L.B.J.: HURTING GOOD

ON the surface, nothing had changed.

The big microwave antenna still towered above the banks of the Pedernales. The house trailers still stood ready for the aides and auxiliaries who attend the Commander in Chief. Secret Service agents were as protective as ever of the man they were assigned to guard. Yet everything, of course, had changed, and the L.B.J. ranch—the seat of power for perhaps a fifth of Lyndon Johnson's 1,887 days as President—was the home of a private citizen.

If the transformation bothered Johnson, he concealed it gracefully. "I'm sure that anyone who's been as active in public affairs as I have will notice it when they call the roll," the former President admitted to newsmen. "But I want to miss it. It hurts good."

One of the good hurts was the absence of the President's awesome responsibilities, particularly the responsibility for war or peace. "It feels good," said Johnson, "not to have that sergeant with the little black bag a few feet behind me." The sergeant with the black bag is, of course, the man who is never far from the President of the U.S. —carrying the codes that can unleash the nation's nuclear striking force.

Unwinding. Still, it was not an easy thing being an ex-President—at least for the first week—and it was clear that Johnson was having some difficulty unwinding. "He's not basically constituted to assume this new posture," observed Jake Jacobsen, a former aide. In a two-hour press conference at the ranch, Johnson was by turns shy and brave, moody and fitful, wistful and uncertain. He said he was convinced that he had done the right thing in renouncing reelection last March. Only Lady Bird seemed altogether certain that she would rather be in Blanco County, Texas, than Washington. Her main problem was that all the closets seemed to have shrunk.

"I thought they were big when I built them," she fretted.

Actually, Johnson's farewell to power has been better cushioned than that of any President preceding him. A small Huey turbo helicopter and an Air Force crew are at his disposal. His teak-paneled office in Austin is the same one he used as President, with phones wherever convenient and a button marked "Galley" to summon a Fresca or a milk shake. A special allowance of $375,000 will cover the cost of transition, including the hiring of clerks to answer the hundreds of letters that continue to pour in. As a former President, Johnson has a pension of $25,000 a year, an $80,000 office allowance, free medical care, free postage, plus lifetime protection by the Secret Service. Agents will be on duty as long as he wants or needs them. No one was much surprised to see at the ranch the two Air Force sergeants who had served as Johnson's valets; no one knows how long they will remain.