L.B.J.: LENGTHENING SHADOWS

Had Lyndon Johnson thumbed through his Father's Day gift from Daughter Lynda Bird last week--F.D.R.'s old copy of Aesop's Fables--he might have come upon the tale about the dying lion. As the King of Beasts declined in strength, the story goes, the lesser animals trooped up to his cave, no longer subservient. The boar attacked him with his tusks; the bull gored him; even the ass, feeling quite safe, kicked up his heels and brayed. "Ah," sighed the failing King, "thus dies majesty." In the waning months of the Johnson Administration, TIME White House Correspondent Hugh Sidey reported on how the President is coping with the assorted denizens of Washington and the world:

THERE were, to be sure, flickers of the old vigor. The President reorganized U.S. health services to ensure better care. When signing the anti-crime bill, he attached some strongly worded reservations. Before an audience of educators, he defended his Viet Nam policies, and goaded his listeners with a taunt about their own troubles. "I'd be interested to know," said he, "how the pacification program is doing, how much progress you are making in reform, how things are doing in the outlying buildings, and whether you still hold the central administration offices.''

There were disappointments. The Russians again snubbed his bid for friendlier relations. Congress threatened to cut his modest $2.9 billion foreign aid program by one-third. Though Administration officials noted "some movement" in the Paris peace talks, it still seemed too slight to justify his March 31 renunciation of a second term.

The future blots out the past, and Lyndon Johnson has placed himself in the past tense. His Government juggernaut is grinding perceptibly to a halt. In one department after another, planning for the future has all but stopped, and underlings are busying themselves with housekeeping chores while they await Johnson's successor. "We are," said a sub-Cabinet man, "looking after personnel matters." Personal matters, too. The best Johnson men are being lured away by industry and academe. Of 14 young lawyers in one group, five have already made plans to leave. Somnolent is the word for the State Department, where one official declared: "This simply isn't a time for action."

When the President fills vacant posts, appointments have an odor of the payoff. James McCrocklin, new Under Secretary of HEW, is a former president of Southwest Texas State College, which boasts one really distinguished alumnus, named Johnson. The new Ambassador to Australia, Bill Crook, is known as a "good guy," but he is also a Texan. The fact is, not many Washingtonians--or Americans--really care now who gets the Johnson nod.

Final Fling. Nonetheless, the old showman is not giving up. There are schemes to make L.B.J.'s last days in office soar. Aides are studying history to gain insights from predecessors, but the findings are disappointing. Eisenhower traveled widely and issued a warning against the military-industrial complex. But Kennedy was murdered, Truman disdained, Roosevelt died in office, and Hoover was in discredit.

President Aide Joe Califano is combing the country, plucking ideas from thoughtful men about Johnson's last months in office, but most of his harvest is chaff. One suggestion for a final gesture: "Fire J. Edgar Hoover."

Plainly, the President will need a brand-new scenario, and some of the ideas tossed around would do credit to DeMille. Why not fly off, after the November election, to Africa? Then to Moscow to sign the nuclear nonproliferation treaty and coo with Kosygin in the Kremlin. Next, Eastern Europe, Scandinavia, and tea with Harold Wilson for old time's sake. A final fling in Asia, L.BJ.'s personal preserve, and then a philosophic valedictory designed to galvanize the nation into thinking about its duties at home and abroad.

Technicolor Dreams. While his aides spin Technicolor dreams, it sometimes seems as if a great eclipse is advancing on Washington. The President and the White House are slowly being shadowed. Johnson falls with increasing regularity from the front pages of the papers--although he can still agitate the photographers when an occasion like his grandson's first birthday comes up. He is forgotten in cocktail conversation that dwells on new candidates. His presence does not pervade the Government. Events, of course, could resurrect him. Crisis could make him the man of the moment. But as soon as the tense times passed, he would fade again. Perhaps he can move back to center stage with travel and a series of talks on America's future. But even then, the old luster would be missing. He is a lame duck--or as Aesop would have it, a declining lion--and that condition is as inescapable as old age.

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