Oral History Transcript - Jim Morriss - May 5, 2008
Interview with Jim Morriss
Interviewer: Barbara Thibodeaux
Date of Interview: May 5, 2008
Location: Austin, Texas
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Interviewee: Jim Morriss, former employee and program director of the Johnson-owned KTBC Radio Station in Austin, Texas and information director for the Association of Texas Electric Cooperatives.
BARBARA THIBODEAUX: This recording is part of the LBJ Centennial Celebration Oral History Project sponsored by Texas State University. Today is May 5, 2008. My name is Barbara Thibodeaux. I am interviewing Jim Morriss at Austin, Texas.
Mr. Morriss, even though you have agreed to the terms and conditions of the release pertaining to this interview in writing, will you also verbally acknowledge your acceptance with a yes or a no?
JIM MORRISS: Yes.
THIBODEAUX: Thank you very much, Mr. Morriss.
Are you a native to the Central Texas area?
MORRISS: Native to Texas, not Central Texas. I was born in East Texas in Texarkana, Texas—I’m a Texan by three hundred feet—and then moved to Central Texas to finish the university. Came as a junior after junior college in Texarkana, Texas and been here ever since except for a couple of years in the army and five years when I lived in South America.
THIBODEAUX: So that was the University of Texas that you attended?
MORRISS: Yes, um hmm.
THIBODEAUX: From your time—well, let me back up a little bit, when you were at UT were you in broadcasting or a journalism major?
MORRISS: One of those early pioneer degrees in radio broadcasting, a Bachelor of Fine Arts with a major in radio broadcasting. There was no TV at that time. Graduated in 1951.
THIBODEAUX: And so did that lead to a job at the Johnson radio station?
MORRISS: It did. Started at KTBC Radio, AM radio, in April of 1951 before graduating in June of ’51.
THIBODEAUX: What was your position at the radio station?
MORRISS: I was an announcer, then chief announcer, then program director. Once we got television in 1952, I was on the pioneer staff of Channel 7 TV, and became assistant program director of the corporation for radio AM and FM.
THIBODEAUX: When you started at the radio station, President—I keep saying President—I guess, Mr. Johnson, he was senator at that time?
MORRISS: Yes, 1951 when I began, um hmm.
THIBODEAUX: How long had the radio station been in business when you started? I’m sorry, I think I even know the answer to that one, (laughs) my own question. So you started in 1951, and I believe it had been in operation since 1939, and Mrs. Johnson bought the station in 1943. I guess my next question is, were there any other radio stations in Austin at that time?
MORRISS: Two others, a little bit later KVET and KNOW were the other two stations in town.
THIBODEAUX: How much were the Johnsons involved in the operation of the radio station?
MORRISS: Completely and constantly as far as I could tell. My contact with them was slight because I was in the backroom, but when they were in town we were well aware of their presence. They dropped by and said, “Hi,” and called when they heard something on the air that caused comment.
THIBODEAUX: I always heard that Mrs. Johnson was more of the business end of the radio station than Mr. Johnson. Is that true as far as you know?
MORRISS: As far as hands-on is concerned, that’s certainly true because it was, as I recall hearing always, that it was part of her inheritance that bought the station to begin with and it really was her property. But she took an active interest in it, and did come at night and looked over the books, and she was the owner, no question about it.
THIBODEAUX: What role did Jessie Kellam play at the radio station and TV station?
MORRISS: Jessie Kellam was the original manager once the Johnsons bought it. His having worked for Johnson for many years in the National Youth Administration and in political activities also, so he was the original manager of the radio station.
THIBODEAUX: Do you know anything about their relationship?
MORRISS: It was a fairly typical, as I would describe it, relationship between close colleagues and cohorts of Johnson in all of his activities. You didn’t do just radio if that was your particular job on the payroll, but you did whatever was to be done politically or any otherwise, so it was a very close fraternal relationship.
THIBODEAUX: When did you first meet the Johnsons?
MORRISS: Fairly early on after being hired in 1951 as an almost graduate of radio school and looking for a career in radio, and I really don’t remember the specific first time. But at some point Lady Bird was there and got introduced to the new employees, and she made it a point to know people, so I got to know her early on and saw both of them when they visited, which was infrequent but three or four times a year. You always knew when they were in town.
THIBODEAUX: What was your impression of Mrs. Johnson?
MORRISS: The same impression I think that the whole world has of Lady Bird Johnson, a classy lady, real lady, a class act in every respect. And one of the most genteel persons I’ve ever known.
THIBODEAUX: What about Mr. Johnson?
MORRISS: He, too, was typical according to his reputation, a big powerful man with a big powerful voice, and when he was in the room it was his room, you were just in it.
THIBODEAUX: So tell me about your relationship with the Johnsons. You said you just met them on a few occasions. Or did you have more of a relationship with them than that?
MORRISS: Well, it was on a first-name basis because it was fairly typical of them to know their employees and those who worked for them, and I worked with them for a number of years. So it was a friendly cordial relationship when we physically met. There were few occasions for any social interaction, but a thing or two comes to mind.
I was among the many employees who, for example, when LBJ’s mother died, it was custom in those days that someone sit with the body twenty-four hours while it lay in state at a funeral home, and I was among those who took a shift, if you will. So that kind of relationship was not just employee on the payroll but rather involved to some degree in their lives.
THIBODEAUX: We had talked about visits to the ranch, and you’d mentioned that there was more than one ranch area. Can you describe the ranch itself, any visits that you have done to the ranch?
MORRISS: When we speak of the ranch, the reference usually is to the Texas White House, the one on the Pedernales River at Stonewall, and I visited there several times usually for company picnics when we were invited up as a group to have a barbecue and enjoy the place.
I was the closest thing they had back in those days at the radio station to a farm editor, and that’s because I’m a farm boy from East Texas. So back in those days we had a little bit of programming—very little programming—early morning program that I did called RFD 590, as a matter of fact. That was our frequency and RFD, the old rural free delivery designation for the mail. So there were from time to time things called to my attention at the ranch, a new bull, the cattle being shown at the Blanco County fairgrounds or something like that, and somehow a little note came to my mailbox at the station that I ought to make mention of that. There were occasions when I even took a tape recorder and went up to an auction sale or something when there was a Johnson bull for sale and made some little public note of it. So there was that connection that I had that others did not have through the ranch because I’m country boy at heart, always have been, still am, and that even led to a later relationship in ranch terms.
But describing the ranch per se, you know, the LBJ Ranch, the little White House, is a small piece of property. It’s, as I recall, less than a hundred acres, but later on he acquired other ranches. A notable one was, I think, a couple of thousand acres closer to Johnson City called the Sharnhorst Ranch, always named for the old-time owner. And it was to that ranch that employees were invited to go up and spend a weekend if we wanted to at the farmhouse, which we did with some regularity, myself and my family and a couple of kids and other couples—employees of the radio station, TV station. And our connection with the ranch was primarily that because we enjoyed hunting jackrabbits and participating in varmint control in the Hill Country, (laughs) which all the ranchers appreciated.
That led to some particular personal encounters because one time while we were at the Sharnhorst Ranch, four of us—four couples—and bunny-hunting, as we called it, is best when the weather is bad and late at night. So we were up all hours of the night going out onto the ranch and hunting jackrabbits, coming back for a cup of coffee and then going out again.
During one of those visits, the well-known four-door Lincoln rolled up at an odd hour of the night and one of the entourage members rapped on the door. It happened to have been Walter Jenkins, but that was back in the old days. And the inquiry was, “Jim, is there any scotch here?” (laughs) And I said, “Well, I don’t know. One, I don’t drink, but two, I don’t go poking into the locked cabinets either.” But we found a hammer and took the hasp off of a locked cabinet and indeed there was scotch. So that led to the whole entourage from the car coming in into the Sharnhorst Ranch. It was LBJ. His guest for the weekend was General Curtis LeMay, then head of the Strategic Air Command, and his lieutenant colonel aide and a couple of other people whom I knew from the local entourage. We had a very friendly visit as we got introduced around.
One of my favorite anecdotes is my telling—suggesting that if—he said, “Well, Jimmy, what are you doing up here?” And I said, “Well, we’re hunting jackrabbits.” “Oh, tell us about that,” and so we described that primarily for the benefit of Curtis LeMay. Mr. Johnson made light of that saying, “That sounds like a lot of fun,” and I presumed to take him off to the side and say, “If you’d like to have some fun with the general, we have set up a trap for a joke on a friend of ours who’s coming up here tomorrow.” We hunt jackrabbits with a semi-automatic .22, and our friend thought he was going to shoot jackrabbits with a handgun, which is a pretty good task to hit a running jackrabbit with a handgun. So I told then Senator Johnson, I said:
If you want to have some fun with the general, we have—right around behind the house right in front of a big granite boulder, we have taken one of our bunny kills and twisted a stick into his fur and propped him up against that granite boulder in a crouched position. And we’re going to have fun when our friend comes up and tries to shoot one with a handgun. It might be fun to see if the general could hit one.
He thought that would be great fun, so I offered the general my .22. He said, “Oh, no, son, I’m pretty good with my .45,” and he patted his sidearm. So they went off full of glee and Johnson looking forward to the experience.
We all went out on the back porch then to listen, and very shortly—we’d told Johnson exactly where the rabbit was and where to put the spotlight—which he had on his car—right at the base of the granite boulder. And we could hear muffled voices. We were probably no more than fifty, sixty yards away but over the big granite boulder from the location. In a moment we heard a handgun shot ring out, echoed through the night and through those boulders and heard some mumbling and then six, seven seconds later another kablooey, a report of the handgun and some slightly louder mumbling and then a third shot. And then we could understand the mumbling enough to understand that it was a pretty good string of profanity and then heard the laughter.
When they came back by, we got a report that the general had been invited by Mr. Johnson to take a shot at that bunny that had been spotlighted. After the first shot the bunny didn’t move, of course, and Johnson reported to us that the general took five paces forward and shot again and the bunny still didn’t move, and there were appropriate comments. Then after the third shot, the profanity followed when he discovered that the rabbit was dead and rigor mortis had set in, and he went up and kicked the bunny but he kicked the granite boulder and hurt his toe. (laughs) So there was great fun had on that occasion. That’s one anecdote that reminds of the kind of relationship we had with him when he was around and in the context of wherever we encountered him.
THIBODEAUX: You said he made a commentary on some of the radio broadcasts. Can you remember any of those?
MORRISS: Understandably, he was interested particularly when he came into town when there were elections going on. And it was often late at night when he’d gone and fulfilled some obligation someplace and was coming back home. At one point he called the station late at night, and we had only recently gone into a twenty-four operation and long since had finished our news broadcasting of the election results for the evening because they were virtually over, but he had not heard some of the later reports. This was late ‘50s, something like that. And he called the station, and our new all-night disc jockey, Jack Wallace, who was quite a character, answered the phone. And the voice said, “This is Lyndon Johnson,” and our smart-aleck disc jockey said, “Yeah, and I’m Mamie Eisenhower.” And the voice came back, “This IS Lyndon Johnson, and I want to know the results.” Well, the next call came to me to find out who the smart-aleck was at the station. (laughs) So it really is true, if he wanted to talk to you at three o’clock in the morning, he gave you a call.
THIBODEAUX: There has been comments made about Lyndon Johnson’s relationship with the radio station, but I know back then I don’t think equal time laws were really in effect at that time. Did LBJ take advantage of owning a media outlet to promote his own candidacy, do you think?
MORRISS: In no way that I was ever aware. Our news editor during all of my years with the station was an old Associated Press reporter Paul Bolton, who was a consummate professional, old school but consummate print reporter, and knew all those things. I could quote a very specific example that would answer your question.
There was a gentleman in town, so far as I recall, long since deceased by the name of Marion Findlay, who was a republican in Austin, Texas at a time when that was a really rare occurrence. And Marion Findlay made it a practice to come to the station to let us know of any political events or things that he wanted to announce. And he always got a very courteous reception and was quick to confirm publicly that there was never any partisanship, if you will, in the treatment he got at the station, as rare a bird as he was, a republican in that early context.
And in specific answer to your question, no, I was never aware, never got any kind of indication, instruction, or anything else that anything was to be recognizable on the air as being in favor of or in any way supportive of a particular political view.
THIBODEAUX: There’s an author, John Bullion, who wrote a biography of Lyndon Johnson. It was called Lyndon B. Johnson: The Transformation of American Politics. And he said something rather peculiar to me in his book. He says there’s no documentary proof, but it was just common knowledge among historians that Lyndon Johnson used his political position to make his radio station and the TV station profitable. Did you see evidence of that in any way?
MORRISS: Yes. Most of it I was well aware of at the time because I was on the mike side of radio, so things that got on the air I was well aware of because I usually scheduled them. And it was fairly obvious to anybody who knew anything about the business that a little one-lung station in Austin, Texas had an uncommon number of national accounts, who normally would not have bought that far down in the market list in order to complete their campaigns.
And it was not just speculation but I think fairly confirmed anecdotal lore, if you will, that a casual mention by some staff member to the head of Colgate Palmolive Pete or whoever else, General Electric, that when there was contact for political purposes between—at high level for some mention, “Oh, by the way, you know the senator owns a radio station.” And somehow that might get translated into a call to an advertising agency, this is, Add KTBC Radio to your national account. And I think it was perfectly obvious, especially when compared with other stations in town that we had an uncommon number of national accounts on the air, where a station our size and our media market would not be expected to attract those campaigns.
THIBODEAUX: Cactus Pryor, I know he’s not available for an interview. Did they have a relationship, Cactus Pryor and former President Johnson?
MORRISS: Of the most intimate nature. They did indeed. Cactus taught me everything I knew in the business and worked for him many years. He was Johnson’s MC. Every time there was any kind of an event at the ranch where he wanted to showcase his Central Texas, his Hill Country life, Cactus was usually on the scene to tell the jokes and to MC the affairs and the barbecues and that sort of thing from heads of state on down to whoever came. Yeah, a very, very personal relationship between Cactus and the whole family and still exists to this day.
THIBODEAUX: Did that arise from the radio station or did they have a relationship before the radio station? Do you know?
MORRISS: Entirely through the radio station is my understanding of it. Um hmm.
THIBODEAUX: And I heard that you recently went to a reunion at Mr. Pryor’s house.
MORRISS: We had a nice little meeting at Cactus’ house just a little while ago. Our good friend is fading in memory and that sort of thing, and we want to enjoy him while we can and we’ve made it a point every three months for about the last year and a half to have lunch with him and reminisce a little bit.
THIBODEAUX: Wow! That’s excellent. I’m sure he appreciates it.
Do you have any other stories about Lyndon Johnson that you’d like to share?
MORRISS: A couple come to mind, both of which—one in the line of the business, the broadcast business, and one related to that but even more personal in nature.
When he was senator—and I don’t think it lasted past his position as senator—he made a five-minute Report to Texas every week on the radio. And that was back in the times before digital recordings and that sort of thing. You had to physically mail a reel-to-reel tape to each station. Once in a while when he found himself in Austin on the day he had to record that, it always fell my lot to record that and make the distributions to the stations or get it into the distribution loop. And at the time our radio station and TV station were located in the Driskill Hotel at Sixth and Brazos. And as an adjunct about two buildings up in the old Knoll Building on the second we had a little suite of offices that we used as a recording studio.
So on more than one occasion when he was in town, I was told to be there on a Saturday morning at an appointed hour and to be ready to receive and record the Senator in his report to the state. On one particular occasion—it happened to be after one of his heart attacks—I was in the second-floor office waiting to hear from him that he had arrived. And without any prior notice of Secret Service or anything of that nature—the building was empty on the weekend. The offices were closed. And I heard floating up through the stairwell the bellowing voice when he entered the hall downstairs calling, “Jimmy! Jimmy, I’m here. Where are you?” So I came to the elevator—and came down in the elevator to bring him up. An old, old building, old, old, elevator, kind of creaky but it did work.
When I took the elevator down to the first floor and opened it, he was reluctant to get in and said, “Does that thing work?” and I said, “Well, yes, sir. I’ve gone up and down several times this morning. He said, “Do it one more time.” So I had to take it all the way to the top of the building and then all the way back down to prove to him that it might work one more time for him to ride.
The other anecdote came much later in 1963, and I had determined because of just burnout—no other reason, just burnout—in a job that required my attention on-call twenty-four hours a day seven days a week for the twenty-four-hour radio station, and two little kids growing up without dad around as often as I wanted to be. There had been a plan afoot to do what then would’ve been innovative was to do a one-hour-long ten to eleven o’clock at night newscast on television, and their plan was for me to anchor that newscast.
At the time I was approaching burnout and went to J. C. Kellam, the manager, and said:
Mr. Kellam, I plan to change careers. I’m burned out on this one. It’s been a wonderful job, and I’ve enjoyed it greatly but I don’t plan to be here, so please don’t promote me as the future anchor of that because I plan to change. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I hope I’ve earned the respect—I’ll give you a full day’s work for a full day’s pay until I know what I’m going to do.
And they granted me that respect.
Well, subsequent to that discussion with J. C. Kellam, on a Saturday morning when I usually opened the radio station and did the early news run just because that’s the way I had the announcer schedule arranged, I got a call about six thirty on a Saturday morning after I had come in about five. And it was Johnson—this was in 1963. He at the time was vice president—and he said, “Jimmy, I’m showing my cattle up at the Blanco County fairgrounds and want you to be up there. Meet me at the fairgrounds at nine o’clock this morning.” And I said, “Well, Mr. Vice President, I’m on duty here and I don’t have anybody to cover.” “See you at nine o’clock, Jimmy,” which was the usual no excuses, (laughs) just be there.
So when I hung up the phone, I called my wife and said, “We’ve been—” He said, “Bring your wife with you.” I said, “We’ve been summoned into an audience with the Man, and I have an idea what it has to do with, but get a baby-sitter and I’ll pick you up as soon as I can get loose here.” So I got a replacement for the station.
In the meantime I was in the process of finding another career, and I had applied for two or three things, one of which was of particular interest. I had applied for the job of information director with the Association of Texas Electric Cooperatives, the trade association of the rural electric cooperatives in the state. But I had not heard. I had been told that—this was on a Saturday—I had been told that by Monday I might know whether or not I had the job because the board was to have met over the weekend. So I dared to call the manager of the association, Jim Cobb, on a Saturday morning early, and his wife said, “Well, he’s on the golf course already.” “Well, where is he? When did he tee off?” and I located him out at the Austin Country Club on number nine. I got in his golf cart with him and said:
Mr. Cobb, I’m not being pushy because that’s not my nature and it’s not appropriate. But is there any insight you can give me into the possibility of my having this job because I’ve been called into audience with the Man. And everybody knows—
and we all called him the Man. “Everybody knows you don’t go into audience with the Man without answers to questions you know will be asked.” And he said, “Well, I can’t be sure. The board’s not made a final decision, but I can give you a 90 percent assurance that you will be our choice between the applicants.” I thanked him, got my wife finally picked up and got to the fairgrounds probably forty-five minutes late from the nine o’clock appointed time.
Not a soul in sight. Show grounds were totally deserted. The show was over, and my wife and I sat down on the bleachers and said, “Well, what do we do now?”
Shortly a man in the black suit talking into his shirtsleeve said, “I found him,” and tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Are you Jim Morriss?” and “Yes.” “Follow me.”
So we followed the Secret Service through the back roads of Johnson City—and there aren’t many roads of Johnson City—over to Charlie’s Restaurant over on Highway 281 and ushered into the backroom where Vice President Johnson, J. C. Kellam, Ed Clark later ambassador to Australia, Jack Valenti before he was employed by LBJ, Jack’s then fiancée Mary Margaret Wiley, who had gone to high school with my wife in San Antonio, and some other local staff people who were handling logistics. But there they were enjoying hamburgers in the backroom of Charlie’s café. We were ushered in, sat down next to Vice President Johnson, and after greetings—and I knew most of the people there—after greetings and introductions, the man turned to me and said, “Well, Jimmy, I understand that your mind is made up and that you’re going to leave me, but that doesn’t keep me from making you unhappy about it.”
Well, that classic Lyndon Johnson Treatment A. And I gulped a little bit, and that’s as far as we got in that subject because something else distracted him. In fact, he turned to Jack Valenti and began to try to convince Valenti to come to Washington to work for him. And Jack said, “But I don’t want to do that. I’ve got a PR firm in Houston to run.” (laughs) And he said, “Well, you’re going to marry Mary Margaret anyway. You may as well come on up there now.” Anyway, the subject was—we felt like real fifth wheels there in that company although I knew most people there.
And then the man announced—he said, “Well, let’s all go over to the Nicholson Ranch.” That was a later acquisition over on what was then Lake Granite Shoals, now Lake LBJ. So people were dispatched. You go with so-and-so, you go with so-and-so. My wife and I were dispatched to another location to pick up Lynda Johnson to bring her over. Others went other places to get Luci and whoever, and we all gathered at the Nicholson Ranch.
By that time the entourage was doing as they always do, and that is stand around until they’re told what the activity of the day is. And it was hors d’oeuvres on the dining room table at the ranch. I remember Harry Aiken, who was then mayor of Austin or a former mayor of Austin, was there and the others that I had mentioned. And my wife and I, again, were certainly the fifth wheels in all of that.
In a few minutes the Man walked through the room and took my wife by the arm and me by the other arm and ushered us into the living room and said, “Jimmy, let’s go talk.” And we went into the living room. We sat on the couch and he lounged in a recliner chair, and his first words were, “Jimmy, what is it you want to do? Go with the co-ops?” which told me quickly that J. C. Kellam had gotten to him again and said, “His mind’s made up and they vetted him through us at the association of co-ops.” And that’s when he said what is quoted in every biography I’ve ever read of him, particularly in the Caro books, that says, “Rural electrification is my proudest public achievement,” and “bring lights to the Hill Country,” as he always put it. He said, “Is that the job you want?” and I said, “Yes, sir. Of the several that I’ve looked at, I would like—that’s the one I feel most qualified for and one I feel really attracted to.” He said, “Well, if that’s what you want, that’s what I want you to have.” And I got the job on Monday. (laughs)
And it was obvious, of course, that cooperatives having been born in politics and lived in politics all those years were not going to hire me if I were leaving LBJ’s employ in anything but the best of graces. And fortunately, that was the case.
I left in September of 1963 and assumed my new job, and for the first six weeks studied my lessons to be information director for the electric cooperatives, about which I knew little. But my then boss had had dental surgery and was not coming to the office during the day but he came at night and piled my desk high with everything in the library. So I became an overnight expert in cooperative history.
My first day out of the office was to attend the Texas Farm Reunion Convention in Lubbock, Texas, and after I’d made my presentation to the policy committee relative to some legislation we had interest in at the time, I went to lunch with a co-op manager. When we came back from lunch, the hotel lobby was full of TV sets announcing the assassination of JFK. That was my introduction to the field of co-ops.
After that there was any number of occasions to relate to my LBJ relationships in the program.
THIBODEAUX: Did you ever have a relationship or see the Johnsons after that?
MORRISS: Not really. Not after I left employ. One time when the electric co-ops of Texas each year had a congressional dinner in Washington, and after he became president on one occasion he accepted our invitation to walk across the street to the Mayflower Hotel and to address our dinner. And I shook his hand as he came in. That’s the last personal time I ever saw him.
The other relationship I almost had with him—I really had with him was back several years before I left the station, probably three years before I left the station. The radio station acquired a new transmitter site down on the Colorado River in the Del Valle/Hornsby Bend area. They needed a new radio site—a transmitter site, so they sent engineers out to find the best place for a station at that frequency, and they said, “Here’s a hundred and thirty-five acres on the banks of the Colorado. Buy that,” which they did. It was the site of an old nursery.
And I learned about it because I was working at the station, of course. Learned about it, and I was doing ranching on the side because that was my hobby. That was my golf. And really when I finally determined to leave broadcasting my preference was to get into ranching, but that doesn’t happen without some inheritance, none of which I had.
But I had gone to J. C. Kellam and said, “I know you’re about to put in these four transmitter towers down on the Colorado. Before you put in to the ground system—“ Each of four towers has a radiating system buried about one foot in the ground around each tower. “Before you do that, let me sprig that field, that sixty-five acres in coastal Bermuda grass because we’ll never be able to plow it after you put the system in.” They agreed, so I hurriedly got contractors out and we sowed coastal Bermuda grass out there. Then I in essence leased the land from the station and ran cattle on it later on.
Well, as it came time for me to—I was about to leave the station then. I thought this tie-in with the Johnson family would offer an opportunity. As I said, I would have liked to get into ranching, and I knew the then foreman of the LBJ Ranches, Henry Blackburn, who had already announced that he was leaving to go manage a big spread in Colorado. And I went to J. C. Kellam and said, “Might that not be an opportunity for me to apply for the foremanship of the LBJ Ranches? I ranch on the side,” and Mr. Kellam said:
Well, sure. We know you well. You’re a loyal employee, but we really have never seen you without a suit and tie on, so we’re not quite sure what you know about cattle. Why don’t you go up and let Henry interview you, and then he will make some assessment of your suitability as a candidate.
I did that. I knew Henry. Went up and Henry showed me around the ranches, and we talked cattle and we got through with our little tour and said, “Well, Jim, you know what needs to be done and you know what you’re doing.” We were parked in front of his house, the foreman’s house at the LBJ Ranch, which is probably no more than forty, fifty yards from the main house. I said:
One final question, Henry. You and I both work for the Man in different contexts. I work for him in his urban setting and see him once in a while, and I know what that relationship is like. You work for him in his country. This is his love, his Hill Country. What is it like to work for him this close in something so close to him?
And Henry said:
Well, Jim, let me tell you a little story. One spring morning I had the windows open in the house and the breeze was blowing through. And then just about daylight and I was pulling my last boot on, and I heard the voice from the second story window of the main house saying, ‘Henry! Henry! Come get this goddamn hog out of my swimming pool.’
And Henry said:
I knew that old sow that had farrowed three days before had taken the family for a swim. And I hurried up to the house and sure enough, that old sow and eleven little ones were on the steps of that kidney-shaped swimming pool and I had to remove them in a hurry.
I said, “Henry, it’s an interesting story, but that’s too close. I’m going to find something else to do,” and that’s when I pursued the opportunity with the co-op.
THIBODEAUX: Didn’t want to be in shouting distance. (laughs)
MORRISS: No. Too close. Too close.
THIBODEAUX: That is a good story.
Well, that’s all the questions I have. Is there anything else that you want to share?
MORRISS: That’s about my story except after I left the station in September of ’63 and then the assassination and he became president in November of ’63, then the obvious takes place. I along with thousands of other people get telephone calls from every press reporter in the world, especially somebody who is a recent former employee, just to say, “Anything you want to say?” And my retort was usually, “No. I had a good career. I enjoyed it very much. I left because I was burned out. I didn’t leave for any other reason and have nothing to say.” They, of course, were looking for critical comments, and usually they would follow up by saying, “Well, what was it like to work for him?” and my retort usually was, “Everything you ever heard or read about him is true, the good and the not so good. Yes, he will call you at three o’clock in the morning because I have received those calls.” (laughs) “And you also will have opportunity to be congratulated and thanked for good and loyal faithful service. I had a good career and I had the job I had with his blessing.” End of conversation.
THIBODEAUX: Well, thank you, Mr. Morriss. That was some good stories. I appreciate it.
(End of interview)