Nuts in the Basket

It will not be a very merry Christmas for Lyndon Johnson, who returned last week to his Texas ranch to recuperate further from his operation--and to lick some wounds that are harder to heal. With his own party dissatisfied and disunited after its November setback, Johnson was not only being blamed for the defeat but hearing an increasing amount of speculation that he might not run in 1968. Even if he does run, he faces a revived Republican Party that is gaining confidence that it can defeat him, and is busy seeking the best among several jockeying candidates.

Curious Question. The question of Johnson's candidacy, or noncandidacy, in 1968 is a curious one. Much of the talk is patently partisan, uttered by such Republicans as Barry Goldwater and outgoing Idaho Governor Robert Smylie. None of the President's friends and close aides take it seriously. "His whole life has been politics," scoffs Texas Governor John Connally. "I must say I would be a bit surprised if he chose to end his career at any time in the near future." Still, that such talk could get started about a man so fond of power indicates how Lyndon Johnson's popularity has faded; the theory is that he might prefer dignified retirement to a fight he might lose.

Then, at a year-end meeting of the nation's Governors at White Sulphur Springs, W. Va., the talk that the President might step aside took on an uncomfortably bipartisan ring. A cloud of astonishingly bitter anti-Johnson sentiments arose from the 18 Democratic chief executives present. Blaming Johnson for defeats in November, the Governors castigated him for pressing certain unpopular and unwanted Great Society programs on the public, for displaying an insulting lack of interest in local campaigns and for letting the National Democratic Committee disintegrate into a useless organization. "Some of the people," said Illinois Governor Otto Kerner, "voted against the Democrats because of the image that President Johnson portrays."

At one point during a private caucus, Indiana's salty Democratic Governor, Roger Branigin, leaped up and suggested that maybe Johnson would decide not to run again. John Connally shot back: "Are you kidding?" Undaunted, Branigin barked: "Well, if I didn't have any more nuts in my basket than he's got, I don't think I'd want to walk through the woods again." And Missouri's Democratic Governor War ren Hearnes told a press conference: "If the President will not honestly re-evaluate the situation and make changes, I would be less than honest if I said we shouldn't start over with a new candidate."

No Scars. In the face of such Democratic divisiveness, the Republicans worked eagerly toward two interrelated goals: 1) a reunited party and 2) a presidential candidate who can keep it that way. At a policy-planning conference in Washington last week, they presented at least a surface impression that all factional fractures had been healed. Barry Goldwater promised that he would support the party nominee in '68--no matter who. And New York's Nelson Rockefeller cracked after one private seminar: "The 1964 scars didn't even show. Nobody pulled up his shirt."

As for a candidate, a dozen moderate G.O.P. Governors and Governorselect had a secret meeting at White Sulphur Springs to look over Michigan's George Romney, currently the front runner for the nomination. Gathering in the suite of Colorado's John Love, they discussed ways to corral and keep delegates for Romney--as at least a pre-convention symbol of G.O.P. moderation if not necessarily as the moderates' most-wanted candidate. The Governors' blunt advice to Romney, whom they consider too impressed by polls and favorable publicity: he can win the nomination only by working hard from the precinct level up, by getting some first-rate political tacticians on his staff and by not talking too much too soon. Once more New York's Rockefeller summed up the situation succinctly. "George," he said, "you've got to get organized."

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