THE CONGRESS: Voice of the 84th

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George does, however, pay close attention to floor proceedings, follows roll-call votes from a printed roster on his desk. When a Senator's vote surprises him, he marks the name carefully and exhales deeply, often punctuating the roll call with a series of "huuuuuuh, huuuuuuh" sounds. Senators hearing him for the first time are always amazed, wonder what the old man is up to. The answer: nothing. After the roll call George throws away his roster and forgets about it.

Promptly at 5 o'clock each afternoon, the protective ladies of George's staff lock his office doors to keep out newsmen and other callers, and begin an intensive campaign to tear the Senator away from his desk by 6 o'clock at the latest. Back at the Mayflower, Mr. George and Miz Lucy eat alone in their apartment. After dinner she settles down to her needlepoint work, while George reads a mystery (recently Homicidal Lady) or watches television. One of his favorites is Comedian Bert Parks (Stop the Music), whom George proudly identifies as "an old Atlanta boy." From time to time he asks Miz Lucy to switch channels for him, which she does with the unvarying complaint: "Mr. George, you're just spoiled."

Despite his fondness for televiewing, it was not until this year that George appeared on one of the panel programs that other politicians have made their main platform. When he finally agreed to go on Meet the Press, Miz Lucy went with him to the studio. Before the program she marched up to waspish Panelist Lawrence Spivak and said: "If you're not nice to Mr. George, I'll put a spider in your dumpling." She need not have worried: Spivak was kindness itself, especially when George made news by advancing his suggestion for a four-power conference.

"The Cause of Peace." This month George was out of Washington—but by no means out of the news. In Vienna, where a huge bronze bust of Walter George gazes across the courthouse square, and where the loiterers will look up from their checkerboards to point out the Senator's old law office, the Senator sat on the oak-shadowed porch of his remodeled sharecropper's home, and pondered his future. Winston Churchill had resigned a few days before, an event that deeply affected George. Said he: "When you pass 77 milestones, it's hard to realize that you may be approaching the point where things may not be as easy, and you should slow down." Then he added softly: "I think I'm capable of doing some good work yet. I would like to be useful up to the end." Three days later, he announced that he expects to run for re-election next year. His probable opponent: Georgia's vote-getting demagogic ex-Governor Herman Talmadge, who will use as his main issue the fact that George did not stand up and denounce the Supreme Court's desegregation decision.

Having planned for the future, George returned to the present, with all its grim problems. Last week he motored to Augusta (where Vacationer Dwight Eisenhower made a point of calling him in for a visit) for a television speech on U.S. foreign policy, a speech in which he took open issue with Adlai Stevenson.