federal government.

The campaign was extraordinarily negative: Democrats showed, though only once, the famous “Daisy” ad, equating a Goldwater presidency with nuclear destruction. Critics of the civil rights movement used blatantly racist language and the threat of violence to make their case.
Goldwater had voted against the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which LBJ had maneuvered through Congress with skills he had learned over three decades on the Hill and by invoking the fallen president’s memory. Goldwater, an early favorite, had stumbled badly, and, with two months to go before Election Day, the momentum clearly favored Johnson, who, craving validation, wanted a margin of victory large enough to smash any doubts that he had gotten to the White House on his own steam.

In September, a Gallup poll gave Johnson a 69 percent to 31 percent lead. So far ahead, the Johnson campaign could have ceded the South to the Republicans. Even if every state in the region went for Goldwater, Johnson could still garner almost 400 electoral votes, far surpassing the 270 needed to win. But Johnson wasn’t a man to shrink from a fight, and Lady Bird believed an effort needed to be made to court Southern voters. As a native of Texas with relatives in Alabama and Louisiana, the first lady knew there was more to the South than angry white men who opposed civil rights.

“I have a strong sentimental, family, deep tie to the South, and I thought the South was getting a bad rap from the nation and indeed the world,” she recalled years later in her oral history. “It was painted as a bastion of ignorance and prejudice and all sorts of ugly things. It was my country, and although I knew I couldn’t be all that persuasive to them, at least I could talk to them in language they would understand. Maybe together we could do something to help Lyndon and then perhaps to change the viewpoint of some of those newspaper people who were traveling with me.”

The extensive oral history that Lady Bird did in conjunction with the Lyndon B. Johnson Presidential Library reveals a gracious woman who continued to grow with each new challenge thrust upon her. Michael Gillette, director of Humanities Texas, conducted the majority of the interviews and has edited the newly declassified transcripts into the highly readable Lady Bird Johnson: An Oral History, from which some of the material for this article was drawn.
The whistle-stop tour was in many ways a culmination of Lady Bird’s political education. At loose ends after finishing a journalism degree at the University of Texas, she fell hard for Lyndon, a strapping, dark-haired law student with a boisterous personality and ambition enough for both of them. After an intense ten-week courtship by letter, she agreed to marry him. When Lyndon ran for Congress in 1937, she used her inheritance to stake his campaign. When he went off to fight in World War II, she ran his congressional office. Even after the birth of their two daughters, Lynda (1944) and Luci (1947), her involvement continued to grow. “She was faced with a dilemma in her life as to whether she would make her husband’s career her top priority or whether she would stay home with her daughters. She chose the former,” says Gillette.

Johnson also became more confident in her abilities. “Nineteen forty-eight was really her debut,” says Gillette of LBJ’s successful campaign for the Senate. “She did more than say thank you for the barbecue and sit down. She gave a full-blown speech and went around the state campaigning for LBJ.” As her public role expanded, Johnson enlisted a speech coach to help fine-tune her delivery. During the 1960 presidential election, Kennedy asked Johnson if she would court the women’s vote in place of his wife, Jackie, who was pregnant and worried about a miscarriage. She logged thirty-five thousand miles, eleven states, and one hundred fifty events with her husband.

Before embarking on the whistle-stop tour, she told the Christian Science Monitor, “For me, and probably for most women, the attempt to become an involved, practicing citizen has become a matter of evolution rather than choice. Actually, if given a choice between lying in a hammock under an apple tree with a book of poetry and watching the blossoms float down, or standing on a platform before thousands of people, I don’t have to tell you what I would have chosen twenty-five years ago.”

The original idea for a whistle-stop tour came from Harry Truman, who had suggested that LBJ undertake one for the 1960 election. “You may not believe this, Lyndon,” said Truman, “but there are still a hell of a lot of people in this country who don’t know where the airport is. But they damn sure know where the depot is. And if you let ‘em know you’re coming, they’ll be down and listen to you.” Over the course of five days in October 1960, LBJ covered eight southern states and thirty-five hundred miles. Now it was Lady Bird’s turn. Whereas the president had been waging a bare-knuckle brawl, the first lady would wage a charm offensive. She would talk about her husband’s accomplishments, the goals for his administration, and how the federal government had helped each community. She would praise local heroes. What she wouldn’t do was scold southerners about civil rights.

The tour, organized out of the East Wing, was primarily a woman-planned, woman-run operation. Johnson had the capable and charming Bess Abell as her social secretary and Liz Carpenter as her press secretary and staff director. A former reporter, Carpenter had cut her teeth on the Kennedy-Johnson campaign and went on to serve as the vice president’s executive assistant, the first woman to hold the position. Kenny O’Donnell, LBJ’s principal campaign adviser, wasn’t sure Lady Bird’s plan would work. “He sat sphinx-like in meetings with me—half laughing at the whole idea and obviously feeling that neither the South nor women were important in the campaign,” wrote Carpenter in her memoir, Ruffles and Flourishes. The president, however, loved the idea and pored over maps with the first lady, tracing railroad lines and making suggestions for where to stop.

The trip also received a helping hand from congressional wives—Lindy Boggs of Louisiana, Betty Talmadge of Georgia, and Carrie Davis of Tennessee. Virginia Russell, wife of Donald Russell, the outgoing governor of South Carolina, stayed for three weeks in a guest room at the White House to assist with the planning. “The South may have its shortages—in nutrition and education—but I will match the political talents of Southern women against any others, anytime and anyplace,” wrote Carpenter. “They have the uncanny ability to look fragile and lovely as a magnolia blossom, and still possess the managerial ability of an AFL-CIO organizer.”

The first lady spent Friday, September 11, personally calling governors and congressmen in the eight states that she would pass through to invite them to board the train. North Carolina senators Sam Ervin and Everett Jordan said yes, but Senator A. Willis Robertson of Virginia would be away hunting antelope. Harry Byrd of Virginia also declined, citing the recent death of his wife. Byrd may have been in mourning, but the pro-segregation senator was also quietly organizing “Democrats for Goldwater.” As an antidote to the Lady Bird Special, he arranged for Strom Thurmond, South Carolina senator and die-hard Dixiecrat, to campaign for Goldwater on the day the first lady passed through Virginia. Thurmond, of course, politely declined Johnson’s request, but South Carolina’s senior senator, Olin Johnston, accepted. Lady Bird knew better than to ask Alabama governor George Wallace, a virulent segregationist. “I doubt it would even be courteous to do so,” she recorded in her diary.

Tuesday, October 6

The Lady Bird Special departed Washington just before dawn. The jewel of the train was the “Queen Mary,” a special observation car built thirty-four years earlier by the Wabash Railroad and rescued from a Pennsylvania junkyard. The car had received a hasty makeover, starting with a shiny new red, white, and blue paint job on the exterior. A brass platform for speechmaking was fitted on to the back. The inside of the car, which served as a rolling reception room, was painted light blue and decorated with family photos and campaign posters. For all of its old-school charm, the “Queen Mary” lacked modern air-conditioning, requiring a constant supply of ice to keep the car cool. At each stop, an advance man from the campaign arranged for blocks of ice to be loaded onto the base of the train. The next to last car consisted of living and sleeping quarters for Johnson and her daughters. Painted a deep green, it was quickly dubbed “the green room of the White House.”

The remaining cars were stuffed to capacity with campaign staff and more than two hundred reporters, who ranged from old political hands to foreign correspondents, eager to see the traveling spectacle. To help “Nawthern” reporters understand the South, Carpenter prepared a tongue-in-cheek “Dixie Dictionary.” “Tall cotton” was what southerners walk through due to Johnson prosperity. “Kissin’ Kin” was anyone who would come down to the depot. A “Fat Back” was a rich Democrat who had turned Republican, but now had the good sense to return to the Democratic fold. Frances Lewine, a reporter for the Associated Press, filed a story about the dictionary, only to have it yanked from the wires for containing “objectionable material.”

A dining car kept reporters nourished with Southern-inspired snacks and Johnson family favorites—everything from pickled okra to crab dip to guacamole and chili con queso. The recipes were printed up in newspapers, so others could have a taste of Johnson’s hospitality.

As the Lady Bird Special made its first stop in Alexandria, Virginia, the sun was barely poking above the Potomac River. Five thousand people turned out to see the first lady, who wore an “American beauty red wool dress and jacket,” and her daughter Lynda, who sported a “black and white checkered jacket and elbow length blue gloves.” Three high school bands played “Yellow Rose of Texas.”

I wanted to make this trip because I am proud of the South and I am proud that I am part of the South,” Johnson told the crowd. The country needed to look for the ties that “bind us together, not settle for the tensions that tend to divide us.” She praised the response of local government across the South to the civil rights law. The crowd didn’t cheer that line, nor did they roar when the president, who had come to see his wife off, mentioned his running mate, Hubert Humphrey, a senator from Minnesota with a strong record on civil rights.

After kissing his wife on the cheek, LBJ boarded a helicopter for the short trip back to the White House. But Lady Bird wasn’t alone. Louisiana congressman and majority whip Hale Boggs signed up as her escort for the entire trip. She also had her staff, congressional wives, and a phalanx of Secret Service agents. A steady stream of guests boarded at each stop, with the travel time between stations used for photographs and chitchat. To keep from being over-whelmed with flowers, which appeared by the bushel, arrangements were made for bouquets to be given to hospitals and retirement homes farther up the line.

The train stopped next in Fredericksburg, Ashland, Richmond, and Petersburg. Five miles out from the depot, the speakers on the train started blaring, “Hello Lyndon!” Composer Jerry Herman, a Johnson supporter, had rewritten the words to the title song from his smash Broadway hit, Hello Dolly! “Hello, Lyndon! Hello, Lyndon! It’s so nice to have you there where you belong!” To ensure that crowds turned out to greet the train, more than sixty “advance women” had descended on towns along the route three or four days before the whistle-stop tour ’s arrival. They met with local officials, courted garden and community clubs, and put out press releases. “One of them was named Mrs. Robert E. Lee, and I wish to gosh every one of their names had been Mrs. Robert E. Lee,” said Carpenter in her oral history.

For the brief stops, which lasted between five to twenty minutes, Johnson and the politicians who had joined her would speak from the back of the train. As they talked, fifteen hostesses with Southern drawls, outfitted in Breton straw sailor hats, royal blue dresses, and white gloves, floated through the crowd, handing out peppermint taffy, balloons, buttons, pennants, and campaign memorabilia.

After stopping in Suffolk on the way to the Atlantic coast, the train rolled into Norfolk at midday for a rally and flag-raising ceremony at Norfolk Civic Center. More than fifteen hundred people lined the five-block route, while another five thousand gathered on the center ’s plaza, along with high school bands and rifle squad.

From Norfolk, it was on to North Carolina, where the first stop was Ahoskie, a town of forty-five hundred. The sheriff estimated, however, that ten thousand people turned out to see the first lady. “This is the second biggest crowd we’ve had since Buffalo Bill brought his Wild West show here in 1916,” a resident told the Chicago Tribune. In A White House Diary, Johnson recalled a woman in Ahoskie who pushed her way through the crowd to shake her hand. The woman said, “I got up at 3 o’clock this morning and milked twenty cows so I could get here by train time!”

Large crowds and a growing number of protestors turned out to see her in Tarboro, Rocky Mount, and Wilson. During the planning for the trip, Carpenter, worried about the vagaries of press interest, had told the president that she thought they would “need beefing up by the time we get to Raleigh.” LBJ responded, “I’ll be there.”

After a stop in the little town of Selma, the train rolled into Raleigh, and LBJ joined Lady Bird for a rally at North Carolina State College. Fourteen thousand people jammed Reynolds Coliseum. Carpenter ’s plan worked. Reporters who might have passed on covering the first lady could not ignore a campaign stop by the president, and Lady Bird’s spirits were lifted. “He knew we needed a stimulant then to keep the train going,” she said in her oral history. “I always felt that he was sorry he wasn’t along every bit of the way.”

Wednesday, October 7

Before noon, the Lady Bird Special stopped in Durham, Greensboro, and Thomasville. Twenty-five thousand people gathered for a lunchtime rally at Charlotte’s Independence Square. In early afternoon, the train crossed into South Carolina, stopping first in Rock Hill, a town that made headlines in February 1961 when nine African-American men were arrested for attempting to desegregate a lunch counter. Then, in May of that year, a bus carrying the original thirteen Freedom Riders, a group dedicated to desegregating interstate travel, arrived in Rock Hill. Three of the riders, one of whom was John Lewis, attempting to enter the whites-only waiting room in the Greyhound bus terminal, were beaten by a group of white men.

Three years later, Johnson was received as a friendly visitor. “The sign on the dusty railway station said ‘Rock Hill,’” reported the Charlotte Observer. “But for 10 thrilling minutes Wednesday it was Petticoat Junction—and the men in the First Lady ’s party took a back seat. Eight thousand yelling, cheering people looked right past a governor, a senator, and dozens of other high-ranking Democrats. They fastened their eyes on a dark-haired woman in a red dress and on her pretty daughter, dressed in green. . . . The roar of approval left no doubt that the thousands gathered here were glad to claim the First Lady as a kissin’ cousin.”

At every train stop, reporters mingled with the crowd in search of local color, which is how Gloria Negri, reporter for the Boston Globe, found herself stranded in Chester. Before the train departed, a bell sounded to let the reporters know that they had two minutes to get back on the train. Unable to make the step up, Negri watched as the Lady Bird Special pulled away, the sound of “Happy Days Are Here Again” trailing in its wake. Carpenter had told reporters that if they were left behind, they should find the campaign’s advance man for a lift to the next stop—or better yet, stay in town, become a resident, and vote for Johnson.

When she couldn’t find the advance man, Negri appealed to Chester ’s deputy sheriff, William L. Nunnery, for help. At first the deputy didn’t believe her story, suggesting that she might be a Republican spy. “But chivalry is not dead in the South,” declared Negri. With the siren screaming and the speedometer reaching eighty on the twisting back roads, Nunnery gave Negri a ride to the next stop, arriving in Winnsboro as the Lady Bird Special pulled in.

After Chester and Winnsboro, the train stopped in Columbia, where Johnson encountered her first serious group of protestors. Goldwater supporters chanted “We want Barry!” upon her arrival. By the time the first lady and her contingent stepped onto the speaking platform in front of the station, a vocal war of “We want Barry!” versus “We want Lyndon!” had erupted. The hecklers quieted down for the prayer, but fired up again as Johnson was about to begin her speech. The first lady, sun glaring in her eyes, faced the crowd without her usual smile.

She spoke of LBJ’s role in negotiating the Test Ban Treaty. “That treaty came at the end of a long, hard path of negotiations, and my husband is proud to have played a part in gaining this measure of safety for the people of the world.” The heckling started again, but she’d had enough. Lifting her white gloved hand, she silenced the Goldwater supporters: “This is a country of many viewpoints. I respect your opportunity to express your viewpoint. Now it’s my opportunity to present mine.”

More hecklers awaited Johnson in Orangeburg, a John Birch stronghold. Her reception grew less gracious with each stop, which she knew would happen. “In 1964, anybody could go to Atlanta and speak out for civil rights and still get out with their hides on,” observed Carpenter. “She told us to give her the tough towns. And so we took Charleston.” There, she again appealed for civility, but failed to sway the Goldwater supporters, who drowned out her speech with their chants and boos. One heckler told the New York Times that the president was communist because “he supports niggers.”

Thursday, October 8

Before leaving Charleston, Johnson toured The Battery by carriage, forcing more than a hundred reporters on foot to try and keep pace with a bay mare named Jimmy and a palomino named Sport. Touring the antebellum homes with their pastel facades and sprawling white verandas would have offered a pleasant break, if not for the signs on one door after another saying, “This House is Sold on Goldwater.”

Next, the train headed for Georgia and the Deep South, beginning the two most challenging days of the trip. In Savannah, a crowd of 15,000 turned out for a lunchtime rally. The Goldwater supporters were also back, carrying signs that read, “This is Goldwater Country ” and “Down the Drain With Lyndon Baines.” When a pastor tried to deliver the invocation, he was drowned out with shouts of “We Want Barry!” Georgia governor Carl Sanders, a Democrat who supported desegregation, received similar treatment. The first lady talked right through the taunts, and even shook the hand of one of the protestors. When the Chicago Tribune asked the hecklers why they had come, one replied: “If we hadn’t come, the newspapers might have said ‘Savannah is solidly behind Johnson.’ It’s not.”

As the train made its way from Georgia into Florida, the Secret Service received an anonymous tip about a bomb threat. Before the train made its way across a seven-mile bridge, the FBI and local law enforcement officials surveyed it for explosives. Despite the “all clear,” the train received an escort by boat, while a helicopter kept watch overhead.

Friday, October 9

The final day of the whistle-stop tour was a whirlwind ride through Florida’s panhandle, Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana. With each stop, Johnson’s accent grew a little thicker, a little more Southern. After stops in DeFuniak Springs, Crestview, Milton, and Pensacola, the Lady Bird Special rolled into Alabama. In Flomaton, population twenty-five hundred, Johnson told the crowd how her summer vacations consisted of “swimming in the creek, watermelon cuttings, hayrides and visiting aunts and cousins in Selma and Montgomery and Billingsley and Prattville.” Also waiting for her at Flomaton was a grand bouquet of red roses sent by Governor George Wallace, a very unexpected gesture.

In Mobile, the Goldwater supporters were back, but so was Johnson’s inherent graciousness. “Mrs. Johnson was the most relaxed, the most fiery and the most appealing of all the days of her history-making whistlestopping tour of the South,” declared the Chicago Tribune. “Ah’m home,” Johnson told the enthusiastic crowd who had gathered in front of Phoenix No. 6, a restored firehouse, in downtown Mobile. After dedicating the firehouse, Johnson received the key to the city and was made an honorary chief of the fire department.

“I am proud to be in a state where my mother and father were born and raised and being in Mobile is in part a sentimental journey for me. I’m mighty glad to be in that part of the country where, although you might not like all I say, at least you understand the way I say it,” she told the crowd. “Standing here today, I feel that having spent so many summers of my past here and having traveled quite some since, I can speak of what the new South means to the nation. I can talk about the warmth and courtesy of the South of my youth, which will never change, and about the new South that I saw at Huntsville where man turns his face to the moon, and the new South I see here in Mobile.”

In Mississippi, the train made one stop, in Biloxi, where Johnson emphasized how Keesler Air Force base, home to 17,000, pumped federal dollars into the local economy. It was a tactic she’d used repeatedly over the previous three days: keep mum on civil rights while reminding the local residents of how the federal government helped their community.

Johnson passed through Mississippi without incident, but not for a lack of trying on the part of the Ku Klux Klan. During a hearing before the House Committee on Un-American Activities in January 1966, testimony revealed that Louis Di Salvo, a barber and gunrunner for the Ku Klux Klan in Mississippi, had attempted to recruit the KKK chapter in Poplarville to bomb the Lady Bird Special as it passed through the state.

After Biloxi, there was only one more stop, New Orleans, the culmination of the four-day trip. When the Lady Bird Special pulled into Union Station, the president was waiting with open arms for his wife. “Mrs. Johnson embraced her husband as if they had been separated for three years instead of three days, and prolonged the clasp for the benefit of television cameras,” wrote the Chicago Tribune. Forty thousand supporters, mostly African American, had also been bused in for the rally.

“This was not only a sentimental journey, but a political one,” she told the crowd. “I came because I want to say that for this president and his wife, we appreciate you and care about you, and we have faith in you.” She and the president had “too much respect for the South to take it for granted and too much closeness to it to ignore it.” Johnson also made her first reference to civil rights since the send-off in Alexandria, Virginia. “I do not believe that the majority of the South wants any part of the old bitterness, and the more I have seen these last few days, the more I know that is true.”

The first lady’s work, however, wasn’t done. She and the president made their way down Canal Street, riding in an open car, to attend a campaign fund-raising dinner at the Jung Hotel. At the dinner, LBJ delivered a speech that would further help to galvanize his campaign, presenting himself as a statesman who would not shrink from taking a stand. “If we are to heal our history and make this nation whole, prosperity must know no Mason-Dixon line and opportunity must know no color line,” he told those gathered. “Whatever your views are, we have a Constitution and we have a Bill of Rights, and we have the law of the land, and two-thirds of the Democrats in the Senate voted for it [the civil rights bill] and three-fourths of the Republicans. I signed it, and I am going to enforce it, and . . . any man that is worthy of the high office of president is going to do the same thing.”

All the Way with LBJ

Four weeks later, the nation decided to go “All the Way with LBJ,” voting Johnson into the White House with 61.1 percent of the popular vote. No candidate had made such a sweep since the election of 1820. He also netted 486 electoral votes to Goldwater ’s 52. Of the eight states visited by the Lady Bird Special, Johnson won three—Virginia, North Carolina, and Florida. The other five—South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana—went to Goldwater. The Republicans also claimed Goldwater ’s home state of Arizona.

While a short episode in the acrimonious campaign of 1964, the Lady Bird Special reaped tangible benefits for the Johnson-Humphrey ticket. In her pleasant Southern manner, the first lady had delivered the message that Democrats and her husband hadn’t written off the South over conflicting views regarding civil rights. Democratic leaders who had demurred on endorsing Johnson, because of his stance on civil rights, climbed aboard the Lady Bird Special. The tour mobilized Democratic support in communities that had previously been untapped. It also generated a feel-good story about the Johnson campaign that became fodder for newspapers and nightly newscasts. Reports of Goldwater supporters showing a lack of respect for the first lady didn’t hurt either.

After the election, the first lady and the women who had ridden the Lady Bird Special once again joined forces to promote Head Start, a program aimed at providing an educational and nutritional boost to low-income children.

The Lady Bird Special, which Johnson called “a marvelous, utterly exhausting adventure,” came to hold a special place in her heart. “Scores of times since that October as I have stood in a receiving line someone would come up and say, ‘I rode with you on the Whistlestop’—and we would clasp hands with a warmth and rush of memories of that very special time, those four most dramatic days in my political life.”

Pullman Porters – Service not Servitude

During the century spanning the years 1868-1968, the African-American railroad attendant’s presence on the train became a tradition within the American scene. By the 1920s, a peak decade for the railroads, 20,224 African-Americans were working as Pullman Porters and train personnel. At that time, this was the largest category of black labor in the United States and Canada.

At one time the Pullman Company was the largest hotel in the world – with over 100,000 passengers every-night in their sleeping cars.

The Pullman Porters organized and founded the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters in 1925. The BSCP was the very first African-American labor union to sign a collective bargaining agreement with a major U.S. corporation. A. Philip Randolph was the determined, dedicated, and articulate president of this union who fought to improve the working conditions and pay for the Pullman Porters.

The porters had tried to organize since the begining of the century. The wages and working conditions were below average for decades. For example, the porters were required to work 400 hours per month or 11,000 miles—whichever occurred first to receive full pay. Porters depended on the passengers’ tips in order to earn a decent level of pay. Typically, the porters’ tips were more than their monthly salary earned from the Pullman Company. After many years of suffering these types of conditions, the porters united with A. Philip Randolph as their leader. Finally, having endured threats from the Pullman Company such as job loss and harassment, the BSCP forced the company to the bargaining table. On August 25, 1937, after 12 years of battle, the BSCP was recognized as the official union of the Pullman Porters.

Protected by the union, the job of a Pullman Porter was one of economic stability and held high social prestige in the African-American community. A. Philip Randolph utilized the power of the labor union and the unity that it represented to demand significant social changes for African-Americans nationally. The museum’s exhibits tell the story of the power of unity, leadership, action, organization, and determination. This story is one of ordinary men who did extraordinary things. A. Philip Randolph and the members of the BSCP understood the power of collective work and community involvement. They improved the quality of life for themselves and made sure that their efforts improved the lives of those who were to follow. They worked together to fight many battles and they won many victories for African-American people. They demonstrated and personified the meaning of the word brotherhood. These African-American men were American heroes.