The Years of Lyndon Johnson, Book 4
By: Robert A. Caro
Narrated by: Grover Gardner
Series: The Years of Lyndon Johnson, Book 4
Length: 32 hrs and 45 mins

Fear of losing seems to have been one of the great forces driving Lyndon Baines Johnson. His desire for power was extraordinary, but so was his fear of defeat. Having spent years preparing for the presidency, he hesitated when the opportunity finally presented itself. By the time he seriously entered the contest for the 1960 Democratic nomination, John F. Kennedy had seized the initiative. Johnson, the consummate political operator, had allowed his greatest ambition to slip beyond his grasp.

In my reviews of The Path to Power and Means of Ascent, I considered how Johnson’s desire for advancement seemed almost a fundamental need. In Master of the Senate, I observed that the Senate was precisely the right size for him: an institution whose members, mechanisms, and weaknesses he could understand and manipulate with extraordinary effectiveness. Now, in The Passage of Power, Caro shows what happens when that mastery is stripped away.

Johnson exchanged the extraordinary authority he possessed as Senate Majority Leader for the vice presidency, an office that offered him proximity to the presidency but little of the power he craved. The man who once commanded the Senate found himself increasingly isolated, humiliated, and threatened with political irrelevance. For someone who had ordered his entire life around gaining influence over others, this must have been a particularly miserable existence.

Interestingly, Caro’s portrayal of Johnson during these years sometimes seems more charitable than in the previous volumes. Yet I do not believe this represents any fundamental change in his character. Johnson now had fewer subordinates over whom he could exercise authority, and fewer people whose careers he could threaten or punish. Moreover, those surrounding him were already accustomed to his methods of intimidation. From his earliest political maneuverings in college through his years in the House of Representatives, Johnson had demonstrated an extraordinary ability to ingratiate himself with those whose favor he desired. Flattery, personal attention, and apparent kindness were as much instruments of manipulation as intimidation and humiliation. His diminished position merely required him to rely more heavily upon the former than the latter. Certainly, being treated kindly is preferable to being bullied, but when that kindness is principally a means of obtaining something from another person, the underlying manipulation remains. Johnson had not ceased trying to control others; he was simply approaching them from a different direction.

President John F. Kennedy’s brother, Robert Kennedy, provides an interesting foil to Johnson throughout this period. I must qualify my observations, as I have not studied Bobby independently to anything approaching the depth of Caro’s portrayal of Johnson. Nevertheless, I found myself increasingly sympathetic to Bobby’s perception of him. Bobby seemed to recognize the manipulation beneath Johnson’s efforts to ingratiate himself, and he was unwilling to accommodate it. His treatment of Johnson was frequently petty, but I did not necessarily find it unjust. Johnson had spent his life manipulating those above and below him, and Bobby seemed determined not to allow those methods to succeed. How does one impress upon such a man that his behavior must stop, particularly when he has spent a lifetime finding ways around those who resist him? I can understand Bobby’s determination to confront Johnson and deny him the influence he sought. What I find objectionable is the contempt with which Bobby treated him, rather than necessarily the actions themselves. I would have preferred to see Johnson confronted without contempt, but I cannot conclude that Bobby was wrong to resist him so forcefully.

The assassination of President John F. Kennedy brought about one of the most extraordinary reversals of fortune in American political history. I find no compelling reason to believe Johnson was involved in the assassination, and Caro’s account reinforces my impression of a man suddenly thrust into circumstances he had neither anticipated nor prepared to encounter in this fashion. The man who had been descending toward political irrelevance suddenly possessed the very office for which he had spent his life preparing.

What followed demonstrates Johnson’s remarkable political abilities once again. He inherited an administration whose loyalties remained with his predecessor, a grieving nation, and a Congress filled with competing ambitions. Johnson understood the necessity of proceeding carefully. Rather than immediately confronting the Kennedy administration’s people or attempting to erase his predecessor’s influence, he worked within the circumstances he inherited. The man who had been so powerless as vice president now possessed extraordinary authority, but he recognized that exercising it effectively required restraint as well as determination.

The legislative achievements of Johnson’s early presidency demonstrate the same extraordinary abilities that made him master of the Senate. His capacity to understand individuals, identify the mechanisms through which power operated, and bring competing interests into alignment was remarkable. He could accomplish things that other, perhaps better, men could not. The passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 is a particularly important example. Here was the political genius I had encountered in the earlier volumes, now operating from the highest office in the nation. The circumstances had changed dramatically, but Johnson’s understanding of how to turn political influence into legislative achievement remained extraordinary.

This returns me to the paradox I have encountered throughout these four volumes. Johnson is a man I do not like, yet whose accomplishments I cannot help but respect. He possessed remarkable talents, but employed them through methods I frequently find contemptible. His understanding of people was extraordinary, but that understanding too often became an instrument of manipulation rather than service.

In my earlier reviews, I observed that effectiveness alone is not virtue. I also considered how fortunate it was that Johnson’s personal ambitions sometimes aligned with the genuine needs of the country. This fourth volume reinforces both conclusions. He was capable of accomplishing great good, not necessarily because he was a good man, but because the pursuit of that good could serve his own ambitions. When those purposes aligned, he could bring his formidable abilities to bear upon problems that had defeated other men.

There is something profoundly unsettling about recognizing genuine achievements in a man whose character I so thoroughly dislike. It would be easier if Johnson were simply a villain whose actions produced only misery, or a hero whose good works arose from noble motives. Instead, Caro presents a man capable of accomplishing extraordinary good while remaining deeply compromised in character. His achievements deserve recognition, even when his methods and motivations do not deserve admiration.

Having completed all four published volumes, I do not believe my judgment of Johnson has changed substantially. Rather, it has been reinforced through an ever-expanding portrait of the same contradictions. I respect his determination, his political genius, and many of his accomplishments. I despise much of what he was willing to do to obtain them.

I hope Caro completes his fifth volume. There remains much to understand about Johnson’s presidency, particularly as the ambitions and abilities that brought him such extraordinary success would eventually encounter the terrible consequences of Vietnam. Whether that final volume appears or not, these four books have already provided an extraordinary study of power: its acquisition, its exercise, its loss, and its recovery.

Johnson mastered the instruments of power with a brilliance few men have equaled. What he never seems to have mastered was himself.