From the first, the President and the portraitist hit it off together like a pair of cowpokes. Both, after all, were men of the Southwest, both ranchers, both devoted to the austere horizons of the high desert.
They had met before, but first got to know each other at close range in late 1964, when Peter Hurd and his wife Henriette, sister of Artist Andrew Wyeth, were jointly commissioned to execute Lyndon Johnson's portrait as the Man of the Year for TIME'S Jan. 1, 1965 cover. During a two-hour session, the President talked brilliantly, flitting from subject to subject, while the Kurds, fascinated, tried to concentrate on sketching him. Later Johnson took the Hurds through the White House's private quarters, proudly pointed out a Hurd landscape hung on the wall opposite the presidential bed. To Johnson's eye, it captured perfectly the look of Texas ranch country.
"Mr. President," said Hurd, "that's New Mexico."
"Well," replied Johnson, a bit crestfallen, "it looks like Texas to me."
Promise to Bird. Johnson professed not to like Hurd's TIME portrait of him, complaining that one shoulder seemed elongated and that he had a "squinty" look. However, he appeared to be mollified by the artist's explanation that the narrowed eyes were characteristic of men who rode in the Southwest sun all their days. Rumors spread that Peter Hurd would be selected to do the President's official portrait, but the first Hurd knew about it was when he went to the White House in May 1965 and was introduced by Johnson to South Korean President Chung Hee Park. "I want you to meet my friend Peter Hurd," said L.B.J. "He is going to do my portrait." Shortly afterward, Hurd, now 62, received a letter from the White House Historical Association officially awarding him the assignment—at $6,000, half his usual fee.
Johnson's first sitting was a year and a half ago at Camp David outside Washington. The President showed up exhausted. "That massive head of his fell forward on his chest, he was so tired," recalls Hurd. Johnson's head nodded several times, and Hurd pitied him. "This is terrible," he said. "I wish you'd go have a siesta." "No," insisted Johnson. "I promised Bird that I would give you half an hour and I will do it." His head fell forward again, and at the end of exactly 30 minutes Hurd said compassionately: "That's all, Mr. President."
400 Hours of Labor. Hurd had only one other session with Johnson, this time at the Texas ranch while the President was conferring in the dining room with Supreme Court Justice Arthur Goldberg, whom he had just named Ambassador to the United Nations. For 40 frustrating minutes Hurd watched L.B.J. get up from his chair, sit down, get up, pace the floor, tug at his ear, rub his nose, wipe his brow—in short, do everything but sit for his portrait.