It was the Christmas holiday of 1977, and an especially bitter December in Minnesota. Sen. Hubert H. Humphrey had returned home to his refuge, his house on the now-frozen Lake Waverly, about 35 miles west of Minneapolis.
Now it was almost over, this remarkable political life, and emaciated by cancer, Humphrey lay in bed dying at Lake Waverly. The grounds of his house on the lake were strewed uncustomarily with twigs and fallen branches from the leafless trees on the expansive lawn. Humphrey had been notorious for taking visitors, be they prime ministers, fellow senators or political associates, for long walks on his grounds, making them pick up scattered twigs or leaves. There had been no such recent visitors.
In the lane at the back of the house, the small road that led to the highway to Minneapolis, a cluster of reporters was already forming a death watch over Minnesota's most famous political son.
Humphrey's son-in-law had leased a WATS line for him as a surprise Christmas gift. After returning from Washington, his life and legendary energy now ebbing from him like a tide, Minnesota's Happy Warrior began to call old friends and associates around the nation and the world. He ostensibly called to give them season's greetings, but everyone knew he was taking his leave of them.
He reached his old adversary, Richard Nixon, on Christmas Eve, only to learn that the Nixons were both ill, depressed and alone for the holiday in San Clemente. Something troubled Humphrey deeply about this conversation with Nixon, and that evening, surrounded by his immediate family, he brooded often about Nixon's circumstances. He spoke of it later in the evening, too, and it was only the next morning that his concerns seemed to diminish as he again called Nixon in San Clemente. He called to tell the former president -- the man who in 1968 had given Humphrey his most bitter defeat -- that he had a farewell gift to give him.
Humphrey told Nixon that he knew he had only days to live, and that he had made the arrangements for the events that would follow his death: his lying-in-state in the Capitol in Washington, his funeral and interment in Minnesota. Humphrey told Nixon that he was inviting him to attend the ceremony that would conclude the lying-in-state in Washington, and that he wanted him to be present and to stand in the place of honor of a former president.
Nixon, of course, had resigned from the presidency in disgrace only three years before and had not returned to Washington, where ever since he had been unwelcome. This seemed especially so now in the first year of Jimmy Carter's presidency, with Washington in the control of so many unforgiving Democrats (and probably not a few unforgiving Republicans as well).
Sensing Nixon's profound depression in exile in California, Humphrey spontaneously fashioned a credible excuse enabling his old rival to return to the capital. He told Nixon that if anyone questioned his presence, he should say that he was there at the personal request of Hubert Humphrey.
He further told Nixon that he would call me (I had been placed in charge of the Washington ceremonies by the Humphrey family) to relate their conversation and to tell me of his wish that Nixon be treated respectfully and with dignity for that occasion.
On Friday, Jan. 13, 1978, Hubert H. Humphrey died at Lake Waverly. President Carter was immediately called and notified. The president at once dispatched Air Force One to Minnesota to bring Humphrey's body to the capital for the weekend lying-in-state.
On Sunday forenoon, with President Carter, former president Ford, Vice President Mondale and many of the nation's political leaders in attendance, a concluding ceremony was held in the Capitol Rotunda. To the surprise of most and the gasps of many, I escorted former president Nixon to the place of honor with the others, near the flag-draped casket. Hubert Humphrey's gift in the winter to Richard Nixon had been delivered.
Fifteen years later, it is not the chill Minnesota winds that cause me to remember again that gift. I suspect that my memory is triggered by echoes of the voice placing that Christmas Eve telephone call to San Clemente.
I hear those echoes in the pledge of President-elect Clinton to bring us together: to reconcile rich and poor, black and white, old and young, and to realize fully the intrinsic value of every citizen. If he fulfills that pledge, the Clinton years in Washington will bear the hallmarks of comity and compassion that were the emblems of the life of the lamentably late Hubert H. Humphrey.
The writer was national treasurer of Hubert H. Humphrey's 1972 presidential campaign.
