The Psephologist at Play

THE PRESIDENCY

After a long Fourth of July weekend on the Texas ranch, Lady Bird Johnson was rarin' to return to Washington and dive back into the elaborate prepara tions for Luci's Aug. 6 wedding. But Lyndon Johnson was in his natural hab itat and, in the absence of any pressing business, had no intention whatever of rushing away. Said he to Lady Bird: "The Cabinet's gone. Congress is home. You and I and [Bill] Moyers would be there all alone." So the visit was ex tended for the rest of the week -- a week in which Johnson buckled one swash after another.

A National Asset. The President covets his precious hours along the Pedernales the way a miser covets gold. Because of their effect on him, the 438 sun-baked acres of the L.B.J. ranch may be as much a national asset during the Johnson presidency as all the vaults in Fort Knox. To some 75 reporters attending a ranch barbecue -- and John son's first live TV press conference in nearly a year -- the President just did not seem the same man who had walked out of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue five days before.

Tanned to a healthy leather brown, more affable than he had been in ages, Johnson strolled serenely among the gaily covered tables spread out on the thick Bermuda and St. Augustine grass in front of the ranch house, chatting, sniffing the air, shaking hands, sitting to gobble up a hefty plate of barbecue himself. Muzak wafted with the river breeze through the live oaks, and news men sipped the local Pearl beer and soft drinks.

At the outdoor press conference, Viet Nam was the major topic, and the recent progress of the war clearly had helped the President's mood. Still, as the nation's most avid psephologist,* Johnson took every opportunity to discount his recent drop in the polls. Without even looking down at his notes, he rattled off nearly a dozen favorable tallies and, with a brief flash of his White House petulance, threw a barb at reporters: "We have had a dozen polls, I guess, in the last week. You don't read about the favorable ones, though, I observe." Quoting a poll that gave him the approval of 55% of the nation, Johnson added: "That is what you reported as a landslide during General Eisenhower's period."

"Here Comes Linton." The President was not to be outdistanced on another front. Largely forsaking his air-conditioned Lincoln Continental for the water, he has taken to spending his time at the helm of his 19-ft., 60-m.p.h. fiberglass speedboat. Particularly toward evening, when the air cools and the water stills, the President takes to 22-mile-long Lake Lyndon B. Johnson, often searching out a secluded cove where he and his party can have privacy from peering eyes. Clamping down his yellow golfer's cap, clenching the wheel like a vise, Johnson really opens up the throttle, leaving broad wakes and gaping mouths behind him. He goes so fast, in fact, that the Secret Service has had to buy two new speedboats to keep up with him when he is at full throttle (four boats in all accompany him). "Here comes Linton" (hill-country pronunciation of the President's name), chuckle the fishermen as the armada approaches, or--if they happen to have blinked--"There goes Linton."

There were other attractions for Johnson at the ranch: the fat and sassy catfish, the tangy and delicious peaches for which the area is known, plenty of fried chicken and fresh watermelon and fresh cookies by the dozen, which Johnson can consume almost as fast as Cook Zephyr Wright bakes them. During the week, a big Texas moon came up over the ranch and bathed the surrounding hills with a mellow light. The President still worked at his desk, still kept in close touch with the machinery of government, but, like millions of other Americans, he was on vacation. And he even seemed to be having some fun.

* A student of elections or, in today's parlance, a watcher of polls. From the Greek psephos, meaning "pebbles." The Greeks often used pebbles as ballots to record their votes.

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