Old Joe Out

They called him Old Joe. They loved the man in the blue serge suit and the box-toe, ankle-high shoes, the teetotaling bachelor with the cowlick and the beetle-browed scowl that could vanish in a smile of quick warmth. They delighted in such malaprops as "gilded muscle" for "guided missile" and "the chair recognizes the gentleman from Rayburn, Mr. Texas." They marveled at his instinct for the House that was his home. Said President Dwight Eisenhower: "I can't understand how he knows what's going to happen in the House months before it happens. It's uncanny."

For years, then, Old Joe was a term of respect and affection. But some of his fondest followers had recently come to admit that he really was Old Joe--too old.

And last week the Republican members of the U.S. House of Representatives voted Joseph William Martin Jr., 74, of North Attleboro, Mass., two-time Speaker (1947-48, 1953-54), out of the leadership post he had held for 20 years.

Well-Traveled Limb. Named to succeed Martin as the Republican House leader: Indiana's Charles A. (for Abraham) Halleck, 58, able, driving graduate of one of the toughest of all state political schools (see box), who, like Joe Martin, has swallowed his longtime conservatism to become a congressional spokesman for the middle-roading Eisenhower Administration. Charlie Halleck had been waiting impatiently for four years. Twice before, in 1954 and 1956, Joe Martin had said that he would retire from his leadership job at the next session. Both times Halleck got ready to fight for the job. Both times Joe Martin changed his mind; he just could not let go. Both times Halleck was persuaded to withdraw--leaving his followers out on an embarrassing limb--only by the personal intervention of President Eisenhower, who did not want to see his two good congressional friends in a fight.

But Halleck hardly had to lift a finger in last week's House revolution: after weeks of closed-door planning, whispered canvassing and worried negotiating, the rebels came to him.

Greyheads' Revenge. The revolution began one day in mid-December when 14 Republican Congressmen, who just happened to be in Washington, got together in the office of California's Bob Wilson to talk about what had hit them in last fall's election. In political coloration, the 14 ranged from Wisconsin's right-wing John Byrnes (chosen chairman of the Policy Committee under Halleck last week) to Michigan's middle-roading Gerald Ford. Yet all agreed on one thing: inept Republican House leadership had contributed to election disaster. They complained that beyond attending White House conferences and carrying White House messages, the latter-day Joe Martin had:

P: Failed to keep them informed about what was going to happen next.

P: Lost touch with his own followers so that he was unable to represent their thinking to the President.

P: Rarely called into session the Republican House Policy Committee, let it make no party policy whatever.

P: Let congressional Republicans go their separate ways, uninformed, and unable to anticipate problems, to the general detriment of the party.

The 14 quietly canvassed other House Republicans, discovered not only widespread dissatisfaction with Martin but a strong consensus for Indiana's Charlie Halleck as the successor. Their cause picked up crucial support from the New York congressional delegation (with 24 members, the largest in the House), whose greyheads remembered that Martin had defeated the late New Yorker Jim Wadsworth for minority leader in 1939. Just before New Year's Day, a delegation went to Martin, told him of the restlessness about the leadership, suggested that he accept an assistant leader and rework the Policy Committee. He refused.

Word from the White House. By last week, with Congressmen swarming into Washington, the insurgents could count 70 sure votes. They met in a private dining room of the Congressional Hotel, a block from the Capitol, where Charlie Halleck joined them after a conference at the White House. Halleck brought crucial news: President Eisenhower, who had intervened twice before for Martin, had personally promised to stay out of the 1959 leadership fight.

But the rebels were not yet committed to Halleck; they wanted some assurances from him. Would he back out of this battle as he had before? Would he let the Policy Committee become a real voice of House Republican consensus? Would he present that consensus to the White House? Would he insist on sitting in at the formulation of Administration policy? In each case, Halleck gave the right answer. From then on, there was no turning back.

By this time, belatedly, Joe Martin had awakened to danger. His forces moved into action, rounding up support. They offered to the rebels the same terms Martin had once refused; this time it was Old Joe who was turned down--but he was unperturbed. On the day of the vote, he lunched on fruit salad and black coffee, hobbled on his cane (because of a blood clot in his right leg) into the House chamber for the party conference. Said Martin confidently: "I'm going to an execution"--and he meant Charlie Halleck's.

"Now a Great Big Smile." In the conference the Martin forces desperately wanted an open ballot; they were stunned by the 96-50 vote for a secret vote. On the first vote, it was 73 to 72 for Halleck, but because of one spoiled ballot it was still not a majority of the 146 voting.

Now it was the rebels who were scared. "We thought we were dead when we didn't kill him with the first blow," said one later. But the second ballot went 74 to 70 for Halleck--and Old Joe was through.

Beaten, Joe Martin limped from the chamber. Charlie Halleck came up. "May I shake your hand, Joe?" he asked. They shook. Martin murmured: "They say these old soldiers just fade away." Cried a photographer: "Now a great big smile." Martin tried, achieved only a grimace, gave way to his feelings: "They're asking a hell of a lot of me." Slowly, sadly, he returned to his office and sat down at his desk. All week long, he had been awaiting a telephone call from President Eisenhower. Now--too late--it came.

"How are you, Joe?" asked the President. "I'm sorry that two good friends got in a fight." Ike suggested that Martin keep on coming to the weekly White House legislative conferences. "No, that I can't do," replied Martin. Said the President: "But I'm inviting you. Why can't you?" Replied Martin: "I'll come down and tell you--some day."

He hung up, dropped his head between his arms on his desk, and, as two visitors turned silently away, Old Joe Martin wept.

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