Name-Dropping: From F.D.R. on [Paperback]

Name Dropping is a great high-level recap of Galbreath's insider experience as an influential 20th century statesmen. Like a grandfather recounting the salient parts of our recent American history and his career, its everything that you would not expect from an agricultural economist -- entertaining, witty, and easy to read. Highly recommended for train rides, short flights, or rainy days.

Blessed with a very long life, and having risen to prominence at an early age, John Kenneth Galbraith had ample time to write and publish his memoirs. This he did in 1981, without the provision for a further installment. Then came a dilemma: what was he to do with the rest of his life, and how could he direct his drive for authorship? Putting his pen to rest was not an option, and he was sufficiently clever to avoid repeating himself (or at least lucid enough to alert the reader when he was doing so). For a time, he found solace in fiction, and published a few novels that were, to his own admission, well received by the public. But the lure of autobiography was still there.

So he put his work back on the loom, and attempted to weave a new narrative out of the rich material he had accumulated over the years. Like the perfume maker who extracts a rich fragrance out of aromatic essences, or the liquor distiller who puts his spirit in the copper still for a last round of distillation, he gathered his pool of souvenirs for a last cuvée spéciale, and out of the condenser came a few drops of concentrated memories. These are the name drops, the unforgettable reminiscences distilled through time and experience, that are gathered in Name-Dropping.

Not lacking personal courage and aspiration to greatness, John Kenneth Galbraith could have become a war hero; but his height--six feet eight-and-a-half inches--disqualified him for active service in World War II. He was so tall he had to bend down to bring himself to other people's level. Hence his reputation for arrogance and haughtiness, a reputation that John F. Kennedy acknowledged as very well deserved. As the photo portfolio shows, the persons Galbraith bent down upon were the greatest leaders of the American Century. He was fortunate enough to work for Roosevelt, Truman, Kennedy, and Johnson. With his political bosses he was always faithful and trustworthy. In his memoirs, he emphasizes their political deeds, and glosses over their few personal weaknesses. With his friends, especially with those who failed to reach the pinnacle, like Adlai Stevenson, he sometimes resorts to biting irony. With himself, to self-deprecating humor. With his enemies, to scorn and venom. With ladies, always the gentleman.

Although he always worked for great men, Galbraith had deep respect and appreciation for great women. With Eleanor Roosevelt and Jacqueline Kennedy he felt even closer than with their presidential husbands. For him, to label them First Ladies is completely off the mark, and even slightly indecent. The title doesn't recognize independent intelligence and aptitude but is simply a consequence of marriage. As he recalls, "We thought of Eleanor Roosevelt as someone who, but for the accident of history and the prevailing constraints on gender, could have been President in her own right." As for Jackie, her main political asset was her detachment. She brought the Mémoires du Duc de Saint-Simon on the presidential campaign trail; like the great observer of the French royal court, she was able to judge people and see through the veil of decorum and flattery. The third woman referred to in the book is Catherine Galbraith, whom the author, for the same reason he was loath to use the title of First Lady, never designates as "my wife".

Always demanding with himself and with others, Ken Galbraith distributes badges of incompetence generously: to Nazi leadership, to US wartime business leaders, to bureaucrats at the Department of State, to military experts and Cold War warriors. He feels the need to correct history and to set the record straight on several major turning points of the twentieth century. Pointing the decision to declare war on the United States, or to hold fast at Stalingrad, he writes that "In the long history of military ineptitude, few can rival Hitler for strategic error." His economic advisor Albert Speer, whom he interrogated after German capitulation, was clever enough to get away with the Nazi crimes, but he was no less an incompetent scoundrel than the team of psychopaths and alcoholics he tried to distance himself from. Commenting on the last Viceroy of India, Galbraith writes that "Nothing in the twentieth century was so badly handled and with such disastrous consequences as Mountbatten's policies on Indian independence, leading as they did to the division of the subcontinent into three countries amidst conflict, mass migration and death."

On the other hand, Galbraith credits President Truman with the European Recovery Plan that is usually associated with the name of General Marshall, and which should have gone in history under the name of the Truman Plan. He also corrects the record on President Lyndon B. Johnson, one of the most misunderstood US President, who fell victim of the Vietnam tragedy. His misfortune was that "A man with a humane, astute and effective view and agenda on domestic social issues would be destroyed by a foreign and associated military policy on which he lacked experience, interest and self-confidence." But LBJ is also remembered for his earthly humor and popular quips. I was already familiar with his remark to Galbraith that "making a speech on economics is a lot like pissing down your leg: it seems hot to you, but it never does to anyone else." There are a few other quotes of this sort, including a remark on the ineffective support provided by a Congress colleague--I can't reproduce the comparison here, but it has to do with the effect of a pantyhose on the penetration of intimate parts by a finger. Also worthwhile is the comparison between LBJ and Richard Nixon, when the author notes that "Being known by initials is an indicator of affection; this Nixon, in singular measure, was not accorded."

Although he served as Ambassador to India, JKG was not what is commonly understood as "a diplomat"--if the later means a sociable person of even temper and sophisticate manners, using understatement to obfuscate meaning and ceremonial to keep up appearances. He was very critical of the State Department's established beliefs during the Vietnam war, and his analysis as to why diplomacy breeds conservatism and is antithetic to free thinking would have pleased Popper, or Wittgenstein. He alludes to his fits of temper, like telling a public relation expert "in one of the most restrained expression at my command, that he could mind his own damn business," or reacting to an aide who was reminding him of protocol by telling him "in an obscene way what he could do to himself." But Galbraith is also capable of the most elegant language expressions, and he writes in a very engaging style. He has a taste for inverted sentences and for the elision of verbs that give his writing a very unique turn of phrase. His is a style I wish I could emulate, and a devotion to public service I also look up to.

What a great read this is. Galbraith brings out a personal side of people we could only imagine exists. Of course, he reveals the same of himself. (Ever see a picture of him smiling?) The book reads quickly. In fact, my only complaint about the book is that I got so relaxed while reading it that I fell asleep too easily. (I read late at night). I'm sure, as I did, you'll be envious of Galbraith's acquaintances with the "characaters" of this book. Buy it!