The Cowboy and the Lily

Like a farce with a dull first act, Session III of the 76th Congress took ten weeks to get funny. But last week no one with an eye for high & low comedy could complain, as 96 good men & true in the U. S. Senate discussed purity in politics.

Prologue. The man who started it was Carl Atwood Hatch, 50, of Clovis, New Mexico, a mild, drawling little man who walks as if he missed his horse. Mr. Hatch's passion is to put honor, good faith and probity into politics. In debate Mr. Hatch is a very tough hombre, partly because he is uncompromisingly honest, partly because he seems to credit opponents with only the loftiest motives.

Last year bandy-legged Mr. Hatch rammed through a politically shocking law, which barred from political activity all unclassified Federal jobholders (about 300,000) below the ranks of policymakers.

Although his bill prevented a 1940 Democratic convention packed with marshals and postmasters, he turned the trick, miraculously, without making a single enemy in the Senate.

Onstage. This year "Cowboy Carl" brought out a new bill. Now he would spread the Hatch Act to apply to all State jobholders whose salaries are paid in part by Federal funds. In every State in the U. S. this bill struck directly at the State highway commissions, which are 1) largely dependent on Federal funds, 2) almost invariably the largest single organized political group in each State. This time Mr. Hatch had gone too far.

While fuses of Senatorial restraint blew out all over the Chamber, calmly Mr. Hatch explained the beauties of lily-white politics. His apoplectic opponents fell back on the argument that his bill would invade States' Rights. Blandly Mr. Hatch pointed out that the paths of progress were paved with sound legislation that had once been opposed on just such grounds.

As the Democrats fell on Mr. Hatch and on one another, Mahout Charles McNary hooked his 23 Republican elephants in line, checked their trumpetings, quietly sat shooting his cuffs in secret glee. Carefully he hid his smiles; thrice he prodded his gang of G.O.P. votes together with Democratic Leader Barkley's faithful handful.

They were just enough. On the debate's second day the original Hatch Act was saved from outright repeal by only 3 votes (44-41). Next test, same proposal, 42-35, third test, new bill 49-27.

Offstage. The quality of the debate rapidly faded from high-planed States' Rights oratory to old-fashioned insults. Some of them boiled up on the floor; more sputtered out in the cloakrooms. Leader Barkley took a terrible going-over. Now his chums deserted and insulted him--from Minton, party whip, to Bible-spouting Josh Lee and Claude Pepper. Three New Dealers, in Barkley's presence, supposedly apologized to Pat Harrison for their Barkley-as-Leader votes of 1937. Whitefaced, Alben Barkley offered his resignation as Senate majority leader, swore he'd quit before he called a caucus. Two years ago his resignation would have been accepted before Tennessee's McKellar could say "knife." But last week there were no takers. No one wanted Mr. Barkley's job.

Finale. Despairing of victory, unable to dent Mr. Hatch's annoying highmindedness, griped at Mahout McNary's now open grins, New Dealers began a mild filibuster. With the Senate geared to take up farm appropriations and the reciprocal trade agreements, plan was to talk the Hatch Bill into a pigeonhole. Eloquent Mr. Lee took the floor for a 90-minute speech on farm tenants' problems. To smiling Mahout McNary (one of a half-dozen drowsing Senators listening) reporters sent in a query: Was the Lee speech a filibuster? Mr. McNary answered: "Filibuster? I consider this the greatest oration that has been delivered in the history of the Senate."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.