The Presidency

By Hugh Sidey

Chasing women kind of comes with the territory in the male-chauvinist Senate, like the springy black leather couches. Making millions from inside contacts after Government service is not all that grave a sin either, else an army of former lawmakers now behind the polished doors of august law firms would be in irons. It was the booze that got John Tower in real trouble.

Heavy drinkers have been a continuing specter in American public life. Luckily, there are no episodes in which the Republic's fate was threatened by drunkenness. Our standards have gone up, slowly the first 180 years, dramatically the past 20. Off the job or on, a political boozer is apt to be a loser. That's not to say teetotaling assures success.

Washington was built on a river of "ardent spirits," a nice term used long ago for the hard stuff. Laborers on public buildings got larger whiskey rations the higher up they worked, a dubious formula. But the buildings did get finished. Dolley Madison brought this "saloon culture" into the White House, getting the political leaders out of the bars and into more graceful surroundings. The drinks came on silver trays. James Madison cut some good deals.

Washington was and remains the nation's leading consumer of booze, imbibing ) at last count 4.78 gal. of spirits and 6.41 gal. of wine per person a year. Nevada runs a distant second.

Congressman Wilbur Mills, who starred with stripper Fanne Fox at the Tidal Basin in 1974, is a recent prodigal of drink. Many others preceded him. John Quincy Adams complained mightily about House Speaker Henry Clay's roaring drunks abroad in 1814, when they were there for the Treaty of Ghent, ending the War of 1812.

Old-timers remember that Estes Kefauver's Senate hideaway was littered with "dead soldiers." Harry Truman had just arrived for a bourbon or two at the "Board of Education," Speaker Sam Rayburn's daily happy hour, when he was summoned to power. Anyone who believes a fellow did not get tiddly now and then in Mr. Sam's quaint quarters lives in fantasy.

Lyndon Johnson, as Senate majority leader and early on as President, could polish off a dozen or so Scotch-and-sodas in an afternoon and evening. He claimed they were half strength. He never lost control, just looked stunned. He quit cold turkey in the White House, switching to Fresca and root beer. For whatever reason, his presidency went downhill thereafter. White House abstinence was tried by Rutherford Hayes, Calvin Coolidge and Jimmy Carter. Results were dismal.

Franklin Roosevelt's martinis lifted the Oval Office many an evening. John Kennedy once showed up for work with a bandage on his head, claiming he cut it on a table while reaching for a dropped book. Research suggests that after ample champagne at a party, the President led a conga line into a wall fixture. The original photograph of Richard Nixon in the White House the night before he resigned caught two drained martini glasses at his elbow. The photo released to the public had the glasses airbrushed to remove the olives.

Truman's aide Clark Clifford remembers that during a poker game with Winston Churchill, the old lion praised the U.S. but lamented one dreadful American lapse: "You people quit drinking after dinner." These days, maybe even sooner.