The Gut Fighter

(See Cover) Through the cloakrooms and corridors outside the chamber of the U.S. House of Representatives the seam-faced, stumpy, blue-eyed man moved restlessly, relentlessly. Trying to collar enough votes to sustain the presidential veto of a budget-busting. Democratic-sponsored rural electrification bill, he took fresh aim at each of his Republican colleagues. To one he snapped: "Don't you forget that in 1960 you're going to have to run on Eisen hower's record." To another he appealed: "This is a straight political issue. Are you going to let the Democrats get away with it?'' With a farm-state critic of Agriculture Secretary Ezra Taft Benson, he agreed: "All right, he is an s.o.b. -- but he's our s.o.b." When the vote was taken, the veto stood. Indiana's Charles Abraham Halleck, 58, minority leader of the House of Representatives, had won another victory for the Eisenhower Administration. He had done it by doing what, by birth, training and inclination, comes naturally. "I," says Halleck, "am a gut fighter." Praise from the Top. As one of the roughest, most highly skilled infighters in U.S. politics, Republican Halleck, in less than six months as the House minority leader, has given his party its most effective legislative leadership in years, and in the process spotlighted one of the most professional of personalities among the battle-scarred old pros in Congress.

He has done it under almost impossible circumstances. He took over the leadership job after the worst Republican defeat since the sunflower campaign of Kansas' Alf Landon went to seed in 1936. Dwight Eisenhower, barred from seeking a third term, looked like lame-duck soup to the lopsided Democratic majority in Congress. House and Senate Republicans were fighting among themselves, seemed incapable of forming a line of defense against the war-dancing Democrats.

In this, his darkest political hour. President Eisenhower determined upon an all-out drive for a balanced budget. Only by maintaining a strong, healthy domestic economy, he said, could the U.S. maintain its world leadership. With spending bills blooming in every congressional committee room, the President's budget seemed as doomed as a wounded impala before a pack of hungry leopards. Ike's no-retreat stand has helped ward off the fiscal marauders ; the economic boom has made pump-priming seem fatuous. Yet, most of all, under Charlie Halleck's House leadership, spending bill after spending bill has been either trimmed to size or killed by vetos the Democrats could not override. With the 86th Congress, first session already past the midway point, the balanced budget appears not only possible, but probable.

While carrying out the Eisenhower program, Halleck has also helped bring White House and congressional Republicans closer together than at any other time during the Eisenhower Administration. As never before. Congressmen are informed about Administration aims, and the President gets an accurate and detailed picture of congressional sentiment. Under Halleck's predecessor. Massachusetts' doughty old (74) Joe Martin, and the Senate's obstructionist G.O.P. Leader William Knowland, it hardly seemed possible for Ike to keep his congressional fences in good or der. This year, with Halleck, and with Illinois' Everett Dirksen replacing Knowland in the Senate, the Republicans in the White House and on Capitol Hill work as an effective team. The weekly legislative conference has passed from pain to pleasure. "These sessions are getting to be so much fun." Ike said recently, "that they're running overtime." In passing out praise for the change that means so much to his Administration, the President points straight at House Leader Halleck. Wrote he in a recent note to Halleck: "You are a political genius."

Success After Failure. Such recognition of legislative skill has been a long time coming, and to Halleck an agonizingly hard time. Whipped by a furious ambition, he has shaped his life toward national political leadership. Time and again he suffered setbacks. At one point, frustrated beyond endurance, he withdrew from his friends, took on Scotch as his closest companion, even talked of quitting Congress. Yet in the ambition that drives him and in the absolute determination not to fail again lies the key to Charlie Halleck's success as legislative leader.

Charlie Halleck is a true son of a state famed for its political gut fighting. By general tradition, an Indiana infant's first gurgles can be freely translated as: "I do not seek public office, but if in their wisdom the people see fit to elect me, then . . ." Rensselaer (pop. 5,500) is Halleck's boyhood town, a farming village in the northwest part of the state that inspired the song Back Home Again in Indiana. The seat of table-flat Jasper County, Rensselaer is as Republican as Vermont and twice as tough. Charlie's father. Lawyer Abraham Halleck * was a two-term Republican state senator who preached Republicanism as gospel. But if his party faith is a legacy from Father Abraham. Charlie Halleck inherited his energy and ambition from his mother, Lura ("Birdie") Halleck, a remarkable woman who taught herself to type legal abstracts, ran Abraham's law office, drove the family's National, managed an eleven-room house, and raised a brood of five children.

In Rensselaer, Charlie Halleck led a pleasantly Tarkingtonian life, hunting coons and skunks in the nearby Kankakee marsh, mowing neighbors' lawns for spending money, playing halfback on the high school football team and run sheep run in the meadow back of his home. In political fact. Halleck was running as soon as he learned to walk. He cannot remember when he first decided to spend his life in pursuit of high office. But his ambition was plain for all to see. Said Rensselaer High School's yearbook:

Charles Halleck, our editor in chief, One in whom we have much belief, Has hopes and ambitions today Of becoming President of the U.S.A.

Disappointing Date. Throughout his schooling, Halleck was an honor student and front runner. At Indiana University he graduated Phi Beta Kappa, was student-union president in his senior year. But he was so busy gathering garlands that he made few campus friends. Recalls a classmate: "Friendship takes time--and Charlie didn't have time." Always, he thought of his future, to the point where a coed returned from her first date with Halleck complaining of that strange lad who "spent all night talking about how he was going to be President." Halleck never got another date with her, but on subsequent dates with another coed, Blanche White, Halleck must have found other things to talk about. They were married in 1927 (the Hallecks have twin children, Charles W. and Patricia, now 29).

Even before he graduated from Indiana University's law school, Halleck jumped into professional politics. In 1924 he ran for prosecuting attorney of Jasper and Newton counties, won--and has never since lost an election. He served four terms as prosecutor until, in one of the darkest of all Republican years, the chance came for advancement. In 1934, with the New Deal tide at its crest, the Congressman from Halleck's Second District died just nine days after the elections. Charlie Halleck went after the job, campaigned furiously, squeaked through by 5,000 votes. On the day he first walked into the chamber of the U.S. House of Representatives, the G.O.P. side of the aisle rose, cheering: Halleck was the only Republican member of Indiana's historically Republican delegation.

Always Available. For a young Republican Congressman in a hurry, the New Deal days were pretty good ones. The Republican ranks were pitifully thin. The party was about as low in spirit as it could get. A newcomer with energy and ability was bound to attract notice --and Halleck had both energy and ability. "I immediately got active on the floor," he recalls, "and whatever assignment I got, I immediately went to work on it. And I hunted around for places to do things." Before long he had earned the nickname "Available Charlie.'' He was clearly a comer.

In terms of political philosophy, Halleck's position was equally clear: "What do I stand for? First of all, I stand for a balanced budget . . . We should stop the waste and extravagance and quit piling up the debt." What the U.S. needed was a "new Calvin Coolidge." As international crisis drew the U.S. closer to World War II, Charlie Halleck took his place in the front ranks of isolationism. He voted against Lend-Lease, against the fortification of Guam, against Selective Service. "Enemy ships would have to come up the

Potomac.'' he cried, "before Congress would declare another war." It was strange, then, that his first real chance for national prominence should come at the hands of a Republican who was anything but an isolationist. That Republican was Wendell Willkie.

Fighting for the Republican presidential nomination in 1940, Willkie set out to shed his label as a Wall Street lawyer and public-utility president. To dramatize himself as a Hoosier, he sought an Indiana political leader to nominate him at the convention. Inevitably, "Available Charlie" was available. Even though Indiana's conservative Republican machine preferred Ohio's Robert A. Taft, Halleck jumped on the Willkie bandwagon. His reasoning was simple: "I thought he would win."

It was a crucial decision for him, and its effects lingered long. Willkie had been a University of Indiana campus radical and a registered Democrat. It took all of Halleck's skill to beat off the opposition. Facing the Republican delegates in Philadelphia's Convention Hall, he cried: "Is the Republican Party a closed corporation? Do you have to be born in it?" A roar of anger rose from Taft delegates. "Just a moment," Halleck roared back, wagging his finger. "You will listen to this." The delegates did, and when Charlie Halleck finished his speech, the convention erupted in one of the wildest of all demonstrations.

It was an exciting performance. It put Halleck in the national limelight--but it got him nowhere politically. He had backed a loser (within a year, he broke with Willkie over aid to Britain), and in the process he had incurred the lasting wrath of the Taft followers.

World War II erased Halleck's isolationism. He realized that peace cannot be achieved by avoiding international responsibility. Today, Halleck is annoyed whenever his prewar record is hung around his neck: "When did the Japs hit us at Pearl Harbor? December 7. 1941. Hell, how long had I been in Congress? Six years. That's six years out of 25." To prove his case, he cites not only his internationalist record under Republican Eisenhower, but also his record in the Republican 80th Congress while Democrat Harry Truman was President. As House majority leader, he helped push through interim aid to Britain and France, the Marshall Plan, and aid to Greece and Turkey.

The Cave-In. The 80th Congress, elected in 1946, had given Halleck his chance at House leadership: with Republicans in the majority. Joe Martin moved up from floor leader to Speaker. Halleck was an obvious possibility as majority leader, and only Ohio's Clarence Brown, backed by the unforgiving Taft followers, stood in his way. But Charlie Halleck was too much for Brown. Halleck simply saw to it that the notion of trying for the leadership job was suggested to Ohio's inept Thomas Jenkins. Although Jenkins had no chance at all. he did split Ohio's delegation. Unable to control his own state, Brown backed out--and Halleck was elected unanimously.

For two years Charlie Halleck served ably and happily as majority leader. Then the roof caved in. In the Republican Convention of 1948, Halleck adroitly swung Indiana's delegation from Taft to Thomas E. Dewey--in return for the promise that he would get the vice-presidential nomination. But Dewey. fearful of Halleck's prewar isolationism, withdrew from the bargain. Today, Charlie Halleck still froths at the mention of Dewey's name, insists that his own give-em-hell brand of campaigning would have won the election. In defeat, Dewey took Republican Congressmen down with him; Martin resumed his position as G.O.P floor leader, and Halleck disconsolately moved down.

Up & Down. In 1952 Halleck finally got behind a presidential winner: Dwight Eisenhower, with whom Halleck had had only a casual acquaintance. Denied even a delegate's seat at the nominating convention by Indiana's dominant Taft forces, Halleck went to Chicago anyhow, worked effectively behind the scenes, and was rewarded when Ike placed his name on a list of five acceptable running mates. Although Richard Nixon got the final nod, things certainly seemed to be looking up for Halleck.

Instead, his troubles were only beginning. In the Republican 83rd Congress he was again majority leader--but Joe Martin still stood above him as Speaker. Halleck thought briefly about contesting Joe. decided against it. served restlessly for two more years as second man in the G.O.P.'s House hierarchy.

Frustration piled on frustration. Martin, his leadership abilities plainly waning, promised that if Republicans lost the 1954 elections he would not again seek the floor minority leadership. But the Republicans did lose, and Martin changed his mind. This time Halleck determined to fight. He rallied his followers and could count enough votes to win. He needed only the approval of President Eisenhower. But Ike. afraid that a factional fight in the House would endanger the Administration's legislative program, turned him down. Glumly, Halleck stepped aside. Again, in 1956. Halleck moved to oust Martin as leader. Again he rounded up enough votes. Again the President withheld approval. Charlie Halleck had had about enough. More and more he drew within himself, spending hours drowning his gloom in his hideaway office. At one point he told President Eisenhower that he would not be running again for Congress. Ike persuaded him to change his mind, Halleck ran for re-election last fall--and barely survived the Democratic landslide.

Open Road. That landslide, at long last, opened the road to leadership for Charlie Halleck. Meeting in Washington after the Republican fiasco, a group of Republican Congressmen decided that Joe Martin's failing leadership was a luxury they could no longer afford. They decided that Martin must go. then and only then sought out Halleck to offer him the job. Once again Halleck asked for Dwight Eisenhower's approval--and this time the President had nothing to say. Old Joe Martin, smiling manfully through his tears, fought desperately, but he was beaten from the beginning. On Jan. 7. 1959. after 24 years of working toward it. Indiana's Charlie Halleck finally assumed the top spot among House Republicans. His performance since is beginning to make the long wait seem worthwhile.

Halleck's first major move as leader was to reorganize the House Republican Policy Committee, which had been little more than a chat-and-chowder group under Joe Martin. To head the committee. Halleck named Wisconsin's Congressman John Byrnes, a leader of the anti-Martin revolt and one of the ablest of House Republicans. Halleck arranged to have Byrnes join himself and Illinois' Les Arends. the Republican whip, at the weekly legislative leaders' conferences with President Eisenhower. (The Senate members: Dirksen. New Hampshire's Styles

Bridges, California's Thomas Kuchel, Massachusetts' Leverett Saltonstall.) When they return from the White House each Tuesday, Halleck, Byrnes and Arends meet with the rest of the Policy Committee in Arends' Whip Room to hash out the week's strategy. Instead of tersely reporting the results of the White House session, as Martin did, Halleck goes into great and colloquial detail to explain what decisions were made--and why. The minutes of Policy Committee meetings are mimeographed and placed on each Republican's desk. Not in many a long year have the Republican members of the House been so fully informed about the party line and positions, and the results can be found in their cohesiveness on vote after vote this year.

Similarly, the sessions in the White House are far more effective than during the Martin-Knowland leadership regime. Ike has a vast respect for Halleck's political judgment, nearly always accepts his legislative recommendations. When, for example, the Administration asked for $200 million for the International Development Loan Fund. Halleck consulted with the House Policy Committee, decided that $100 million was the most the 86th Congress would grant, and so reported to the President. Ike agreed, and Halleck pushed the authorization through the House. But when Ike makes a decision that runs contrary to Halleck's advice, Halleck falls into line. Thus, at one recent meeting, the President patiently heard Halleck argue against an onerous bill. Then he said he was sorry, but he had to ask Halleck to support the bill and rally House Republicans behind it. "I don't like it," said Halleck, "but if you say so, Mr. President, I'm with you."

The Clinic. Halleck's leadership techniques are endlessly varied. To discuss party strategy on an informal basis, he holds irregular evening sessions in a small, windowless office known as the "Clinic." There, over Scotch, bourbon and rye, Republican Congressmen get together for political shoptalk that has helped build a spirit of party unity. (The Clinic, which embittered Joe Martin calls "Charlie's drinking room," is the Republican equivalent of Speaker Sam Rayburn's "Board of Education," in a nearby office, where the drinks are also light and few, and the conversation lightened with Texas-accented geniality.) Again to help build Republican morale, Halleck has taken to furnishing the White House with names of G.O.P. Congressmen who deserve letters of thanks from the President for their help on particular legislation. (Democrats who side with Halleck get grateful telephone calls from President Eisenhower; Halleck is much too shrewd to provide the opposition party with letters that might be helpful at campaign time.)

Under the leadership of Charlie Halleck, party discipline is stricter than at any time since the regime of Illinois' tough, pink-bearded "Uncle Joe" Cannon (1903-1911 as Speaker). Sometimes Halleck goes too far. He admits that more than one Republican has been forced into line under threat of being cut off from party campaign funds. At least one Republican, pushed beyond endurance, had to be restrained from swinging on Halleck. Charlie Halleck recognizes the problem. "Some guys say I drive too hard," he says. "You've got to know when to let up. You can go too far, though, and I have a few times on fellows this session."

In return for the loyalty he demands, Old Pro Halleck is especially careful to care for his walking wounded. When Indiana's William Bray gave in to Halleck and voted to sustain the Rural Electrification Administration veto, he feared that it would cost him his career. After the vote he told Halleck he was finished--there were just too many REA supporters in his district. Halleck got on the telephone, called Republican leaders in Bray's district (Martinsville), told them to rally behind the worried Congressman.

Up at 7:30 each morning, spending hours in consulting, cajoling and even bullying his colleagues, directing the tactical battles from his command post on the House floor after wolfing a hot dog as he moves swiftly about Capitol Hill, Charlie Halleck at last has a job to satisfy his energies. When and if the Republicans regain control of Congress, he is sure to be Speaker. So far this year, his main efforts have been essentially defensive--holding the line in the battle for a balanced budget. But before this year's session ends, he must move to the offensive, trying to push through such controversial measures as foreign aid and labor-rackets legislation.

To achieve his goals will require every one of Charlie Halleck's gut-fighting talents. "Once you are in a war," he says, "the only thing to do is win it." To Indiana Republican Halleck, after his years of frustration, politics is the greatest, toughest war of all. He intends to win it.

* Halleck has come to insert a "Lincoln" in his father's name because, as a brother explains, it "sounds good to say that in Lincoln Day speeches."

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