ON MARCH 13, 1965, Lyndon Johnson met with George Wallace in the Oval Office. Six days earlier, in a confrontation that would come to be known as Bloody Sunday, the nation had watched in horror as Alabama state troopers attacked more than six hundred black activists who were marching from Selma to Montgomery. Armed only with the desire to vote, the marchers were turned back with nightsticks and tear gas. Wallace, in his first term as Alabama’s governor, had designs on national office and hoped to salvage his reputation; Johnson was under pressure to send in federal troops. With protesters outside the White House criticizing his apparent inaction — some carrying signs that read “ LBJ, Just You Wait, See What Happens in ‘68” — the president directed Wallace to a soft couch. Nearly a foot shorter than Johnson, he promptly sank into its cushions. The president pulled up a rocking chair and leaned in close. The Johnson treatment had begun.
Over the next three hours, LBJ pressed Wallace on the issue of race. Careful not to let the governor play the martyr for states’ rights, he cajoled and flattered him. When the president asked him why he wouldn’t integrate the schools and let black residents register to vote, Wallace said that he didn’t have the power. Johnson thundered in response, “George, don’t you shit me as to who runs Alabama.” In the end Johnson questioned Wallace’s place in history: “George, you and I shouldn’t be thinking about 1965; we should be thinking about 1985… . Now, you got a lot of poor people down there in Alabama … a lot of people who need jobs, a lot of people who need a future. You could do a lot for them. Now, in 1985, George, what do you want left behind? Do you want a great big marble monument that says ‘George Wallace: He Built’? Or do you want a little piece of scrawny pine lying there along that harsh caliche soil that says ‘George Wallace: He Hated’?”
Shortly after the meeting, Wallace agreed to ask the president to send in federal troops. The governor, who just two years before had declared, “Segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever,” would later say, “Hell, if I’d stayed in there much longer, he’d have had me coming out for civil rights.” On March 15, Johnson addressed a joint session of Congress to propose what would become the Voting Rights Act of 1965. It was a bill he had always wanted, for reasons political and personal: Its passage would signify that a Southern president — this Southern president — had broken the longstanding traditions that had kept blacks from voting and the South from gaining equal moral and economic status with the rest of the nation.
Thirty-five years later, the effects of that landmark legislation can still be felt. In the 2000 presidential race, for instance, Democratic candidates Al Gore and Bill Bradley have made minority issues a centerpiece of their campaigns, embracing everything from affirmative action to the removal of the Confederate flag flying above the South Carolina statehouse. Republican front-runner George W. Bush, meanwhile, is pushing the big tent theory — that the GOP can prosper only if it appeals to minorities; indeed, he has appointed blacks and Hispanics to top jobs in his campaign, just as he has tapped them for prominent posts in state government. For all that, and for other advances in race relations, LBJ’s leadership was crucial.
How did Johnson become the president, as he liked to say, who finished what Lincoln started? Although as a congressman and a senator he had seemingly