Lady Bird Diaries, The (2023)

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Friday, November 22nd.

It all began so beautifully.

After a drizzle in the morning,

the sun came out bright and beautiful.

We were going into Dallas.

We have a brilliant

sun overhead,

and the President

will be riding in the open.

Its wheels are down,

and the President and Mrs. Kennedy

have arrived at Dallas Love Field.

To accompany the President

on these flights,

Vice President and Mrs. Johnson...

In the lead car,

President and Mrs. Kennedy,

and then a secret service car,

and then our car.

The streets were lined with people,

lots and lots of children, all smiling.

We were rounding a curve

going down a hill.

Suddenly there was a sharp, loud report.

A shot and then two more.

I heard over the radio system,

"Let's get out of here."

And this man who was with us

vaulted over the front seat

on top of Lyndon,

threw him to the floor

and said, "Get down."

The cars accelerated faster and faster.

I cast one last look

back over my shoulder,

saw a bundle of pink,

just like a, a drift blossom

lying in the backseat.

It was Mrs. Kennedy

lying over the President's body.

They led us into a quiet room.

It was from Kenny O'Donnell

that I first heard the words,

"The President is dead."

Mr. Kilduff said to Lyndon,

"Mr. President."

I looked up at a building,

and there already,

it was a flag at half-mast.

That was when the enormity

first struck me.

We have this from Washington.

There was a TV set on,

the commentator was saying,

"Lyndon Johnson, now President of the

United States."

There is no longer any doubt

the President is dead.

By that time,

Mrs. Kennedy had arrived and the coffin.

Mrs. Kennedy's dress

was stained with blood.

Her husband's blood.

I asked her if I couldn't get

somebody to help her change,

and she says, "Oh, no,

"I want them to see

what they have done to Jack."

And there, in the very narrow confines

of the plane,

with Jackie on his left,

very composed,

Lyndon took the oath of office.

I tried to express

something of how we felt.

I said, "Oh, Mrs. Kennedy, you know,

"we never even wanted

to be Vice President,

and now, dear God, it's come to this."

I would have given anything to help her.

This is a sad time for all people.

I know that the world shares the sorrow

that Mrs. Kennedy and her family bear.

I will do my best,

that is all I can do.

I ask for your help and thoughts.

I felt like I was walking

onto a stage

for a part I had never rehearsed.

Incredible as it might seem,

I was going to be in a unique position,

as the wife of the President of

the United States.

And only I would see events unfold,

from that particular vantage point.

Liz Carpenter said,

"You ought to record this."

She brought me her son's little recorder,

and so, the first fairly quiet moment,

two or three days after the 22nd,

I began my diary.

It really was too important

a thing not to share it.

And it was incredible.

At President Johnson's

Washington home in Spring Valley

the first family of the nation

posed for their portrait.

They are photographed in the home

where they will remain

until Mrs. Kennedy is able

to move from the White House.

The First Lady,

and standing beside the President is

Lynda Bird, 19,

and Luci Baines, 16.

It might be noted that all of the family

have the initials LBJ.

Tuesday, November 26th.

I went to see Mrs. Kennedy

to discuss the housekeeping details

that any woman moving out would talk over

with any woman moving in.

She told me that she would

like to ask a favor of me.

What she wanted

was to let Caroline's school

go on in progress on the third floor.

And that was the easiest thing

to say yes to.

She went on to say a lot of things, like,

"Don't be frightened of this house.

You will be happy here."

She repeated that over and over as though

she were trying to reassure me.

After I moved into the White House,

for the first three or four weeks,

I was cold all the time.

I didn't have any appetite

and I lost about five pounds.

I find myself walking on tiptoe

and talking in whispers.

That's about over now,

one can't go on doing that.

Has there been any sense of elation

at reaching the job we're now in?

None at all.

Just a sense of how hard

this is going to be

and a determination

to make these 12 months

as good as I can.

President Johnson

attended St. John's Episcopal Church,

said prayers for John F. Kennedy,

and asked the minister of St. John's

to say prayers for him,

for Lyndon Baines Johnson,

whom an assassin's b*llet

had suddenly catapulted into a job

that is the most important

and demanding on Earth.

Sunday, January the 12th.

One thing that's gone unmentioned

but not unnoticed by me,

Lyndon has been to church every Sunday

since the 22nd of November

and occasionally on some days in between.

It would be the understatement

of a lifetime to say

that a man of good sense

doesn't know how much

he needs help and solace.

He does.

There was talk that he might be dropped

from the Kennedy ticket next summer.

Now he will almost surely head

that election ticket.

His presidency, however long it lasts,

will not be a quiet one,

for his ambitions and determinations

far outrun his modesty or self-doubts.

And that, perhaps, is the way it should be

for the man who wields the ultimate power.

Saturday, March the 7th.

I have a brief statement on the economy.

I'm very pleased at the early

reaction to the tax cut.

The really high point of the day

was Lyndon's press conference on TV.

After it was over I phoned Lyndon

to tell him how good

I thought he had done.

When you were in college you trained

to become an expert in several fields.

You trained to be a teacher,

to be a journalist,

to be a secretary.

Why did you train for all those things?

Was it insecurity or just

a wide range of interest?

I thought being a journalist,

from those I knew,

puts you on the forefront of action

in places that were exciting.

A student from a very small town

in Deep East Texas,

all the doors of the world

suddenly swung open to me.

I did all sorts of assignments,

but I preferred the feature stories

because I would get to go

and meet interesting characters.

I knew I was gonna buckle down

to some kind of way of making a living,

although I always eventually

thought I'd get married,

just assumed I would.

He came on strong, and he was

very direct and dynamic.

And I do believe before the day was over

he did ask me to marry him,

and I thought he was just

out of his mind.

I suppose it takes a longer time

to confirm a judgment

that's supposed to last a lifetime.

My sense of excitement mounted.

What was gonna happen, I didn't know,

but I knew it was going to be, uh,

something important.

Does... Does the President talk over

world problems with you?

Does... Does he discuss the things

that are weighing on his mind?

I think he a-accords me the very, uh,

considerable respect of thinking

I have, I have good judgment

and he, he likes to hear

what I have to say.

And, uh, it's good to have

one person with whom

you can have a, a total, uh,

well, complete freedom

in what you talk about.

Sunday, March 22nd.

Lyndon got on the phone

and called up a most delightful

bunch of dinner guests.

The talk was of Vietnam.

Two weeks ago

Secretary of Defense McNamara

toured the country.

The position

of my government is clear,

we fully support

the people of South Vietnam.

It's pretty

terrifying to hear McNamara

speak of how dedicated

the opposition soldiers are over there.

They apparently have an intensive training

and ideas that is lacking on our side.

I saw the irritation and frayed nerves

that I remember from the hardest part

of the majority leader days.

This is my problem.

This is what I must solve.

That I can be tactful enough,

and sometimes even mean enough

to get Lyndon home at a reasonable hour,

bringing with him the components of work

and do it here in a somewhat

more relaxed atmosphere.

I did a little more work,

and then curled up in bed

for the most luxurious of all things,

a glass of wine and Gunsmoke,

my biggest self-indulgence.

All of which, I guess,

just proves that you can live

with disaster hanging over your heads.

Wednesday, April the 8th.

Washington's goodbye

to one of America's great heroes,

General Douglas MacArthur.

We lined up in a solemn single file.

Lyndon was on my right, and on my left

I found the Attorney General.

He looked tanned, healthier,

more relaxed than I had seen him.

And as the casket came by, flag draped,

I felt an echo of the November days

of President Kennedy's funeral.

He said, "You're doing a wonderful job.

Everybody says so."

And then, after a noticeable pause,

almost as with an effort, he said,

"And so is your husband."

I respect Bobby in many ways,

I admire him.

But I feel a peculiar unease around him

which I did not feel around his brother.

I haven't the vaguest idea

what is going on in his mind.

In his State of the

Union message,

the President called for

an all-out attack on poverty.

Are you going to make it

a major focus of your attention?

I think, Nancy,

the question that looms foremost

in everybody's mind

is the preservation of peace,

and the whole, the-the total

picture of poverty,

the black spot in our country,

that too is very important to me.

Do you plan to campaign

with him in the months ahead?

Yes, Nancy, I want to be on hand

in whatever he's doing.

Friday, April 24th.

We helicoptered into eastern Kentucky.

We landed in a meadow

close to the community of Inez.

This is the area

where mining once was king.

It's become a sick industry.

Nothing has really

come along to replace it.

We arrived at the home

of the Tom Fletcher's and I asked Lyndon

to please keep the photographers

away as much as possible.

This mustn't be a sideshow

for these people.

Lyndon hunkered down on the porch

with Mr. Fletcher for a talk.

They talked about

keeping the children in school

and how he made out to live

on $400 a year with eight children.

I expect it's a very limited diet,

and enough years of that

could be the reason

why Mrs. Fletcher look so faded

and dispirited,

and why there were no steps

up to the front porch of the house.

Hoisting myself up,

I had wondered why somebody

didn't at least go down

and saw off a stump,

and put it down for a step,

and then I realized,

how could I know what it was like

to try to raise eight children

on $400 a year?

It seems to me that the Johnson family

should follow the Christian admonition,

put your house, or houses, in order

before trying to preach this Gospel

to the tune of a one billion dollar

a year program.

Uh, good... a good many years, I believe.

Uh, Lady Bird inherited it

on her side of the family.

It appears that

two Republican congressmen

have made a trip to Alabama,

have gone out to interview

some of my tenants,

concealed tape recorders

in their briefcases,

have taken pictures of the houses

and quite miserable, indeed they are,

and are all prepared to try to prevent

Lyndon's poverty bill

with a flashy, gossipy, ugly information

that Mrs. Johnson has tenants

who live in squalor.

You pay 25% of your crop

to Mrs. Johnson in the rent

Yes, sir, well, that's right.

Have you ever heard of President

Johnson's poverty program?

No sir I have... Well, you mean the...

What do you mean the... Uh...

It's a program

the President is trying

to get passed by Congress,

to increase, he says,

"The standard of living of the

poor people of this country."

Uh, what do you think

this program might do

to increase the standard of living

of the people living in this house?

Well, as far as I know

I think it's going to help us.

I told Liz that where

we used to have

about 20 tenants on the whole place,

we now had about four.

One at least, Charlie Cutler,

has lived on the place

since grandfather's time.

Uneducated, unskilled,

and I believe in his 80s,

there's no place for Charlie to go.

However, we'll have to

batten down the hatches

for a nasty storm.

w*r in South Vietnam.

An ugly w*r in a far-off place.

We do not enjoy losing wars.

It is the official position

of the United States

that this one need not be lost.

In a very real sense,

it is not even ours to win.

It's someone else's w*r.

But the vital interests

of the United States

and the prestige of this country

as a great nation

would be grievously damaged

if it were to be lost.

Thursday, May 14th

began with a frontal as*ault on my desk.

The remnants of

a Puritan conscience drives me

to read a lot of the mail,

even, and sometimes especially,

the bad mail.

And then, when the desk was clearer

than it's been in a long time,

I left for Huntlands.

I called in to the White House

and asked Dr. Hurst if he and Jim

would like to drive out and

talk over Lyndon's problems.

I don't know, though,

that either one really understands

the depth of his pain,

when and if

he faces up to the possibility of sending

many thousands American boys to Vietnam.

Lyndon called me.

He was lonesome,

I could tell from his voice.

It was a sad talk,

largely about the Alabama tenants

and about his restive desire

to seek a way

out of the burdens he carries.

I wrote out about a nine-page analysis

of what I thought his situation was.

First, in case he definitely

decided he wanted to use it,

there was a suggested announcement

that he wasn't going to run again.

If he does not run,

we will probably return to the ranch

and he will enjoy the country he loves,

and me and Lynda and Luci

more than we ever have.

But there would be a wave

of hollow disillusionment,

and, "You let us down, Lyndon,"

among those people

who really looked to him

as the best candidate

of the Democratic Party.

There might well be periods of depression

as he watched Mr. X running the country,

and thought what he

would have done instead.

And he might look around for a scapegoat,

and I would not want to be it, then.

Then I put the alternative.

If he does run,

he will probably be elected President.

During the ensuing four years,

he, I, and the children

will be criticized and slandered

for things we have done,

and things we never did at all.

There will be times

when he will be frustrated

by the inability to achieve

his vaulting ambitions for this nation.

This will be painful.

My final conclusion was that,

I think he ought to run,

and then, some three years

and nine months from now,

in February or March of 1968,

announce that he won't be

a candidate for reelection.

And by that time,

I think the juices of life

will be stilled enough in him

that he can finish out that term,

return to the ranch to live out

the rest of our days quietly.

Roll 30, sound 19.

Tell me, uh, about your attitude

to the Civil Rights Bill

that's up in Congress and

being considered by the Senate?

I feel that it's, it's alright.

But I, I feel one thing,

that they should go on and pass it.

I don't see how in America

that people can actually say

that America is the land of the free

and the home of the brave,

when right here in America

Negroes have died

for no reason at all.

And actually, we are not

trying to take anything.

We just want a chance

to be decent human beings and citizens

that we can really say, as the song,

"O Say, can you see,

"by the dawn's early light,

what so proudly we hailed,"

and now I cry, America,

is this actually the land of the free

and the home of the brave?

Thursday, July 2nd.

At 6:30 the big news of the day,

and perhaps of the year, took place.

My fellow Americans,

I am about to sign into law

the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

As I had slipped

quietly into a seat,

I had particularly noticed

the Attorney General

sitting on the front row,

and wondered what was

going on in his mind.

This bill that his brother

had sponsored so ardently,

had pinned so much hope on,

and that had finally come to passage,

I believe, with the earnest,

dogged help of Lyndon.

I watched the Attorney General's

impassive face,

and the very measured

clapping of his hands,

which would not have

disturbed a gnat sleeping

calmly in his palm.

There was a ceremony in the East Room.

A signing of the Civil

Rights Bill, complete with TV,

with all the leaders of the Congress

lined up behind Lyndon

as he signed the bill with some

several scores of pens,

each one could hardly have

gotten to do one single letter.

I left the East Room feeling

that I had really seen

something start in this nation's history,

fraught with much good and much troubles.

We will not accept the Civil Rights Bill.

And we will campaign and campaign

until it is repealed.

In my opinion, this is not going to stop

n*gro demonstrations.

It is not going to solve racial problems,

but it's going to increase tensions.

Are you concerned

perhaps, about the Democrats

taking advantage of this?

After Lyndon Johnson the biggest faker

in the United States,

having opposed the Civil Rights Act

for all the years of his life,

this is the phoniest individual

that ever came around.

I guess

because he was a southerner,

they didn't believe him.

When I would speak

out for Johnson, they would say

"Well, you are prejudiced

because you work for him."

And I'd said "No,"

I said, "In talking with him

I know it is for all of the n*gro people."

And I knew what kind of man he was.

There's Zephyr and Lynda Bird.

One thing I'm gonna say

about Mrs. Johnson,

she was very nice about finding

nice places to stay.

And if we couldn't stay there,

she didn't stay there.

One time we stopped at a place

and the woman said

"Yes, uh, we have a place for you."

And she said, "Well,

I have these other two people."

She said, "No, we-we work 'em,

but we don't sleep 'em."

And Mrs. Johnson said, "Well,

that's a nasty way to be,"

and she drove away.

At sea, on land, and in the air,

the awesome United States military machine

is mounting a force

that can face up to any threat.

Reinforcements are being moved

into strategic locations

as part of a new strategy

in this frustrating w*r.

Tuesday, August 4th was

a momentous day.

You know great decisions are being shaped,

some completely beyond

the control of any of us,

some that have to be decided

by the man closest to me.

As McGeorge Bundy passed me in the hall,

he was looking extraordinarily grave.

I asked him something which

brought a portentous answer.

It left me thinking,

we might have a small w*r on our hands.

This is the Maddox,

one of the two destroyers

that were attacked

while patrolling international waters

in the Gulf of Tonkin near North Vietnam.

My fellow Americans,

it is my duty to the American people

to report that renewed hostile actions

against United States ships

on the high seas

in the Gulf of Tonkin

have today required me

to order the military forces

of the United States

to take action and reply.

Frightening as the situation is,

I had a certain feeling of pride.

Perhaps for Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy,

there were a long series of such days.

Obviously up until now

we've survived them all

but it's a perilous path to tread.

Mr. President,

it is widely believed

among the reporters around town

that you object rather strongly

to being criticized

in the papers and on the air. Is there...

Would you give us what your

true feelings on that subject are?

I assume that

almost anyone that is human, uh,

uh, would rather

have approval than disapproval.

Uh, some people have thought

that you put in too long and hard a day,

that you might endanger

your own health that way.

How do you protect your health

from day-to-day?

We do have long days,

and, uh, the problems, uh, that, uh,

require attention, uh, require time.

And, uh, you, you never have as

much time as you want to spend

before making these decisions,

but you must make decisions.

And I work at a rather feverish rate,

and the first hundred days were, uh,

filled, uh, to almost to

the breaking point.

He told me

that he was going to fly

up there the next morning and announce

that he wasn't gonna be a candidate

for reelection in Atlantic City.

And I told him he absolutely

could not do that.

I went immediately to Mrs. Johnson.

She has more ability to

reason with him than anyone else.

Good evening.

This convention city by the sea

bustled with political activity today.

A predominantly n*gro group

is challenging the all-White

delegation from Mississippi.

We want to register

to become first-class citizens.

And if the Freedom Democratic

Party is not seated now,

I question America.

For 22 long minutes,

while his wife watches,

the delegates pour out

their affection for Bobby,

and for the man who was their President.

Mrs. Lyndon Johnson, Luci,

and Lynda have just arrived.

And there he is.

The President of the

United States,

and the next President

of the United States, Lyndon B. Johnson.

I will begin the march

toward an overwhelming victory

for our party

and for our nation!

Election year 1964.

The White House is the prize,

and it's invaded by the ladies.

Four million more women voters

in the country than men,

and both parties

are wooing the feminine vote.

It's the year of the woman in Washington.

The ladies are claiming the title,

facing the responsibility.

Friday, September the 11th

began my planning for the

whistle-stop trip to the south.

I'm tired of everybody's acting

like the South is the step-child.

I belong to it and it to me,

and I intend to say so, even if

I, I get a rebuff for it.

I'm on the rear platform here

of the Lady Bird Special

talking with Elizabeth Carpenter,

Mrs. Johnson's press secretary.

Uh, Mrs. Carpenter, what's

the main purpose of this trip

as far as Mrs. Johnson is concerned?

Well, Marlene,

obviously there's an election on

and she's helping carry

the story of this administration

and of her husband's record

to eight states.

No one knows the story

better than Mrs. Johnson

and so I think that we'll find

victory there this fall.

Alexandria has been chosen

as the first stop

by one of the greatest

campaigners in America,

and I'm proud to announce...

And I'm very proud to announce

that I am her husband.

You think the state's

gonna go for Goldwater?

I think this whole

state will go for Goldwater.

It will be the first time

Georgia has ever gone Republican.

But they'll do it this time.

Democrats have always controlled Georgia.

So we thought we'd show her that

there are a few Republicans here now.

Can you tell me, Mrs. Johnson,

what were your original

expectations for this trip

and how have things worked out?

There have been mainly friendly

and large audiences

but scattered in there have been some,

uh, hecklers here and there.

Uh, do you feel that you will nevertheless

be able to, uh, help keep the South

in the democratic camp despite this?

That's a large order for a woman.

But I think we have to

look at this in perspective.

There have been a few, certainly,

they're entitled to their opinion,

but you were there,

you saw the thousands of people

who were cheering

and reaching out to shake hands.

We want Barry!

We want Barry!

My friends, this is

a country of many viewpoints

and I respect your right

to express your own.

Now, it's my turn to express mine.

- Thank you.

The Walter Jenkins episode

raises grave questions

of national security

which only the President

can and must answer.

Knowing the vulnerability

of morals offenders to blackmail,

the President should tell us

whether Mr. Jenkins was permitted

to sit in on meetings

of the National Security Council

and otherwise given access

to top military secrets.

Walter appeared

rather detached and dissociated.

I cannot measure the suffering

he's gone through,

it's been one of the most

painful things in my life,

more painful than death

of many close to me.

The voice of the

people was heard in the land.

Sixty eight million citizens

of the United States

go to the polls to exercise

their cherished franchise

and an overwhelming mandate

is handed to Lyndon Baines Johnson

who becomes 36th president

of the United States.

The man who was thrust into office

through the hand of tragedy

captures an overwhelming

percentage of the popular vote.

More than 61%,

a plurality over Barry Morris Goldwater

of nearly 16 million ballots.

It is an historical sweeping victory.

New Year's Day began for me

with black coffee and orange juice

and good resolutions.

I spent all day in the

never-never land of clothes.

The coat I'm wearing

for the inaugural ceremony is elegant.

The dress? Well, we'll have

to wait and see.

I'm just not the type

for sketches and swatches.

I'm a go in and look on the rack,

put 'em on and wear 'em out type.

That too is one of

my New Year resolutions,

to look better at all public appearances

and to remember what is due the job.

I still find it very difficult,

very distasteful to say "First Lady."

Wednesday, January the 20th

dawned beautiful and bright and early.

The day had come.

We rode down the avenue,

Lyndon and I in one car,

the one with the bulletproof

glass top and sides,

crowds already thick along

Pennsylvania Avenue.

Then came the moment toward which

all the days of the last year

had been heading,

the moment when Lyndon

would take the oath of office

as the 36th President

of the United States.

It had been mentioned

to me that I should hold

the Bible for his swearing in.

I stood facing the throng,

between the Chief Justice and Lyndon,

while he took the oath.

I, Lyndon Baines Johnson,

do solemnly swear...

That you will faithfully execute...

...that I will faithfully execute...

...the office of the presidency

of the United States,

so help you God.

...so help me God.

Monday, February 1st,

begins the busy days again.

I woke about 7:00,

and finding Lyndon was awake

crawled into bed with him for coffee.

And heard Luci, mad as a hornet,

discuss an article in a magazine

called Women's Wear,

which had given the three Johnson women

pretty poor marks as dressers.

Luci was inclined to blame it

on Lynda Bird's bobby socks and loafers,

and was really quite

heatedly annoyed about it.

It is an endurance contest, this job.

Sunday, February the 7th

actually began after midnight.

Lyndon had heard of the Viet Cong attack

on American barracks in South Vietnam.

I was rather startled to hear him say

something I have heard so often,

but did not really expect

to come out of his mouth

in front of anyone else.

"I am not temperamentally equipped

to be commander in chief," he said.

They were talking about

the necessity of giving orders,

that would produce God knows

what cataclysmic results.

He said, "I am too sentimental."

It's odd how you can be so anesthetized

by your own pain or your own problem,

that you don't quite fully share

the hell of someone close to you.

Sunday, March 7th.

For quite some time

I've been swimming upstream

against a feeling of depression

and relative inertia.

Lyndon, too, lives in a cloud

of troubles with few rays of light.

Now it is the Selma situation.

Six hundred or so Negroes

who marched made little headway

toward the state capital

some 15 miles to the east.

They barely left Selma.

They marched in through the city of Selma

and were not stopped,

but once they crossed

over the Edmund Pettus Bridge,

it was a different story.

You've got

two minutes to turn around

and go back to your church.

Scores of

the marchers were treated

for tear gas burns,

open wounds and broken bones.

At nightfall, the sheriff of Dallas County

went on the radio

to urge everyone to stay off the streets.

It was a day

of tension and strain.

Out in front of the White House

pickets are marching,

a not unusual sight.

But in this context, with more poignancy

than before, I think.

Because Lyndon is a southern President,

because he won with such a great vote

from the Negroes last fall,

because the right to vote has been the key

to the whole civil rights issue

that he has hammered

and hammered since '57.

Oh, freedom

Well, it looks as if

yesterday's battle in Selma

was rather the end of the beginning.

For King's answer to Governor Wallace

is another march.

Same town, Selma.

Same destination, Montgomery.

The date, tomorrow, Tuesday.

And says King, "He'll lead it himself."

Oh, freedom

Oh, freedom over me

I heard later

that he did not know

when he turned,

whether anyone would be following.

But this was victory, this was sanity.

A temporary restraining lid on the volcano

to grant time for

the strong voting rights bill in Congress

to save us from catastrophe.

Oh, freedom over me

This is the rhythm of a city,

any big city, anywhere.

Today American cities are facing a crisis.

They are running a high fever

of unplanned growth.

They are overcrowded and overwhelmed.

For the first time,

Americans are beginning

to seriously examine

how their cities got that way.

Within our cities,

imaginative programs are needed,

to landscape streets

and to transform open areas

into places of beauty and recreation.

Lyndon made a speech,

and it was about the environment,

about conservation,

and I-I decided, that's for me.

From the time

we went into the White House,

you had newswomen saying,

"What is your role? What is your role?"

And Mrs. Johnson's reply at the time was,

"My role as First Lady

will emerge in deeds not words."

Our object was to convince Mrs. Johnson

to take the bull by the horns

and to form a committee

that would have the podium

of the White House

to air views and efforts

in making the city

of Washington more beautiful.

I think the time has come

in our national consciousness

to look at the environment

and question

what man was doing to harm it.

Growing up in the country,

I was pretty much left to my own devices.

And I did not have

many constant companions.

Nature was my friend,

and sustenance, and teacher.

It was a joy to me

and it's, it's never failed me.

Tuesday, March 9th

was the meeting

of my Beautification Committee.

Getting on the subject

of beautification is like

picking up a tangled skein of wool,

all the threads are interwoven...

...recreation and urban renewal,

and rapid transit

and highway beautification,

and mental health and the crime rate.

It's awfully hard

to hitch the conversation

into one straight line

'cause everything leads to something else.

At about 11:30 all 30 or so of us

departed on our field trip.

We stopped at

Green Leaf Gardens,

a housing area of modest,

little brick row houses.

This was Walter Washington's bailiwick

and his great enthusiasm.

Together, he and I

have been frequent visitors

at schools, housing projects

and in the neighborhoods of Washington.

He is a wise and able public servant.

We have traveled through this city.

Both of us determined that

a certain part of what she wanted to do

would be regarded as cosmetic,

and that really behind the monuments,

there was a big job to do.

And that there must be equal access

to the greatness and strengths

of our nation

and in our neighborhoods.

They must be available to all.

I am no authority,

just an interested, enthusiastic citizen.

I recognize I do have

a sort of a tool in my hands

by this title I carry,

and I want to use it.

Nothing is more important

than my involvement with beautification

but I want a new word for it.

Tuesday, July 13th.

History is my preoccupation,

our niche in it I mean,

for the next year or so.

The most significant part

of the day, of course,

the appointment

of a new US Solicitor General.

And it's Thurgood Marshall,

the first n*gro to hold such a post.

A man with a wonderful record.

He admired Judge Marshall

and spoke of the possibility,

perhaps when a vacancy opened up

he might make him

a Justice of the Supreme Court.

July 30th, the Medicare Bill passed.

President and Mrs. Johnson

and Vice President Humphrey arrive

for ceremonies that will make

the Medicare bill

a part of social security coverage.

That impossible bill.

He has every reason

to feel fulfilled and proud.

Friday, August 6th.

I talked to Lyndon that morning,

He reminded me of the signing

of the voting rights bill.

Completely

inefficient, I forgot to watch,

but later I was proud to see

that Luci had not forgotten.

She was right there by daddy's side,

walking in, her hand in his.

It was a dramatic setting,

a dramatic occasion.

I recognize that from

outside this chamber,

is the outraged conscience of a nation,

but even if we pass this bill

the battle will not be over.

What happened in Selma is

part of a far larger movement

which reaches into every section

and state of America.

It is the effort of American Negroes

to secure for themselves

the full blessings of American life.

Their cause must be our cause too.

Here in Saigon...

The fact that there

had been many pluses

in the legislative achievements

of the week

had not prevented Vietnam

from dominating the news.

I have today ordered to Vietnam

the air mobile division

and certain other forces

which will raise our fighting strength

from 75,000 to 125,000 men

almost immediately.

He said, "Vietnam is getting

worse day by day.

"I have the choice to go in

with great casualty lists

or get out with great disgrace."

"It's like being in an airplane,

and I have to choose

"between crashing the plane

or jumping out.

I do not have a parachute."

When he is pierced, I bleed.

What do you think, about 11?

Eleven will be fine.

Do you think that's too much

exposure? We could do 16?

- About eight?

- I'd go down

towards eight, Mrs. Johnson.

Alright.

I'll just do another one.

Mrs. Johnson has

managed to tread the thin line

between her private role

as wife and mother,

and her public stance on beautification

which some special interests

groups in this country

have found abrasive.

Tuesday, August 17th.

I woke up early and worked with Liz

to talk about how the Beautification Bills

were faring in the House and Senate.

There are four of them,

all relating to highways.

There had been much talk in the

country and in the papers

and not much action on the Hill.

One of them is a goner.

The others about billboards and junkyards,

with three percent of the money

allocated for planting

along the interstate highways

have a better chance.

This

administration has no desire

to punish or to penalize

any private industry

or any private company in this nation.

But we are not going to allow them

to intrude their own

specialized, private objectives

on the larger public trust.

And that is why today

there's a great deal of real joy

to sign the Highway

Beautification Act of 1965.

How many times have I driven

up to the front door of Bethesda?

Really serious times.

Very present in my mind,

and I'm sure in Lyndon's mind,

was of his serious heart attack.

For the first few years

we passed those milestones

stepping softly with great trepidation.

Now we act almost as though

it had not been.

Though Lyndon and I will not forget.

There was a high sense of

theater about the whole thing.

They wheeled up a long cart,

and doctors assisted Lyndon on to it,

and then he said, "Let's go."

I felt like he was

putting on a performance,

to save us from being worried.

The gall bladder had been just

as they suspected, inflamed,

with one stone in it.

This meant a double operation,

more hazard,

and longer recuperation.

I walked into the room to find

Abe sitting quietly by Lyndon's bedside.

He was seeking Abe's advice

on how he could escape

from the burdens of the presidency

for the next indefinite period.

So here is the black beast of depression

back in our lives.

He was like a man on whom an avalanche

had suddenly fallen.

He said he didn't feel like making

a single decision right now.

"I want to go to the ranch.

"I don't want Hubert

to be even able to call me.

"They may demand that I resign,

they may even want to impeach me."

Mostly we sat in an atmosphere

of numbed silence,

with Abe offering quiet legal observations

on the alternatives.

Abe began to write out

what Lyndon asked him to.

And after Lyndon read it he said,

"Here, you had better

keep both these copies.

I don't want anybody to know about them."

I think it quite essential

that he have days,

maybe weeks of rest.

But how to buy a little time of quiet

when you are President

of the United States?

The question now, of course,

is what happens to

the Johnson style in 1966?

It will be a year in which

style alone won't solve things.

He has already learned

he can't put the arm on the Viet Cong

and the North Vietnamese

the way he can

on a recalcitrant congressman.

And learning this

has frequently seemed to produce

a kind of sulkiness in the President.

A resentment at questions he can't answer,

a petulance with the press,

a deviousness at times in his statements

about what has happened

and what is going to happen.

That inescapable

feeling of drama,

what will this new year hold for us all?

Will you tell us what you're sending

to Mrs. Johnson in your telegram?

- Would you like me to read it?

- Yes, please.

"We know you share our grief

at the loss of life in Vietnam.

"Please add your voices

to those calling for negotiation

"instead of bombing.

"There must be

an honorable diplomatic solution

to the situation in Vietnam."

Sunday, February 13th.

At lunch, Lafayette Park

had been full of picketers.

It's such a common thing now.

Lyndon said, this thing is assuming

rather dangerous proportions.

He talked about the individual

feelings of every mother

who had a son in Vietnam

and in comparison about his feelings.

He said, "There's not

a mother in the world

"who cares as much about it as I do

"because I have 200,000 of them over there

"and they think I am in charge.

And if I am not, God help them.

Who the hell is?"

Luci's wedding day

began clear and

bright and beautiful.

What I remember of the morning

was a montage.

One walks up the aisle

as though in a play.

Thinking not the deep thoughts

that this is the last moment

she belongs to us alone.

She was flawless

in her dignity and gentleness.

To his eternal credit

I do not remember Lyndon

looking at his watch

one time in the service

that lasted longer than an hour.

I myself did not see the pickets.

Only when it is extremely

raucous do we notice it.

I feel protective of Luci and Pat,

disgusted by the whole thing,

just as a citizen,

and not wise enough to cope with it.

Would you end all of the

speculation for us and tell us

A, if you intend to run in 1968

and B, if Hubert Humphrey

will be your running mate?

I didn't know, uh, Ms. Means,

there had been

that much speculation about it.

Uh, I'm not ready to make

a decision about my future

after Jan '69 at this time.

Down the road several months from now

would be the appropriate time

for an announcement

of what my future plans are.

Saturday, May 13th.

Many, many months ago,

I set March of '68 in my own mind

as the time when

Lyndon can make a statement

that he would not be

a candidate for reelection.

For the first time in my life,

I have felt that Lyndon

would be a happy man retired.

I find myself enjoying more and more

every return to the ranch,

and I do not know whether we can endure

another four-year term in the presidency.

If life can be said to have a pattern,

as we go into summer,

the crescendo of work mounts.

In a Rose Garden ceremony,

a 58-year-old great grandson of a sl*ve

is nominated by President Johnson

to be a Supreme Court Justice.

He is Solicitor General Thurgood Marshall.

This morning I have welcomed

the members of the Commission

on Civil Disorders,

chaired by Governor Kerner of Illinois.

The American people

are baffled and dismayed

by the wholesale looting and violence

that has occurred both in small towns and

in great metropolitan centers.

Hey, hey, LBJ,

how many kids did you k*ll today?

Hell no, we won't go.

The pro's heavyweight champion

Cassius Clay

is found guilty of violating

the US Selective Service laws

by refusing to be inducted.

I've said it once,

and I will say it again.

The real enemies of my people

are right here, not in Vietnam.

Sunday, August 13th.

A cool front had blown in,

and there was a promise

of fall in the air.

It's strange, you feel soothed and happy

about the companionship of your

daughter and your grandchild

and exactly simultaneously

you're weighed down

by the troubles

that you must try to solve.

The growing virus of the riots,

the rising list of casualties,

and the voices of your own friends

or former friends in Congress,

and most of the bitching

is coming from the Democrats.

We watched Martin Luther King on TV.

We are losing both.

We are losing the w*r

against poverty here at home.

We are losing the w*r in Vietnam,

morally and politically.

And I think we're losing...

To me, it seemed

the old charisma is fading.

He was not as exciting

as I had remembered him.

Today's poll has Lyndon down to 39,

the lowest he's ever been.

And my instinct tells me

the only reaction to it

should be to work harder,

be staunch and keep smiling.

But it is hard.

We have

grown enough strength to say,

you know, that Vietnam w*r

is for the Birds.

Lynda Bird, Lady Bird...

Let the Birds go take care of it,

we gonna sit here and watch.

The new left has at best

perhaps 300,000 members.

The young radicals scorn communism

and they see liberals as their enemy.

The discontent of the new left

has been noted

by the politician most

identified with young people.

They see us willing to fight a

w*r for freedom in Vietnam,

but unwilling to fight with

one-hundredth the money or force

or effort to secure freedom

in Mississippi,

or Alabama, or the ghettos of the north.

I read a very thoughtful editorial.

It's a frantic effort

of some of today's young

to find a tangible method of revolt.

Their revolt happens to be

almost totally negative.

It is a sterile thing,

against the velvet prison of affluence,

conformity, and isolation.

Merely to be bizarre in strategic spots

gives people a lot of exposure

in this day of saturation coverage

of the major events by television.

They think they are doing something

when they are noticed by the TV cameras.

Many of the young confuse it with action.

Monday, October 9.

My journey into academia.

At about three o'clock

we arrived at New Haven.

It was a sizable crowd

of picketers carrying signs

that said, "Stop beautifying

North Vietnam"

and displayed pictures of

people supposedly burned by napalm.

I got out of the car.

The measured slowness,

and walked to meet Dr. Brewster.

Quite soon, the feeling got across to me

that my presence here

was really an imposition on him.

His manner was absolutely correct.

But if I have any antenna at all,

I sense that he wished

he had no part of it.

Can a great democratic society

generate the energy to build

projects of order and beauty?

That answer will unfold, I think,

in the next two decades.

Thank you very much.

I was never so glad

to be finished with a speech in my life.

On our way out, I shook hands

with everybody I could reach,

and not even a Secret Service was gladder,

I'm sure, that an evening was nearly over.

That was also a lesson to me,

I must not live in the White House

insulated myself.

I want to know what's going on,

even if to know is to suffer.

A rather striking

foursome emerged

from the White House today

and strolled across the South Lawn.

Marine Captain Charles Robb,

his bride to be,

and his prospective in-laws.

There will be a White House wedding,

and then the President's son-in-law

will go off to fight in Vietnam.

Lynda's wedding day,

Saturday, December the 9th.

The ceremony began on time.

How would one describe the bride?

Queenly, radiant, stunningly beautiful,

every heart in the place lifted.

Beautiful as she was, it was

he I watched all the way,

such a mixture of quietness

and farewell in his look,

his hair looked whiter than I'd ever seen,

and I was full of tenderness for him.

I have never seen a lovelier ceremony.

Lynda's wedding dress

fulfilled every expectation,

and I hope I live to see

a granddaughter wear it,

and I'm sure it will be just as good then.

Saturday, January the 13th.

And so we returned to what

really seemed like New Year's,

the beginning of the hardest year

with our big problem still unresolved.

We drove to Luci's house

and there was Lyn, all smiles,

apparently over his ear infection,

absolutely enthralled

at seeing his grandfather.

Lyndon spends more time with him

than he ever did

with either of our children.

He said, "There's one job I want,

and that's to be a full-time grandfather."

It was both humorous and pathetic.

Wednesday, January the 17th.

The day of the State of the Union.

Lyndon had asked George

to draft him a statement,

announcing that he would not run.

My own, which Lyndon had asked

me to produce, was feeble,

and if there was anything

that we ever ought to say

with words that have

wings and fire, this is it.

I keep the statement I had written in '64,

when Lyndon was facing

going to Atlantic City

and did not want to go,

in the right-hand drawer

of my desk in my bedroom.

I brought it out and we reread

what I had said then.

It sounds better now.

Lyndon put George's statement

in his inside pocket.

It was not to be included in the text

of the State of the Union.

If he made it, it would come at the end,

beginning with a line something like this,

"And now I want to speak to you

about a personal matter."

He looks from one to another

of those close to him

for an answer,

for some wisdom,

some foresight, beyond any he can have.

And he said, "Well, what shall I do?"

I looked at him

with that hopeless feeling,

and said, "Luci hopes you won't run.

"She wants you for herself,

and Lyn and all of us being together.

"Lynda hopes you will run.

"Because her husband is going to w*r,

"and she thinks there will be more chance

"of getting him back alive

"and everything settled

if you're President.

"And me, I don't know,

I've said it all before.

I can't tell you what to do."

Mr. Speaker,

the President of the United States.

I wish with all of my heart

that the expenditures

that are necessary to build

and to protect our power

could all be devoted

to the programs of peace.

But until world conditions permit

and until peace is assured,

America's bravest sons

who wear our nation's uniform

must continue.

Somewhere in it

the teleprompter went out.

I could see him leafing

through three or four pages

of the text in front of him

while he interpolated.

As we approached the end

I tightened up in my seat.

Would he reach in his pocket?

Did I want him to?

Would I be relieved if he did

or if he didn't?

Can we achieve these goals?

Of course we can.

Thank you and good night.

He did not reach in his pocket

for the draft that I knew was there.

Thursday, January 18th.

I went over my guest list

for the Women Doers' Luncheon,

our subject, "Crime on the Streets."

A few of the guests had been late

and some of the staff

ushered them up to speak to me,

Eartha Kitt among them.

I work with inner city kids,

so that's why I was invited

to this luncheon.

I didn't want to go,

but the White House kept calling me

and saying, "Yes, Mrs. Johnson

definitely wants you to come."

Crime is a grim subject

for a pleasant meeting like this,

but I believe that

everybody is increasingly

determined to face up to it.

Then in walks President Johnson.

He puts his elbow on the pulpit

that was suddenly out there.

Miss Eartha Kitt,

who had been seated at the

table close to the podium,

rose in his path and said...

Lyndon paused a moment,

but fortunately, he had the answer.

She sat down stubbed

out of cigarettes

tossing her long hair,

and from then on I watched her

expecting something,

I didn't know what.

She smoldered and smoked.

I asked the guests for their

observations and discussions.

I noticed Miss Kitt's hand going up

and I knew that I must,

in turn, get to her.

I did not know what to expect,

only that it would not be good.

She rose and began

to talk swiftly, passionately,

beginning with anger that the fact

of welfare checks were so small.

And then, mounting to a crescendo,

she came to her real destination,

to denounce the w*r in Vietnam.

Advancing a step toward me

and looking with intense directness at me,

she's a good actress, she said,

"Mrs. Johnson, you are a mother too,

"although you have had

daughters and not sons.

"I am a mother and I know

the feeling of having a baby

"come out of my gut.

"I have a baby and then

you send him off to w*r.

No wonder the kids rebel and take pot."

Miss Kitt stopped for breath

to a stunned silence in the room.

One woman who was

sitting to my right,

she said, "Thank you, Eartha,

for saying what you've said,

"we all feel the same way

"but unfortunately 75 percent

of the women in this room

husbands work for President Johnson."

I stood very composed, I think,

and said goodbye

to everyone who came along.

Protest was back outside

the White House today

after scoring a resounding blow inside.

These women are marching

in support of Eartha Kitt,

whose outburst at a White House

luncheon yesterday

against the w*r, taxes,

and the alienation of youth

drew attention rivaling

the standard responses

to the State of the Union.

Miss Kitt succeeded where picketers

and political opponents have failed,

and bringing dissent

directly to the first family.

The communists had launched

a massive New Year's

offensive late in January.

Martial law was declared by

South Vietnamese President Thieu.

Who won and who lost

in the great Tet Offensive

against the cities?

I'm not sure.

The Viet Cong did not win by a knockout,

but neither did we.

The referees of history

may make it a draw.

It seems now more certain than ever

that the bloody experience of Vietnam

is to end in a stalemate.

And with each escalation,

the world comes closer

to the brink of cosmic disaster.

It is increasingly clear to this reporter

that the only rational way out then

will be to negotiate, not as victims,

but as an honorable people

who lived up to their pledge

to defend democracy

and did the best they could.

This is Walter Cronkite. Good night.

I am announcing today my candidacy

for the presidency of the United States.

I do not run for the presidency

merely to oppose any man,

but to propose new policies.

I run because I am convinced

that this country is on a perilous course

and because I have such strong feelings

about what must be done

and I feel that I am obliged

to do all that I can.

Finally my decision reflects

no personal animosity

or disrespect towards President Johnson.

I am required now

to permit the entry of my name

into the California primary.

Mr. President, how does it

affect the commander in chief,

so to speak, to know

that his new son-in-law

is going off to w*r?

Well, I guess that, uh,

you're glad that you have a son-in-law

that has had the training several years

in an elite group like the Marines,

who is prepared and equipped

to look after his country's interests.

I, uh, feel that way

about all the Marine Corps

and the boys in the other services, too.

Sunday, March the 31st

Lynda was coming in on the

red-eye special from California,

after having kissed

Chuck goodbye the night before.

She looked like a ghost.

She said "Mother, they were awful.

They kept on pushing

and shoving to get to us."

She meant the press.

Captain, how soon do you expect

to be in combat?

And there were lots

of other wives there

saying goodbye to their husbands.

I took her into her room

and she went to bed.

And I went into Lyndon's room

he was crying.

It's the first time

since Mrs. Johnson died

that I have seen him cry.

But he didn't have time to cry.

At nine o'clock in the evening

he was to make his talk on the w*r.

And I can't see where a period is or not.

Uh, the step for him is

I just have to go on.

We have to do it.

We can't change it, but it's...

I had spent a good

part of Saturday

working on it myself.

I felt quite positive

about my few changes.

Lyndon came in.

I went to him and said quietly,

"Pacing and drama."

And I did not know what the end would be.

Good evening, my fellow Americans,

tonight I want to speak to you

of peace in Vietnam and Southeast Asia.

It was magnificently delivered,

his best I think.

With American sons in

the fields far away,

with our hopes and the world's hopes

for peace in the balance every day,

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.

Thank you for listening.

Good night and God bless all of you.

At last the decision

had been reached and stated.

And as well as any human can,

I knew our future.

I rose to my feet and went to him

and threw my arms around him

and kissed him.

It had been nobly done.

And almost in its way,

as dramatic as our entrance into this job.

Although the actual exit

is still nine months away.

Thursday, April 4th.

I asked Lyndon

about his meeting with Kennedy,

he said Sorensen had accompanied him

and that they wanted Lyndon

to support them.

Bobby said he wanted

to maintain the position

of unifying the country,

but he felt perfectly free

to express his feelings

in any way he saw fit.

Lyndon said he had

never seen such arrogance.

Then I went downstairs with Liz,

we worked on the Texas trip.

Seldom has there been a trip

I looked forward more to.

I have a passion for

showing foreigners our country,

and showing them our home.

It was some time while

Mr. Pierre was fixing my hair,

and Lynda Bird had been

listening to the TV,

that she came flying into my room.

"Mama, mama. Dr. King's been shot."

And from that moment on,

the evening assumed a nightmare quality.

I have some very sad news for all of you.

Martin Luther King was shot

and was k*lled tonight

in Memphis, Tennessee.

If we were silent,

the TV was not,

it blared constantly.

The nation has not known such shock

nor has it been so stunned

since the assassination

of President Kennedy.

Everybody's mind

began racing off

in its own direction

as to what this would mean,

to racial violence in our country,

to the work of so many

to try to bring us together.

I ask every citizen

to reject the blind violence

that has struck Dr. King,

who lived by non-violence.

I pray that his family

can find comfort in the memory

of all he tried to do for

the land he loved so well.

Friday, April 5th,

I was up early.

Probably not to anybody in the city

was it a restful night.

I went into Lyndon's room for coffee.

He was still firm in

his feeling that I should go.

Liz called and I told her it was on.

We both recognized we'd have

to make some changes

in the speeches,

the world had changed overnight.

I put out my hand and met

all the foreign correspondents,

thirty-eight from

thirteen European countries.

I sensed the feeling of uncertainty,

tension in the air.

As soon as we were aloft

I went to the PA system,

and in a quiet, serious voice said,

"We travel with a heavier heart today

because of the tragedy

of Dr. King's death."

And then I put it behind me

with a change of tone,

and welcomed them on a journey

to the part of our country

that I know best.

When white America

k*lled Dr. King last night,

she opened the eyes of every

Black man in this country.

When White America k*lled

Dr. King last night,

she declared w*r on us.

Talked to Washington, to Lynda.

She said the White House

was like a fortress,

nobody gets out, nobody gets in.

Washington, Chicago, Detroit,

Boston, New York, these are

just a few 'of the cities

in which the n*gro anguish

over Dr. King's m*rder,

presumably by a White man,

expressed itself in violent destruction.

This is

a part of the confrontation

that's unfortunate.

The most tragic death of

this great humanitarian has

brought, uh, brought disorder to a head.

President Johnson has made

some unprecedented strides

in the direction of human equality

and he is deeply hurt by what he considers

unjustified criticism.

In less than four years he has signed

three landmark

civil rights bills into law.

He named Negroes to the Supreme Court,

then to the Cabinet

for the first time in our history.

And he chose a n*gro to be

the first mayor of Washington.

But for all of his efforts,

there was something missing

in this total performance

that failed to prevent

the drifting apart of the races.

We want Kennedy!

We want Kennedy!

Thank you very much.

We want Kennedy!

Thank you very much.

What I think is quite clear is,

is that we can work together

in the last analysis.

And what has been going on

within the United States

over the period of the last three years,

the divisions whether

it's between Blacks and Whites,

between the poor and the more affluent,

or on the w*r in Vietnam,

that we can start to work together,

we are a great country

and a selfish country

and a compassionate country,

and I intend to make

that my basis for running

over the period of the next few months.

My thanks to all of you,

and now it is on to Chicago,

and let's win this. Thank you very much.

Wednesday, June 5th.

It had been a short night.

The phone jarred me awake

from a deep sleep.

It was Lyndon saying tersely,

"Will you come in here?"

He was propped up against

the pillows in his room,

looking as though

he had never been to sleep,

and all the TV sets were on.

And I realized at once

something was happening.

I am not sure whether I heard

it first from the TV set

or from Lyndon.

Senator Kennedy had been shot.

There was an air of unreality

about the whole thing.

"It couldn't be.

You dreamed it. It had happened before."

He had been celebrating the victory

in the California primaries.

The whole thing had taken place

under the eye of a television camera.

We need a doctor here!

What happened? Do you know?

Somebody said he's been shot.

Faces of the television

kept repeating their hideous story.

The senator was going in

for brain surgery.

It had been determined

that the b*llet had lodged

somewhere behind the ear.

All day long, I had heard

this cacophony over and over

of the reactions of people questioned.

What is our country coming to?

What is happening to us?

Are we a sick society?

I have a

short announcement to read.

Senator Robert Francis Kennedy

died at 1:44 a.m. today,

June 6, 1968.

Saturday, June 8th,

was a day for me,

completely detached from the normal,

a capsule of time

suspended in unreality...

...the burial of Senator Bobby Kennedy.

To be remembered

simply as a good and decent man,

who saw wrong and tried to right it,

saw suffering and tried to heal it,

saw w*r and tried to stop it.

One of the Catholic

dignitaries came

and leaned over to tell Lyndon

that he should leave first.

And then we walked to the right

past the front row,

where all the Kennedy family was seated

and stopped to speak first to Ethel,

whose face was beautiful, sad, composed.

And she said, to Lyndon, very simply,

"You've been so kind."

And then I found myself in front of

Mrs. Jacqueline Kennedy.

I called her name and put out my hand.

She looked at me as though

from a great distance,

as though I were an apparition.

I felt extreme hostility.

Was it because I was alive?

At last, without a flicker of expression,

she extended her hand very slightly.

I took it with

some murmured word of sorrow

and walked on quickly.

It was somehow shocking.

Never in any contact with her

before had I experienced this.

We were back at the White House by 11:00.

Tomorrow would be a day of mourning,

as Lyndon had proclaimed.

And Monday we would all make a new start.

Tuesday, August the 27th,

Lyndon's 60th birthday.

There had been talk about

going to the convention

to make a sort of a Valedictory speech.

When the convention virtually

erupted on Monday,

the chances of our making the trip

dwindled to almost nothing.

The Youth International Party,

Yippies they call themselves,

converged on Chicago

to protest the w*r,

poverty, racism, and other social ills.

This may be the last

of the old style ritualistic

political convention.

It may also be the end

of the Democratic Party

as we have known it since Roosevelt.

The world is

undergoing convulsions

all around us.

Our party,

our country, the whole world.

And so, we go on to this strange year,

and personally, it is a happy year,

within the close circle of our family

because I think we are proud

of what each one of us is doing,

all of us together.

How strange that might sound

from somebody on the outside

who is looking at us.

Lynda lets us read her letters from Chuck.

She holds her personal life close.

She flinches when her daddy quotes him.

Lyndon is plowing right along,

working as hard as he can every day

on those things he can control.

Sometimes I think the

greatest courage in the world

is to get up in the morning

and go about the day's work.

That is one of the things

I like about him,

he keeps on and on and on.

This last of the three

annual beautification luncheons

means more to me

than nearly any social event.

It was one of the biggest days

I have ever spent.

We went out the southwest gate,

and then one of my prides and joys,

the great masses of azaleas

that were planted fall of '65

along Pennsylvania Avenue.

A major entrance to the city,

a big shot in the arm

to a decaying business area.

Since our committee

for a more beautiful capitol

was formed a little over three years ago,

we have devoted particular attention

to improving the physical surroundings

of public schools in the city.

Children will respond affirmatively

to improvements that they can see

and touch and take part in.

Her heritage as First Lady

ends not in Beautification, per se,

it's in communication,

it's in the desire to identify

a human being with his environment.

As you may know, my concern

has been expressed in an effort

called Beautification.

I think you also know what lies beneath

that rather inadequate word.

For beautification, to my mind,

is far more than a matter of cosmetics.

To me, it describes the whole effort

to bring the natural world

and the man-made world into harmony,

and that of course only begins with trees

and flowers and landscaping.

This has been

one of the most lovely springs

I can remember in Washington's history.

It has also been one of the

most poignant and grave.

That fact underscores the urgency

of improving our environment

for all people.

Monday, January 20th.

I was up early, like when I was a child,

and it was a day to go to the country fair

and I didn't wanna miss a thing.

The big black car rolled up,

and out stepped the president-elect,

and Mrs. Pat in a smashing,

rosy red outfit.

And then, the funny little business

about who goes in the door first,

until I took Pat's arm firmly

and said, "Shall we go in?"

Try as I did to soak everything up,

I cannot remember for sure.

I think that when Lyndon walked in

they played Hail to the Chief.

He looked very tall

and handsome and impressive,

and very relaxed, too, I thought.

And finally, the country's new President.

The hands of the clock prodded us on.

We flew over Washington

and landed at Andrews,

and there was a big crowd,

lining the fence and drawn up

around Air Force One.

We mounted the steps,

Lyndon carrying

his faithful companion Lyn.

We stopped at the top and turned and waved

a conscious goodbye tableau.

It was a quiet flight down,

and about 5:30 we arrived at Bergstrom.

There was a big sign

above the base operations that said,

"Welcome home, Mr. President and family."

A little past 9:00, I went to bed,

with a line of poetry ringing in my mind,

I think it's from India's Love Lyrics.

"I celebrate my glad release,

the tents of silence

and the camp of peace."

And yet, for me,

it's not quite the exit line,

because I have loved

almost every day of these five years.

A better go-to-sleep line

was one of the signs

I had seen today, my favorite,

"LBJ, You Were Good For The USA."

I can't keep up with you, that's a fact.

Maybe here comes one I can keep up with.

See these little trees around here,

that one and that one and that one?

- Uh-huh.

- Those are cypress.

Welcome back, Lady Bird,

it's good to have you home.

Well, thank you, sir.

Michelle was in particular

interested to a... of a recording

in which, uh,

Lady Bird is critiquing

President Johnson's performance.

Some things do not change.

Even 50 years later.