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University Daily Kansa
Tuesday, Oct. 29, 1963
Senate Probe of "Lyndon's Boy" Begins Today
WASHINGTON. —(UPI)— There is a saying that no man is a hero to his valet—and that may be one reason the investigation starting today into the activities of former Senate Democratic Secretary Robert G. (Bobby) Baker will be held behind closed doors.
For Baker, who came from the Piney Woods country of Pickens, S. C., 21 years ago to become a Senate pageboy, has been a sort of valet to some of the most powerful men in America for a good many years.
"HE KNOWS where the bodies are buried and who buried them," one veteran Capitol Hill observer noted. As secretary to the Senate majority, Baker was unknown to the public, but in the halls of congress he was sometimes referred to as the "101st Senator" and "Lyndon's boy."
Baker won his spurs as "Lyndon's Boy" back in 1949 when he became the unofficial aide of the then freshman Senator from Texas, Lyndon B. Johnson. Johnson appointed him Senate Democratic Secretary in 1955 when the Texan was named majority leader.
The Senate Rules Committee's inquiry into Baker's multiple "outside activities" opened today with advance notice that it might be denied any information "of a criminal nature" turned up by the FBI or the General Accounting Office.
Sen. B. Everett Jordan (D-N.C.) the courtly, 67-year-old chairman of the committee, explained that the Justice Department did not want to compromise any legal case that might arise from its findings.
THE COMMITTEE'S inquiry is to determine whether there has been a violation of conflict of interest laws in any of Baker's many lucrative outside deals.
These include: his partnership in a vending machine company which obtained profitable installation contracts from defense industries; his interest in a $1.2 million Maryland motel; his interest in a Washington travel agency; his occupancy of
$125,000 home in an exclusive section of the city; a $38,000 windfall profit he allegedly reaped in a stock market deal; his activities as a charter member and onetime secretary of the Quorum Club, a high-style hideaway in a Capitol Hill Hotel for members of Congress and lobbyists; his ownership of a $28,000 town house where his secretary, Nancy Carole Tyler, lived with another girl for a time, and his onetime partnership with Commerce Secretary Luther H. Hodges in a North Carolina motel.
Though he may have been active in the Quorum Club, the club in which Baker felt most at home was the Senate, which has been called "the greatest club on earth." His South Carolina ancestry gave him an entree to the Senate "establishment"—that small group of insiders, mostly southerners, who rule the Senate. And his detailed knowledge of how and why the Senate operates made him almost indispensable.
THE SENATE saga of Bobby Gene Baker began in 1942 when, at the age of 14, he was named a page by the late Sen. Burnett C. Maybank, (D-S.C). It ended, formally at least, on Oct. 8 when he resigned his $19,612-a-year job as Senate Democratic Secretary.
"Developments during the past few weeks have made it apparent to him that it would be best if he withdrew from office," said Senate Democratic leader Mike Mansfield, Mont. "I deeply regret the necessity for his resignation and the necessity for its acceptance." Mansfield was not merely being polite. He and other members of the Senate were profoundly sorry that Baker had to quit.
For the first nine years of his Senate career, Baker was one of that group of somberly dressed youths who scuttle about the corridors of the Capitol, keeping Congressional inkpots filled, carrying messages and generally being of use to the legislators.
ONE OF THE legislators then Sen. Lyndon B. Johnson, took a liking
to the alert, fast-talking Bobby. When Johnson became Democratic whip in 1951, Baker moved up to the job of assistant Democratic secretary.
In 1955, when his mentor became majority leader, Baker was promoted to the top job.
Technically, the majority secretary supervises the Senate Cloakroom, sees to it that the Senators are on hand for voting, and generally keeps tabs on the membership for the leaders. "The job is what a man makes of it," one observer said, and Bobby Baker made the most of it.
As a protege of Johnson, who himself first came to the Capitol as the youthful secretary of a Texas congressman, Baker aided the then majority leader in many ways. Because he had to know where to contact the members at all times, he tended to have a fairly confidential intimate kind of relationship with the Senators. He improved on this by being discreet, deferential and eager to be of service—by being the perfect legislative valet, one who studied and knew the moods of his master, the Senate, as few Capitol veterans did.
PERHAPS the most important part of his job was counting noses, finding out who was for what and why. Under Johnson's leadership, he became one of the most expert census-takers on the hill. Members often asked him how a vote would
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come out because they knew he could interpret developments to almost the exact outcome.
For these duties the 35-year-old Baker was well rewarded. Besides
nis own ample salary, only $2,888 less than a Senator, his wife was paid $11,757 a year as records manager for the Senate Internal Security subcommittee.
HOW SMALL CAN YOU GET?
Today let us address ourselves to a question that has long rocked and roiled the academic world: Is a student better off at a small college than at a large college?
To answer this question it is necessary first to define terms. What, exactly, do we mean by a small college? Well sir, some say that in order to be called truly small, a college should have an enrollment of not more than four students.
I surely have no quarrel with this statement; a four-student college must unequivocally be called small. Indeed, I would even call it intime if I knew what intime meant. But I submit there is such a thing as being too small. Take, for instance, a recent momentate event at Crimscott A and M.
Crimscoot A and M, situated in a pleasant valley nestled between Philadelphia and Salt Lake City, was founded by
A. and M. Crimscott, two brothers who left Ireland in 1625 to escape the potato famine of 1841. As a result of their foresight, the Crimscott brothers never went without potatoes for one single day of their lives—and mighty grateful they were! One night, full of gratitude after a wholesome meal of French fries, cottage fries, hash browns, and au gratin, they decided to show their appreciation to this bountiful land of potatoes by endowing a college. But their generosity contained one stipulation; the enrollment of the college must never exceed four students. They felt that only by keeping the school this small could each student be assured of the personalized attention, the camaraderie, the esprit, that is all too often lacking in larger institutions of higher learning.
coaching minds in the maze.
Well sir, on the morning of the big game against Minnesota,
its traditional rival, a capricious fate dealt Crimecott a cruel blow—in fact, four cruel blows. Sigafos, the quarterback, woke up that morning with an impacted incisor. Wrichards, the slotback, flunked his taxidermy exam and was declared uneligible. Beerbohm-Tree, the wingback-tailback, got his necktie caught in his espresso machine. Yuld, the fallback, was stolen by gypsies.
higher institutions or higher Well sir, things went along swimmingly until one Saturday a few years ago. On this day Crimscott had a football game scheduled against Minnesota, its traditional rival. Football, as you can well imagine, was something of a problem at Crimscott, what with only four undergraduates in the entire college. It was easy enough to muster a backfield, but to find a good line—or even a bad line—baffled some of the most resourceful coaching minds in the nation.
So you can see how only four students might be too meagre an enrollment. The number that I personally favor is twenty. Why? you ask. Because, I reply, when you have twenty students and one of them opens a pack of Marlboro Cigarettes, there are enough to go around for everybody, and no one has to be deprived of Marlboro's flavor, of Marlboro's filter, of Marlboro's staunche and steadfast companionship, and as a result you have a student body that is brimming with sweet content and amity and harmony and concord and togetherness and soft pack and Flip-Top box.
Consequently, none of the Crimscott team showed up at the football game, and Minnesota, its traditional rival, was able to score almost at will. Crimscott was so cross after this humiliating defeat that they immediately broke off football relations with Minnesota, its traditional rival. This later became known as the Saco-Vanzetti Case.
That's why.
© 1963 Max Shulman
There are twenty fine cigarettes in every pack of Marlboros, and there are millions of packs of Marlboros in every one of the fifty states of the Union. We, the makers of Marlboro and the sponsors of this column, hope you will try our wares soon.