Tucker's Last Stand by William F. Buckley

answer.
    Jack Valenti drew his head back in very slow motion and said, “Yes, sir, it is certainly confusing, virtually our whole first team deciding they all want to volunteer as ambassador to Vietnam. I guess they think that is where the action is—is going to be. And your report, the one you showed me this morning from that agent, Oakes, on the Trail, seems to say that’s what’s coming down at us. But you’re right, it doesn’t make any sense, not for any of them, not Mac, not McNamara, not Bobby—”
    â€œYou know what!” Valenti’s pacification program had not worked on LBJ. “They think I’m a great big”—he slowed his words to give them extra emphasis—“ asshole . That is exakly what they think. Especially Bobby. He’s still mad about my X-ing him out of the vice-presidential business. What do you think of this—”
    He reached down and picked up a legal pad on which he had scrawled in pencil. Drawing the chair back with his left hand and sitting down on it, leaning, he began to read, aloud. “Dear Bobby: I have your communication in which you offer to serve the Administration as ambassador to South Vietnam. I’ll certainly take your offer into consideration, on’y it would help me come to a conclusion if you tol’ me what you think you could do when you got there. Like, settle the dispute between Khanh and Minh? Mebbe something on the village pacification problem that Genral Lansdale hasn’t thought about? Give the CIA team hep on our Trail project? Come up with something that will keep the Russians an’ China from stuffin’ North Vietnam with weapons?” He looked up at his aide. His left eyebrow stretched up, a hint of tentativeness. “What do you think?”
    Valenti knew that his reaction needed to come in stages. 1) “That would certainly take care of Bobby, Mr. President.” Pause. Then, 2) “Of course, there are other considerations.” Pause. 3) “There’s the—uh, election coming up. You don’t absolutely need Bobby, and half the Camelot crowd is already working for you. But on the other hand, I guess it doesn’t make sense to have Bobby sulking all the way through the Atlantic City convention scene and until November.” Pause. 4) “Maybe you should think some more about it. But it is a hell of a letter, no doubt about that.”
    Lyndon Johnson looked up at Valenti, and let his eyeglasses slip down toward the end of his nose. He depressed a buzzer by his desk. “Bring me a Sprite.” He looked up questioningly. Valenti nodded. “Two Sprites.”
    â€œWhaddayathink I ought to say to him.”
    â€œWell, sir, there’s two ways to handle a gesture like the one he’s just made. One way is what you did. Another way is to be sort of, you know—terribly pleased, honored, that kind of thing.”
    â€œLahk what?”
    â€œWell, like, er, ‘Dear Bobby: I’ve always known you have a great capacity to give everything to your country. But I think your country needs you right here at home, and I would not want to miss your advice and counsel here in Washington.’—Something like that.”
    The President looked down.
    â€œThink there’s enough piss in that?”
    â€œI would think so. He’ll see it.”
    â€œI want him to feel it, not jes’ see it.… Waal, go ahead. Draft your letter for me. I’ll want it in the morning. An’ I’ll want to meet here, nine o’clock. McNamara, Bundy—both Bundys—Rusk an’ Rostow. Tell them we’ll discuss that paper came in from the CIA boys on the Trail.”
    â€œYes, sir.”

6
    January 15, 1964
    Hanoi, North Vietnam
    Bui Tin was only thirty-eight but he was entirely relaxed in the presence of the maximum leader, President Ho Chi Minh. In part this ease of manner was owing to, first, his background. Bui Tin was the