We Go On As a People

By Hugh Sidey

THE PRESIDENCY

We are passing through the longest and bitterest political struggle that our nation has had in 100 years. Families have been split, old friendships shattered, careers ruined, public men disgraced, and great quantities of hate pumped into the American system.

And yet beneath it all, something special endures, some sense of common purpose held by Republicans and Democrats, liberals and conservatives, ins and outs, accused and accusers. This unity has too often been obscured by the smog of contention. But last week there was a quiet interlude in Washington that reminded us that we are, after all, going the same way.

It began as a somber occasion--the memorial service for Columnist Stewart Alsop, a civilized man who succumbed to leukemia after waging an inspiring fight with his will, his wit and his body (see THE PRESS).

The White House men walked across Lafayette Park to St. John's Church, the small, stately structure that has welcomed Presidents and their associates since the time of James Madison. Pat Buchanan, a Nixon speechwriter, his wife, and Richard Moore, presidential friend and assistant, were there. So was former Treasury Secretary George Shultz.

Out of the great legal and corporate offices of Washington came figures from the past, some in big black limousines that told of their huge financial success since leaving the Government decades ago. Others shuffled through the rain with umbrellas raised high. Jim Rowe and Paul Porter were New Dealers. Thomas Corcoran, when he was not redesigning the Government 40 years ago, used to play the accordion for Franklin Roosevelt out at Joe Kennedy's place. Robert McNamara, John Kennedy's and Lyndon Johnson's Secretary of Defense, attended, and so did Mrs. Dean Acheson, the widow of Harry Truman's Secretary of State.

Ted Kennedy caused heads to swivel when he was shown to a seat near the front of the church. Lady Bird Johnson was in the congregation. Alice Roosevelt Longworth, the 90-year-old daughter of Teddy Roosevelt, walked gracefully to her seat, back straight, huge black hat firmly in place.

They read the Psalms together--old, simple, still full of special meaning.

One could sense the impact. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death ..." They heard the words of St. Paul to the Romans: "For as many as are led by the spirit of God, they are the sons of God." They all rose and sang with remarkable force a 19th century hymn: "I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless;/ Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness." The church was not really sad just then--the significance of the moment to the men and women there went beyond grief. Hate died. As the service ended, there seemed to be almost a conscious effort by adversaries to seek each other out and say a kind word.

George Bush, the Republican national chairman, waved and called to almost everyone within sight. Bryce Harlow, who had worked for Dwight Eisenhower as well as Nixon, turned to the man beside him for a chat. It was NBC's Ray Scherer. Phil Geyelin, editorial-page editor of the Washington Post, ran into former Attorney General Richard Kleindienst, who had recently pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor in the Nixon scandals. The Post was a leader in uncovering Watergate, but they shook hands warmly and exchanged quiet greetings.

The mourners stood in clusters outside St. John's, the White House looming in the mist just beyond the park. There seemed to be a reluctance to break the spell, to resume the family fight.

There have been hints of this same kind of fraternal undercurrent in other Washington events these past days. When Bill Simon was sworn in as Secretary of the Treasury, the East Room of the White House was a grand mixture of political dissidents invited by Simon and tolerated by Nixon as the Marine Band played soothing background music.

In Florida on one of his helicopter shuttles, a tired and beleaguered President looked out the window at four reporters, the archenemy, watching from the wash of the rotors. Even in his state of Watergate fatigue, there was an old tug down there somewhere, and Nixon raised his arms and waved. The newsmen returned the gesture. On the yacht Sequoia the other night with Nixon, the congressional guests were mostly conservative, but there were some of independent mind with deep doubts about the President's leadership capacity. This group slid down the Potomac embraced in good fellowship. Perhaps some of these gestures are just a reflex. Still, even while contending with each other, we go on as a people.

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