On Bended Knee

The Democratic tradition of a solid South runs deep in the heart of Texas. Only twice--in 1928 (Hoover) and 1952 (Eisenhower)--has the state gone Republican in a national election. But during the long Roosevelt reign, party rebels rose like bluebonnets in the spring. An anti-Administration faction formed as early as 1936, and in subsequent presidential years there were others: in 1940 those who opposed a third F.D.R. term, in 1944 the "Regulars," in 1948 the "Dixiecrats," and in 1952 the "Shivercrats." Of all these infidels, only the Shivercrats committed the cardinal party sin: they helped send a Republican to the White House.

Scapegoat at Hand. In his hour of heretical glory three years ago, Texas Governor Allan Shivers stood tall in the political saddle. Politically, the big state of Texas lay in his pocket. But despite the wave of Eisenhowerism, Texas remained solidly Democratic. No one understood this better than rebel Shivers, as he watched his power dissolve behind him during the post-election years. Under Sam Rayburn, Speaker of the House (and single head of the Texas faithful, now that illness has removed Senate Majority Leader Lyndon Johnson from the arena), the Democratic loyalists gathered in new vigor to nibble at Shivers' empire.

In 1954 Shivers managed election to an unprecedented third term as governor, but the going was not easy. A ripe array of administrative scandals have erupted, e.g., the Houston grain scandal and the veterans' land mess (see-below). Although none of these implicated the governor personally, they were laid at his door. And at the start of his seventh year as governor, lanky Allan Shivers finds himself in the awkward role of the man who came to dinner. As one Dallas Democrat put it: "He's stayed too damn long."

Shivers is not expected to seek another term; but he vastly enjoyed leading Texas' delegation (52 votes) to the 1952 convention, and he hopes to lead the delegation in 1956. But how? From Washington, Sam Rayburn frowned down unforgivingly on the apostate. Clearly, Shivers' salvation lay in repentance before Sam.

This called for a scapegoat, and there was one handy: National Committeeman Wright Francis Morrow, the silver-haired, wealthy Houston attorney who, arm in arm with Shivers, helped guide the rebellion of '52. Morrow was as far out of favor as Shivers; for two years the national committee had steadfastly denied him a seat.

Successor to Come. With a show of pious reluctance, Governor Shivers broke the sad news to Morrow: he had better resign. Morrow recalled what Shivers told him: "It's pure politics, Wright; I need Rayburn's help." Morrow stubbornly refused, and the governor hustled off to headquarters. In a Capitol Hill serving kitchen he smoked the peace pipe with Sam Rayburn and bloodless National Chairman Paul Butler. The sacrifice was coolly arranged.

For the record, the governor let it be known from Austin that he was abandoning his long struggle to keep Good Friend Morrow on the committee. "Certainly," he said, the national committee is "entitled to have a national committeeman who is friendly to the work" they are doing. Morrow could not swallow that. An hour after urging him to resign, he said, the governor "made a speech crying that he would never bend a knee to the will of the national committee. Well, why in God's name does he expect me to bend a knee to the same bunch?"

Last week, after a nod from Shivers, the Texas Democratic Executive Committee removed Wright Morrow from the office of national committeeman. There was little doubt that the name of his successor, not yet chosen, would be presented to Speaker Sam on bended knee.

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