The Rising Star From Texas

A FEW weeks before John Connally was sworn in as Secretary of the Treasury last February, he threw a big wingding at his ranch in Floresville, Texas. Under a striped tent the guests dined on succulent barbecued ribs and homemade ice cream. Their host, glowing and happy, exclaimed: "You know, this is a damn good life."

For Connally, life has indeed been sweet. Beginning with his hardscrabble boyhood on a Texas farm, he has been irresistibly drawn to wealth and power and has managed, by an adroit mixture of dash and obsequence, to gain both. As Lyndon B. Johnson's Wolsey for more than 30 years and a three-term Democratic Governor of Texas, he learned well the means of acquiring and using political power. Now he is one of the most potent and magnetic personalities in Richard Nixon's Washington, the chief designer of Phase I, the prime enforcer of Phase II, and by most accounts the strongest Treasury Secretary since George Humphrey of the Eisenhower era.

Vain, determined, gregarious, unencumbered by any noticeable traces of self-doubt or abiding commitment, Connally functions well on the shifting surface of events and has learned to do business with just about anybody. As he said about himself last week: "I'm so little understood. There's so little in my past to indicate what I think or believe. If people knew me well, they'd realize that on many of the things they discuss about me so avidly, I haven't any views."

Summer Lightning. A tall, handsome, immaculately tailored man with a carefully clipped ____e of silver hair, Connally cuts a striking, almost theatrical figure. No member of Nixon's inner circle has his personal magnetism. He strongly resembles his longtime mentor, Johnson. There are the same drawling intonation of speech, the same earthy turns of phrase. Yet his features are finer and his manner smoother than Johnson's; nobody can quite picture Connally showing off an operation scar. He can charm foes with a wry, knowing smile that flickers as brightly and briefly as summer lightning.

Behind the smiles and easy badinage, however, Connally projects an icy, faintly bullying power that compels attention. His demands can be overwhelming. In a widely remembered remark about U.S. international trade and monetary goals. Connally summed up his position: "All I want is a fair advantage." He is a bad loser. Says one Texas politician who has been up against him: "He is totally unforgiving of his political enemies. He'll carry his grudges to the grave. He can also be tenacious as hell, clawing and pushing his way past any obstacle." Connally is no less ambitious than Johnson and he has the same sure instinct for what people want and what they will give to get it.

Connally, a nominal Democrat with deep roots in the conservative branch of the Texas party, first gained Nixon's gratitude by helping him find Texas oil and gas moguls to contribute to Republican coffers in the 1968 presidential campaign. Later, when Nixon's drive seemed to falter in Texas, Connally stumped for Hubert Humphrey and helped him win the state. Nonetheless, partly because of Connally's early aid, Nixon offered him the post of Secretary of Defense, which he refused. Fairly early in the Nixon Administration, Connally also turned down an invitation to become Secretary of the Treasury. Nixon continued to be impressed by him, especially by his work as a member of the President's Advisory Council on Executive Organization headed by Industrialist Roy Ash. By late last year, when the President asked Connally to help solve the U.S.'s No. 1 problem--the economic mess--Connally saw the opportunity to help the nation, and himself. He accepted.

Part of Everything. Nixon needed a supersalesman who could put across his economic programs to the Democratic Congress, the business community and the consumer. In his view, John Connally was just the man to fill this Texas-sized void. The new Treasury Secretary arrived among the good gray men of the Nixon Administration with the rakish swagger of a corsair entering an economics seminar. "I frankly like to be part of everything," Connally said shortly after moving into the Treasury. "I want nearly everything that goes on to go over my desk."

Yet there was a question whether he would survive at all. He had scant grounding in banking or economics, and his reputation among the world's moneymen was nil. Connally's reply to those who questioned his ability: "I can add." Republicans distrusted him. Liberal Democrats, recalling his close ties to the oil and gas industry, had no great love for him.

Busting the Wall. At first, Connally had hurdles to overcome in the White House. Not the least of them was getting access to the President. It was no easy job to break through the "Berlin Wall" that had been erected by staff aides to shield the President from minor, distracting men or matters. Connally was blocked--briefly. One day an economic memo that he sent to the President was bounced back by a senior aide, who suggested that Connally revise it. Connally exploded: "That's my memorandum. I don't want that son of a bitch to get into the act." He sent an acid note right to the offending aide, and soon afterward the memo went through unquestioned. Practically nothing that the Secretary has sent since has been touched.

The fact that Connally quickly became a vital force in the Nixon Administration made working at the Treasury exciting. Connally also proved to be a "quick study." Says Murray Weidenbaum, a former assistant secretary: "When you got used to the Texas accent, it became .apparent that here was a very sharp mind. Connally could go right to the heart of the matter. You'd give him two fat briefing books the night before he was to testify before a committee, and when you talked to him the next morning, you knew he'd read them."

Connally took easily and quickly to his salesman's job on Capitol Hill. Indeed, he spent seven of his first ten days in office testifying before one congressional committee or another. He swiftly showed that he knew how to play the game. Once he began a hearing on an interest-rate bill before Wilbur Mills' House Ways and Means Committee by announcing that no compromise was possible, that the measure had to go through intact. At the hearing's end, Mills held out a compromise--and Connally snapped it up. Complimented recently on a good performance before a congressional committee, he hawed: "Well, I just got to tell the truth. I'm not devious enough to lie." A White House aide describes Connally's style: "It's deep bull, and since most of those guys are so full of it themselves, they appreciate it."

In the first tough assignment that Nixon handed to Connally--shepherding the Lockheed loan guarantee through Congress--the Secretary scored a brilliant success. Lawyer Connally was one of the few men in Government who could understand the complexities of the Lockheed deal and explain them to bankers, airline executives and legislators. The deal passed the Senate by one vote.

Even before the Administration's laissez-faire economic policies foundered badly in midsummer, Connally was privately urging the President to switch to more intervention (while publicly ruling out controls). In this Connally formed an alliance with Federal Reserve Chairman Arthur Burns. When the President finally accepted the need to change, Connally was ready. At the fateful Camp David meeting in mid-August, he was the only man present to have a full series of proposals, contained in position papers that had been worked out by his staff. Second only to Nixon, Connally was in command at Camp David. The intellectual backdrop for the new program had been supplied by Burns; the operational details of the freeze came from Connally.

The bluff, freewheeling manner that serves Connally so well in domestic matters has a jolting effect in international affairs. Foreign ministers and bankers, accustomed to a discreet, subtle dialogue, were outraged by Connally's unyielding tone and unvarnished demands that foreign nations revalue their currencies, lower their trade barriers and increase their defense contributions. Though he has softened his approach lately, it is at least questionable whether he will ever become attuned to the quiet nuances of international bargaining. Yet a miscalculation in this area could at worst lead to a ruinous world trade war and politically dangerous disruption of traditional global alliances.

Politics as Art. There is a warm affinity between Nixon and Connally, and it is based on more than a mutual interest in power. Both men started poor and believe in the virtues of moderation, selfdiscipline, law-and-order. Both are lawyers and have been money managers for the rich. And both view politics as the art of manipulation, negotiation and organization. Connally is a practiced political professional in an Administration that is heavy with academics and politically green businessmen.

Nixon, the very private man, is also taken with Connally, the jaunty, commanding extrovert. The President delights in having the Secretary preside over private gatherings, which he does frequently in Washington, Key Biscayne and the Western White House at San Clemente. Nixon sometimes telephones Connally three or four times a day. Says one White House aide: "The President is simply in awe of him." Adds another staffer: "Connally is one of the few whom Nixon is willing to discuss a lot of things with--politics, foreign relations, domestic problems."

All this attention obviously satisfies Connally's high image of himself. "I'm at the White House more than I ever was when L.B.J. was President," he says. He also amply returns the compliment implicit in the President's interest in him. "You've got a great President here," he tells unquestioning White House aides. "You ought to support him to the hilt." When he sits with Nixon and a group of businessmen, he will drop in such phrases as "Under the President's effective leadership..." He recently told friends: "What I admire most about Nixon is his raw political guts. He's a very courageous President."

In less than a year, Connally has eclipsed practically all of the President's other economic and political aides, and he is closing fast on Attorney General John Mitchell, once the Administration's undisputed No. 2 man for domestic affairs. For all his triumphs, however, Connally has formed no close personal friendships with any of the Nixon men. Many of them still resent him--but quietly for the moment. "He's riding too high for them now," says one of the Secretary's friends, adding: "But let him stumble and they'll be all over him."

Connally's closest companions in Washington are Democrats. High among them is Robert Strauss, treasurer of the Democratic National Committee, to which Connally still contributes $100 a month. Connally practically never drinks, avoids the Washington cocktail circuit, and accepts only a few of the more than 1,000 social invitations that he receives in an average week. Several other Cabinet members turn down invitations to parties that they know Connally will attend; they recognize that he will have center stage, and they do not want to be outshone.

A Long Way from Home. The glitter and glory of Washington seems light years away from the small Texas farm where Connally and seven brothers and sisters were raised. His father worked at what jobs he could get--tenant farmer, shopkeeper, butcher. The future Treasury Secretary walked barefoot to school. In 1932, his father bought a 1,000-acre farm, and by the time John was ready to go to the University of Texas, his family had the money to pay his tuition. He became class president as well as a leader in debating, acting and the speech club. During one play rehearsal, Connally met a lovely freshman, Idanell (Nellie) Brill, who was playing a belly dancer. She has been his lady love ever since; they have three grown children.

Connally was stacking books for the National Youth Administration in 1936 when he met--and was properly impressed by--Lyndon Johnson. The next year, in Johnson's first congressional campaign, Connally stuffed envelopes. By 1941, he was a key worker in Johnson's unsuccessful bid for the Senate. When war came, Connally served as a naval officer, earning nine battle stars. After the war, he worked for a time for Johnson's Austin radio station, KTBC. Eventually, he borrowed $25,000 and opened a second Austin station, KVET, which he later sold. Connally was chief strategist for Johnson's 1948 Senate race.

Mysteriously, after the polls had closed 203 votes were added to the returns from Alice, Texas--202 of them for Johnson, who won the seat by 87 votes out of about one million cast.

Having good friends in high places did not hurt Connally. Largely because of his close relationship with L.B.J., he was hired in 1952 by Multimillionaire Oilman Sid Richardson. Connally, as chief administrator and lobbyist for Richardson, was primarily concerned with guarding against any Government effort to reduce the depletion allowance, which then allowed a 27.5% tax deduction on the income of oil and gas producers. In 1956, Connally was among the main lobbyists in Washington who worked for the passage of a bill freeing natural gas from federal price controls. Under the protective wing of Johnson and House Speaker Sam Rayburn, also a friend and mentor of Connally's, the bill passed both houses.

Then a scandal broke. South Dakota Republican Senator Francis Case declared that an oil lobbyist had offered him a $2,500 bribe to support the bill. An angry President Eisenhower vetoed the measure. Asked about the scandal, Connally remarked: "1 had no part in the incident any more than anyone else who was interested in the oil and gas business." After Richardson's death in 1959, Connally was made one of three co-executors of his estate, a job for which he was paid $750,000.

Spread in the Wind. During Johnson's push for the presidential nomination at the 1960 Democratic National Convention, Connally again proved his loyalty by circulating questioning stories about John Kennedy's health and raising the issue of Joseph Kennedy's isolationist sentiments before the war. Nonetheless, after Kennedy was elected, he appointed Connally Secretary of the Navy, partly to please Vice President Johnson. Within a year Connally quit and returned to Texas, where in 1962 he successfully ran for Governor. He served until 1968, when he declined to run for a fourth term, telling friends he had had his fill of state politics.

Even Connally's friends do not claim that he was an exceptional Governor. He saw no impropriety in accepting a plane for his official use from Texas Eastern Transmission Corp., a leading gas pipeline company with interests in oil. He was the first Governor to veto a war-on-poverty project. He was an indifferent executive, bored by the daily routines of office. A former staffer remembers: "John would come alive when there was a big issue. Otherwise he was content to leave the ship of state to his staff." Connally made few friends among the state's minority groups. Once he refused to meet representatives of a procession of Texas-Mexicans who had walked 350 miles to the state capital to urge him to support a minimum wage law.

He was generally popular with the Texas electorate from the beginning, and he assumed hero proportions after being badly wounded in the Kennedy assassination. He lost much blood and spent about two months convalescing, but suffered no permanent disability. When Connally left office in 1968, he signed on with one of the leading Texas law firms, Houston's Vinson, Elkins and Searls. Estimates of his earnings ran as high as $800,000 a year. He was already a wealthy man with an estimated worth of between $2,000,000 and $5,000,000. He owns the $300,000 Tortuga Ranch in Southwest Texas. On his 10,000-acre Floresville ranch, complete with two-story mansion, swimming pool and landing strip, he raises a couple of hundred head of cattle.

At 54, Connally has only one big prize left to crave: the U.S. presidency. Many of his intimates believe that his quest for that position is what led him back into Government. He realized that the chances of a liberal Democratic Party choosing as its candidate another Texan--especially one who is more conservative than Johnson--are dim indeed. For the moment, all he can do is play out the hand that Nixon has dealt him and wait to see what happens. Connally has told friends that he and Nixon have never discussed the possibility of his taking the No. 2 spot on the ticket. They believe that Connally would accept an invitation if it were tendered, even if he had to switch to the Republican Party. He might have the support of Johnson, who is bitter about the strong antiwar positions of almost all the potential Democratic candidates. Johnson is known to believe that Connally will run with Nixon. The former President could give tacit approval to a Nixon-Connally ticket by sitting out the election and letting Texas' 26 electoral votes fall to the Republicans.

Of course, Nixon does not have to decide on his Veep until next year, probably after the Democratic Convention in July. Any decision that he makes will be greatly influenced by the success or failure of his daring new economic policy. And that, in turn, will depend in no small part on the performance of its chief salesman and administrator, the rising star from Texas.

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