Ben Barnes is Still Running
The heir to LBJ was groomed to be governor, then president. He’s still kissing babies, pressing the flesh, and barnstorming—but not for votes, for bucks.
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Barnes was anointed the heir apparent in a remarkable Texas political dynasty that began in the thirties: Sam Rayburn, Lyndon Johnson, John Connally, Ben Barnes. At a Barnes fundraising bash in August 1970, Johnson, mixing gospel lyrics with a World War II slogan, told the 3000 cheering guests, “Where you lead us, we will follow,” and “We have enlisted for the duration,” ending the paean with a prediction that “Ben Barnes will someday be the next president of the United States from Texas.” Other important Texas politicos agreed. At Ben Barnes Day at San Antonio’s HemisFair, U.S. Ambassador to Australia Ed Clark said, “I would not be surprised if history records that between now and 1980 the U.S. would have two presidents from Texas and I have you in mind, Mr. Barnes.” Robert Strauss, while treasurer of the national Democratic party, said, “He is the best politician I have seen in my career. There is nothing to keep Lieutenant Governor Barnes from any elected post he wishes.” Nothing, it turned out, but Sharpstown.
Inauguration Day, January 1971, presented the consummate political irony. While Governor Preston Smith and Lieutenant Governor Ben Barnes were taking oaths of office on the Capitol steps, newspaper headlines trumpeted the first news of the Sharpstown scandals that would end their political careers. Smith, House Speaker Gus Mutscher, two state legislators, State Democratic party chairman Elmer Baum, and two Mutscher aides were all implicated. Allegations and innuendos mentioning Barnes came three days later. Although nothing was ever proved against Barnes, he too was doomed.
The civil suit, filed 24 hours before Inauguration Day, charged that Sharp manipulated National Bankers Life Insurance Company stock prices to benefit the pocketbooks of Austin political leaders Smith, Mutscher, House Appropriations Committee Chairman W.S. Heatly, and State Representative Tommy Shannon. In return, Mutscher had guided banking legislation favorable to Sharp through the House. The suit never mentioned Barnes. Neither Barnes, nor any of his aides, nor any of his records were ever subpoenaed. From 1971 to 1974, he underwent a four-year audit by the IRS and investigations by two U.S. grand juries, the Justice Department, the Securities and Exchange Commission, a state grand jury, and investigative reporters. The net result: the U.S. government owed him $3900.
Although he emerged legally clean, Barnes was tarred with the brush of incumbency. The legislation, after all, had passed his Senate as well as Mutscher’s House. He could not convince the man in the street that he wasn’t mixed up with “those crooks down in Austin.” One reason was that Barnes could not overcome his wheeler-dealer image. He inspired confidence more than credence—a tragic flaw he shared with Lyndon Johnson. Neither man could lift people’s spirits or sell causes to groups numbering more than ten. Johnson could not rally the country around his Viet Nam policies. Barnes could not convince Texans he was innocent of Sharpstown capers. Also, the voters were in a housecleaning, throw-the-bastards-out mood. Some resented the young lieutenant governor’s rocket-like rise and could not believe he had achieved it without taking a buck illegally.
Whatever the reasons, in May 1972, the champion Texas vote-getter placed third behind Dolph Briscoe and Frances (Sissy) Farenthold in the Democratic primary for governor. Suddenly, after spending all of his young adult life as a public figure, Barnes was a commoner. The next time Barnes would appear in the news would be in August 1976, when his staunchest media ally from his political days, the Dallas Morning News, ran a four-part investigative series linking Barnes with South Texas banking scandals. (Barnes has since sued the News for libel, a case that has not yet come to trial.) The comet of the season had fallen.
Now, seven years after his defeat, not long after the breakfast for the Chicago industrialists was over, Barnes talked in his Brownwood office about the last weeks of the 1972 campaign. “I really felt helpless and frustrated. I knew I was innocent but I could feel I wasn’t getting through. That’s the way things happen. I don’t regret all that work in politics but I haven’t missed it, either. I miss my friends, but not the speeches and not even being Speaker or presiding over the Senate. One of the reasons I haven’t been unhappy is because I knew nothing about business and had to work as hard as I did in politics to catch up. When you have to meet a big payroll every month, you get up early. Behind his desk is a handsome painting of his boyhood home in Comyn (population: 27), a company town near Brownwood founded by the Humble Pipeline Company, where his dad, B.F. Barnes, worked as a pipeliner. The picture is framed with wood from Grandfather Barnes’ house. Barnes’ father and grandfather were both named Benjamin Franklin Barnes, but the former lieutenant governor is simply Ben Frank.
Barnes swirled in his chair and picked up the phone. “Yessir, Brother Jackson,” he said to a construction foreman in Taylor. “Is the ground dry enough to walk around on? I’m going to announce a Safeway and a Revco Drug at a press conference out at the site this afternoon, so don’t let the equipment drivers get away. I want that stuff moving for the press. Find out about the charge on the power line and call me back.” Barnes’ redheaded secretary, Sidney Carlisle, popped in to answer his buzz. “Get me Bobby Stewart at First National in Dallas and Jim Berry at Republic and Walter Mischer down in Houston. He’s head of Allied Bank. Then get me Ted Kennedy’s appointments secretary in Washington and call Putter Jarvis and see if he wants to eat Chinese food with me at noon.” It is safe to say Barnes is the only businessman in Brownwood who can call three of the state’s most prestigious bankers and reach them immediately. He works hard maintaining his powerful good-old-boy network, calling political friends across the country, gleaning information through casual chats, gossiping at the right parties. He tries on conversational tones and gambits—mild insults, jokes, gossip, serious questions, flattery—like other men try on ties in the bedroom.
“Well, Mr. Stewart, I know what you’re doing. You are in your plush office on top of your bank, rich and handsome, looking down at your city, just enjoying being [First International Bancshares chairman] Bobby Stewart. Here I am out here in Brownwood just trying to make a buck. What do you think about Chase Manhattan going down a quarter in the prime rate yesterday? Not much, huh? You going to see Teng in Houston? Bob Strauss going? Well, I’m for that Chinaman and I like Chinese food but I ain’t going to tramp around a ranch in the rain with 800 people if you all aren’t going. All right, Stewart, I’ll be in Dallas next week. Let’s have lunch.”
As soon as one call ended, another began. “Morning, Mr. Berry. I was gonna give you a ride down to meet the Chinaman but I hear you’re off to a Federal Reserve meeting. What about Chase coming down a quarter? Now listen, Berry, if there’s a vote, you vote to lower the rate, understand? I’ll bet you and Strauss will eat at Paul Young’s. He likes it because everybody knows him, but the food’s terrible. How did your Lakeway deal go? Great. I’m coming to Dallas next week. Let’s have lunch and tell the great Strauss hello.”
And then another. “Morning, Mr. Mischer, you made money today? What’s the price of concrete in Houston? Really? Say, Walter, where can I find some dredging equipment in Brownsville? All right, I’ll check on it. Can you run a check on a fellow for me through your bank? I’ll be in Houston next week, so let’s have lunch. You’re a great American, Mischer. You going to see the Chinaman? I don’t think Strauss is going. See you soon.”
“Yes, ma’am, Mary Ann, I want to invite Senator Kennedy to speak before the Young Presidents’ Organization in late February down in Acapulco. We’re going to have the President of Mexico, Henry Kissinger, John Connally, and George Bush, and we would like the Senator to attend. I’ll drop you a mailgram with the details. Tell the Senator hello for me. Bye-bye.” He hung up the phone and turned to his secretary. ‘Sidney, you heard from Herman today?”
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