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As a congressional investigation counsel, Jenkins has had to overcome some of his normal techniques. In this case he is supposed to expedite and clarify; sometimes he seems to drop back into the criminal lawyer's bent for diverting and throwing dust. His flowing language is sometimes confusing and his booming courtroom voice hit the microphones so hard that electricians installed a special guard to keep his mouth at least two inches away. At first, while points of order mounted to disorder, he seemed to be waiting for the judge to stop the nonsense, not realizing that he could prompt Chairman Mundt to bang the gavel.
What Next for Ray? Now that he has been televised to national prominence, politicians in Washington and Tennessee are asking: What next for Ray Jenkins? He probably stands a chance of gaining more than any other participant in the hearings (but not financially: he is being paid $225 a week). At home, Republicans have already begun urging him to run for the U.S. Senate this year against his old lumber-loading pal Estes Kefauver. Jenkins can have the G.O.P. nomination for the asking.
A lifelong Republican, Jenkins has dabbled a bit in politics (e.g., Tennessee manager for Wendell Willkie in 1940), but his name has never been on a ballot. He was a Taftman until the 1952 G.O.P. convention began, and then he flew to Chicago and urged the Tennessee delegation to get behind Eisenhower, "a man who can win." His present attitude about politics is expressed in a characteristically long and rolling comment, which begins: "Apparently my friends are much more interested in my running for the U.S. Senate than I am . . . It's conceivable that the time may come when I feel I could be of service to my country by seeking public office." This seems to add up to one word: maybe.
The maybe has not escaped Estes Kefauver, who knows what television can do for a man. Last week Estes and Mrs. Jenkins met on the plane to Knoxville. The Senator was going down to make a speech. Mrs. Jenkins was going back to open their house for Tennessee's "historical homes pilgrimage." (The mansion was built by her father, the late Dr. W. S. Nash, an eminent Knoxville surgeon.) In his casual way, Senator Kefauver allowed that Washington really wasn't a very pleasant place for a Senator's family. All those social affairs to attend, whether one wanted to or not. And friends moving away just when one has begun to count on them. A hard life, actually.
This may have been a smart bit of early-stage campaigning by Kefauver, but there is no reason to think that it was effective. It is not likely that Ray Jenkins, having burst upon the national scene, will retreat to the courtrooms of East Tennessee, never to assault a network microphone again. Jenkins is a man with a natural flair for politics. In the lobbies and dining rooms of Washington he shakes hands, signs autographs, and pats children just as readily as does his old pal Estes. If he could arouse enough Tennesseans to believe that Kefauver has marched too often with the Yankee liberals, Jenkins might become U.S. Senator from Tennessee.
Estes Kefauver can talk all he wants about how hot it is in the sun and how shady in the boxcar, but he had better not complain too much about life in Washington.