The Affection Gap

Such is Lyndon Johnson's thirst for acclaim that he has had electronic devices installed in the presidential limousines so that he can drink in the applause of the populace as he drives by. He may soon need an amplifier. The Louis Harris poll reported last week that only 50% of the American public now endorses the President v. 83% in February 1964; the Gallup poll shows an 8% decline, from 56% to 48%, in two months.

To some extent, of course, L.BJ. has fallen victim to the mid-term doldrums that descend on most Presidents. He has also, doubtless, been hurt by a variety of troubles--the Viet Nam war, rising prices, big-city Negro riots--that are only partially of his making, if at all. He suffers nonetheless from a unique and painful handicap that Washington observers have come to call "the personality problem."

"Not Very Likeable." Bluntly put, many or possibly even most Americans do not greatly like or wholly believe their President. Johnson senses their antipathy and broods about it. A story making the rounds in Washington has Lyndon asking an elder statesman: "Why don't people like me?" The reply: "You are not a very likeable man, Mr. President."

Perhaps not. One reason for the affection gap is that in a predominantly urban nation, Johnson palpably does not enjoy cities and has little empathy with the majority of Americans living in them. Also, as shown by the graceless handling of Historian Eric Goldman's resignation as a special presidential consultant this month, Johnson has little or no rapport with the intellectual community. The President's strained relations with Big Labor's top brass were all too evident at his pilgrimage to Detroit on Labor Day --though there was no lack of rank-and-file palms admiringly outstretched for Johnson's benison along the motorcade route into town.

Last week, after a chat with Jewish War Veterans Commander Malcolm Tarlov, Johnson even found himself in a brief brouhaha with the nation's Jews, over 80% of whom supported him in 1964. During the talk, the President expressed regret at what he felt was a lack of support for his Viet Nam policy among Jewish leaders. As reported in the press, it sounded as if he were criticizing the whole Jewish community and, worse still, threatening to link U.S. aid to Israel with Jewish support on Viet Nam on a quid pro quo basis. The tempest subsided only after United Nations Ambassador Arthur Goldberg had met with 40 Jewish leaders and assured them that the President was not trying to stifle dissent or equate U.S.Israeli relations with Jewish attitudes toward the war.

"I Lose Money." The President has tried everything short of plastic surgery to remodel his image. To polish his TV personality, Johnson has tried contact lenses, light face makeup, and a variety of electronic prompting gadgets, only belatedly realizing that he winds up looking shifty-eyed and irritable. In desperation, L.BJ. of late has banned all TV cameras from his press conferences. "Every time I appear on television," he complained at a private meeting with network officials and broadcasters this month, "I lose money."

Johnson has also changed his style on the stump. No longer indulging in endless harangues, he has engaged a stable of bright speechwriters to turn out crisp, fact-filled speeches that rarely run longer than 20 minutes. As a result, his public utterances, once so freewheeling, have become painstakingly measured, syntactically impeccable--and patently synthetic.

The fact is that, at 58, Lyndon Johnson is too proud and probably too - inflexible to develop a new style that would be both engaging and in character. In any case, his concern over his image has made him morose, needlessly secretive, and at times downright peevish. Last week, in a typical display of pique when news of an impending trip leaked out, Johnson flatly denied any plans to appear this week before labor conventions in Atlantic City, St. Louis and Kansas City--though all three cities were already preparing for his arrival.

It is precisely this kind of petty deception and, on occasion, even the outright denial of the obvious, that has given rise to what the Washington press corps calls the President's "credibility gap." During the airline strike, for example, Johnson blandly assured the nation that Administration-backed settlement terms were within the Government's wage-price guidelines, when in fact they grossly exceeded them. A few days before L.BJ. announced his proposals to combat inflation and tight money, he stoutly denied that he was planning any such action--though his economic advisers had been working for days to formulate his program. Last year, long after the massive troop buildup in Viet Nam was under way, Johnson persistently denied any fundamental change in the nation's basic commitment or strategy.

For all that, there are signs that the President is resigning himself to the fact that he will never be loved by all of the people all of the time. At a recent White House session with 30 Democratic freshman Congressmen all edgy about the November elections, Johnson promised to do whatever he could to assist them: campaign in their home districts, stay away--or even, he suggested with a grin, campaign against them, if that would help.

In fact, the absence of affection for the President will probably have little effect in the November elections. For one thing, Johnson has done a great deal for the voters. He has pushed through Congress a remarkable amount of valuable legislation and, despite his foot-dragging on inflation, will still preside over a thriving economy. And, as the year's primary elections have shown, no anti-Administration issues have tak en deep root. Nonetheless, if Lyndon Johnson truly aims--as he surely does --to continue as an effective President, he cannot do so without re-establishing his credibility with his constituents.

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