The Congress: The Covenant

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Another closely watched vote was that of Arizona's Barry Goldwater, the leading candidate for the Republican presidential nomination. Goldwater had long been critical of the civil rights bill, arguing that brotherly love cannot be legislated into the hearts of men. Of course, the bill attempts to do no such thing; it merely seeks to ensure to all Americans the equality under the law that is their birthright. In recent days Goldwater had indicated that he might wind up voting for the bill if it was amended according to his tastes. But that did not mean he would support cloture. He now answered the roll call with a brusque no.

On and on went the vote. When it reached Delaware Republican John Williams, it stood at 66 for cloture, 20 against. Williams' soft aye made the two-thirds majority required for cloture, and victory. "That's it," cried a Senator. Newsmen sprinted to telephones that had been held open. Mike Mansfield sagged in relief. Dick Russell, grim as death, scribbled fitfully on a yellow pad. Out of the cloakroom hobbled Arizona's Carl Hay den, 86, president pro tempore of the Senate and the man who stands next only to House Speaker John McCormack in the line of succession to the U.S. presidency. Although a longtime foe of cloture, Hayden this time had told Mansfield he might vote for it if he was really needed. He wasn't. "It's all right, Carl," cried Mansfield. "We're in." Hayden voted no.

At last the clerk read the tally. It stood at 71 for cloture, 29 against. With four more votes than were required, the U.S. Senate for the first time in its history had invoked cloture against a civil rights filibuster. On the issue, all 100 Senators had taken their stand. And in so doing, they cleared the way for certain passage of the bill.

The measure's previous life had been fraught with difficulties. No sooner had he taken over as President than John Kennedy, who had campaigned on a strong and effective civil rights pitch, let it be known that he would deal with civil rights through administrative, not legislative action. One obvious Kennedy fear: that a civil rights bill sent to Congress would prove politically harmful by dramatizing, once again, the fact that Capitol Hill Democrats were far more deeply divided than Republicans on the issue.

Flesh on the Skeleton. For two years congressional Republicans chided Kennedy for his failure to present a civil rights legislative program. Finally, in January 1963, a group of House Republicans introduced their own broad-gauged measure. One month later, President Kennedy sent his first major civil rights message to the Hill. It was terribly thin, asking for federal court-appointed voting referees to determine applicants' qualifications while their voting suits were pending, an extension of the Civil Rights Commission and little else.

The ink was scarcely dry on Kennedy's bill when the city of Birmingham exploded in a tangle of firehoses, snarling police dogs and writhing Negroes. The violence was ugly, and so were the political implications. Soon afterward Kennedy announced that he was sending to Congress a much tougher version of his bill.