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chapter 8 z Stormy Waters  “The Guy Nobody Knows”  B ill Hart, editor of the Morgantown Dominion News, commented in his column of September 6, 1963, on my work in the Senate and my way of going about doing the business of the people. Hart had been an early supporter of mine, and he was an astute political observer and hard-rock Democrat. His column was the aftermath of an interview with me in my Capitol office after the work hours of a normal day. Beginning his column with a reference to my early ambition to be a United States Senator, Hart was uncertain as to whether this ambition was born as I had trudged those weary miles every day up and down Wolf Creek Hollow or whether the determination came during my service in the House of Delegates or very early in life “when he [Byrd] was being reared by a very understanding stepmother.” Hart continued: “One would not believe that this chap who can bring down a house with his fiddle could become known in Washington as the ‘guy nobody knows.’ He is called a lot of names including a ‘cold fish,’ a ‘martinet,’ and ‘a little dictator,’ but even Bob’s worst foes admit he is ‘one of the hardest working members of the United States Senate.’ They, too, say: ‘He’ll do exactly what he says he will do and when he says.’” Hart had asked: “Does Byrd intend to practice law?” He gave my response: “‘Not unless the people turn me out as a member of Congress.’” Hart then concluded his column by saying: “In the general election the Republicans may as well know that ‘the man nobody stormy waters 161 knows’ is a really tough cookie in the arena of politics and those desiring to cross swords with him must know no quarter will be asked by Bob and none will be given.” Hart, himself a “tough cookie,” used profanity to a fare-thee-well. One Sunday afternoon, he called me at my home in Arlington about a matter, and, at the very beginning of the conversation, he let loose with a string of oaths that caused me to declare, “Bill, profanity does not impress me, and I do not wish to continue this conversation if you are going to use such profanity.” Hart, of course, was astonished at my plainspoken abruptness, and that ended the conversation. I had, of course, heard Hart swear on several previous occasions, but on this particular Sunday afternoon, it just got a little under my skin. My reaction had to have been startling to Hart, because, after all, he was an influential political power, the editor of one of the state’s foremost newspapers. But I thought that I needed to draw a line, and I spoke what was on my mind. When the telephone conversation ended, I hung up the phone, feeling that I had probably made a political enemy who would come after me in the future with a knife that he knew how to wield. I was pleasantly mistaken. Bill Hart remained as staunch a supporter as ever, and I sensed that his respect for me had grown, rather than diminished, as a result of this little altercation. Henceforth, he refrained from the use of profanity in his conversations with me, except at times when a moment of forgetfulness would cause a slip of the tongue. Usually, when this happened, he just as quickly said, “Excuse the King’s English,” and went on as though the “King’s English” had not been spoken. My appreciation for Bill Hart had also grown, because he had shown a respect for the attitude which I had expressed on that Sunday afternoon, and I believed that, in his heart, Bill Hart knew that I was right in expressing a dislike for profanity. It was not that I, myself, had never used God’s name in vain. I had—many times in my earlier years—but I had come to see it as a very poor crutch for expressing oneself forcefully. I had long ago concluded that there were words of expression that were far more meaningful and more acceptable —and certainly more persuasive—than were words of blasphemy and impious irreverence. After all, this was not the way that I had been brought up. My dad and mom had drilled into me an early reverence for God’s ineffable name. Which all goes to show that, if...

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