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Joe, like all effective demagogues, found an area of emotion and exploited it. No regard for fair play, no scruple for exact truth hampers Joe's political course. If his accusations destroy reputations, if they subvert the principle that a man is innocent until proved guilty, he is oblivious. Joe, immersed in the joy of battle, does not even seem to realize the gravity of his own charges. On countless rostrums, he has in effect accused Ambassador at Large Philip Jessup and Secretary of State Acheson of treason. This is a crime punishable by death in the U.S. Asked what he would do with Jessup if he were in charge, McCarthy has a simple answer: "Fire him." When he met Acheson in a Senate elevator, Joe grinned, introduced himself, and shook hands as if the meeting were a cordial encounter between rival baseball managers.
Tramp Dog. Outside the political arena, McCarthy is an ingratiating and friendly fellow. "He comes up to you with tail wagging and all the appeal of a tramp dog," said one colleague. "And he's just about as trustworthy." Joe was liked and respected in college, liked and respected in the Marines, liked and respected in his home town. Within five minutes or so, everyone he meets is calling him "Joe." At 41, he has a candid eye for a pretty girl, but he has never married. "I can't work at politics if I can't stay away from supper when I want to," says Joe. He dotes on children, to whom he talks gravely as equals.
Burly, hamhanded, McCarthy has a furious physical energy. He is always in a hurry. He rushes through a newspaper in five minutes, looking just for items of special interest or use to him; he has little general curiosity. His pockets are always stuffed with notes which he can't find, and he can never keep a comb or a pencil or a handkerchief.
A two-fisted drinker who holds his liquor very well, McCarthy does not smoke. He detests cigars. Joe always begins a lunch or dinner speech by coughing raucously into his fist, saying: "Before I begin [cough-cough], I want to ask So & So [cough-cough] just what he has been smoking. It reminds me of my days back on the farm." This serves a double purpose: it gets a laugh, and all head-table smokers stub out their cigars.
McCarthy's idea of a meal is steak, very well done. "Cremate it," he tells the waiter. He almost always has steak for dinner, often for breakfast. He rarely eats lunch, but when he does, he is likely to order steak. He keeps irregular hours, gets up late, goes to bed usually long after midnight. A favorite McCarthy recreation is poker, but many find playing with him too nerve-racking, and somewhat like opposing him in politics. In seven-card stud, McCarthy will raise, raise again and then again without even bothering to look at his hole cards. Said one opponent: "You get to the point where you don't care what McCarthy's got in the hole—all you know is that it's too costly to stay in the game."