Just the other day, I sat down with a well-known politician in Talbot County and discussed local politics, and I was surprised and a bit sad that they couldn’t remember Rogers Morton. And just this morning, the Talbot Historical Society made him the subject of their weekly Project Rewind Spy column, which triggered some wonderful memories of him.
Rogers has not been with us for 50 years, but I can’t think of a better example of the Shore’s tradition of political moderation than when Rogers Morton represented the First District. With that in mind in 2011, I dedicated the Talbot Spy to his memory, and it’s been far too long since I republished this background for Spy readers.
This was originally published on July 16, 2012.
When the Talbot Spy formally launched in the spring of 2011, it dedicated itself to the memory of Talbot County’s Rogers C.B. Morton, a Republican congressman and former secretary of the Interior and Commerce in the Nixon and Ford administrations.
It may have seemed an odd choice for a new e-newspaper with a generally progressive point of view to honor a former Republican congressman who had died more than thirty years earlier. Even among Republicans, memories of one of the Eastern Shore’s most important political figures had begun to fade.
But Morton represented something the Spy believed was worth remembering: an ability to work across political lines without surrendering his own beliefs.
Morton, who represented Maryland’s Eastern Shore in Congress from 1963 to 1971, was a committed Republican and later chairman of the Republican National Committee. Yet throughout his career, he worked with Democrats as well as conservatives in his own party on issues ranging from civil rights to ethics reform, environmental protection, land conservation and the Chesapeake Bay.
His daughter, Anne “Babe” Wyman, recalled that her father thought of himself first as a businessman.
“He liked the fact that he came from business,” she said. “He had a love of the Bay and farming, but what he thought he brought to the table was a business-like mindset such as keeping taxes down and government’s role limited, but be fair.”
That combination — conservative instincts, a strong sense of fairness and an unusual ability to get along with people who disagreed with him — became one of Morton’s defining characteristics.
In many ways, it seemed appropriate for the Spy to acknowledge him as it began its own work on the Eastern Shore.
But who was Rog Morton? And how did his collegial style of politics fare in the policy jungles of Washington? This short bit of history might help.
On a hot August morning in 1968, Richard Nixon was completing one of the most remarkable political comebacks in American history.
Only six years earlier, after losing the California governor’s race, Nixon had famously told reporters they would no longer have him “to kick around anymore.” Now he had secured the Republican nomination for president.
The “New Nixon” had built his comeback on organization and planning. Unlike his 1960 presidential campaign, almost every detail had been considered, from political strategy to Madison Avenue’s memorable “Nixon’s the One” slogan.
But one major decision remained unsettled: his running mate.
Nixon had already met with aides and congressional leaders to discuss the vice-presidential choice, but no clear favorite had emerged. With only hours remaining, he called another meeting in his Miami hotel suite.
Among those gathered were campaign manager John Mitchell; future White House chief of staff H.R. Haldeman; Nixon friend Robert Finch; convention floor manager Robert Ellsworth; Texas Senator John Tower; and Congressman Rogers Morton of Easton, Maryland.
The group considered several possibilities, including Massachusetts Governor John Volpe and Tennessee Senator Howard Baker.
Then Nixon returned to the name of Maryland Governor Spiro Agnew.
Agnew had risen quickly in Maryland politics, moving from Baltimore County executive to governor in only a few years. He was then regarded by many Republicans as a moderate and had developed a reputation for supporting civil rights.
But Nixon barely knew him.
There had also been little of the intensive background investigation that later became routine for vice-presidential candidates. Nixon wanted the judgment of someone who knew Maryland politics.
He turned to Rogers Morton.
Unlike many of Nixon’s political relationships, his affection for Morton appears to have been genuine.
Morton had supported Nixon early in 1968, but their relationship was about more than political loyalty. Morton possessed a personal quality that even the guarded Nixon seemed to appreciate.
Almost everyone seemed to like Rog.
Republicans, Democrats, Chesapeake watermen, Eastern Shore farmers and members of Maryland’s old establishment all seemed comfortable around him.
At six feet seven inches tall, with swept-back white hair and a booming laugh, Morton became known around Washington as the “gentle giant.”
Unlike his friend Lyndon Johnson, who famously used his physical size as a form of political intimidation, Morton seemed to use his own considerable presence in the opposite way. He drew people in.
Morton also came from precisely the kind of establishment background that could make the class-conscious Nixon uncomfortable.
He attended Woodberry Forest and Yale and came from inherited wealth. After the family flour business was acquired by Pillsbury in the 1950s, Morton lived comfortably.
His move to Talbot County had more to do with his love of sailing and the Chesapeake Bay than political calculation. Before entering Congress, he served on corporate boards, farmed and became involved in boat building.
Politics came somewhat later.
There is some truth to the story that Morton entered politics partly because of the friendly competition he shared with his older brother, Thurston Morton, a successful U.S. senator from Kentucky.
Rogers Morton’s own route to Congress, however, was hardly the product of a lifelong political plan.
His friend and former congressman Edward T. Miller unexpectedly decided not to seek the seat in 1962. Morton entered the race. Then, only weeks before the general election, his Democratic opponent, Congressman Thomas F. Johnson, became embroiled in a federal corruption case.
Morton won.
It was not the kind of hard political apprenticeship that Nixon usually admired.
Yet Nixon trusted him.
“Rog, what’s your take on Agnew?” Nixon asked during the Miami meeting.
Morton reportedly answered without hesitation that Agnew’s weakness was a “tendency to be lazy.”
Nixon responded, “Well, Rog, maybe you would be the better choice for me.”
Morton had an opening.
A different politician might have encouraged the conversation, however subtly. Morton did the opposite.
“If it’s between me and Ted Agnew,” he replied, “Ted would be the better choice.”
Nixon apparently understood immediately that Morton was not interested.
He turned to John Mitchell, then back to Morton.
“Call Agnew.”
The moment is revealing not because we can know what a Morton vice presidency might have meant for American history. We cannot.
But it does tell us something about Morton.
People who knew him were not surprised that, when suddenly presented with the possibility of becoming vice president of the United States, his instinct was not to grab for it.
It was not the first time.
Morton had declined to enter Maryland’s 1966 gubernatorial contest despite encouragement, including from the Baltimore Sun. He later stepped aside rather than compete with his friend Charles “Mac” Mathias for the Republican nomination for the U.S. Senate.
Modesty may have played a part in Morton’s lack of obvious political ambition. So did something more personal: he seemed to prefer jobs in which he could enjoy the work and the people around him.
And what he enjoyed most was people.
Morton could move comfortably among very different political groups, from the Goldwater wing of the Republican Party to the young antiwar protesters emerging in the late 1960s.
His former aide Jay French remembered driving through Washington with Morton during the Nixon administration when they encountered protesters outside an event.
“We were in a place where kids were clearly going to disrupt the event we were attending,” French recalled. “They were radicals, and loud, and he walked right into the middle of the group, and of course towered over them with that six-foot-seven frame.
“By the end, everyone was laughing. It was just the way he had with people when there were disagreements. He seemed so darn reasonable to people.”
That word — reasonable — followed Morton throughout his career.
Today there is considerable nostalgia for the disappearance of the so-called moderate Republican. But some of Morton’s contemporaries resisted putting him into that category.
His congressional colleague and friend Donald Rumsfeld said “moderate” was too simple a label.
“I’m not sure we would have used the term ‘moderate,’” Rumsfeld said. “But I think we did see ourselves as reformers.”
Rumsfeld remembered Morton and a group of younger Republicans trying to improve congressional rules and procedures, establish stronger ethics standards, and support civil rights and environmental protection.
That distinction matters.
Morton was not without strong political convictions. Nor was he someone who avoided partisanship. He was a Republican politician operating at the highest levels of his party.
What distinguished him was the way he practiced politics.
He could be conservative on taxes and the role of government while supporting civil rights. He could disagree sharply with Democrats while continuing to work with them. He could hold strong views without assuming that those on the other side were enemies.
It was a political style built less around ideological labels than around temperament.
Rogers Morton believed that disagreement did not have to prevent cooperation.
In Washington, that may have been his most important contribution.
8 Responses
That’s beyond interesting. I went to their house on Wye once for some thing, and only laid eyes on the gent.
“THOSE WERE THE GOOD OL’ DAYS M’FRIEND”
Thanks for the remembrance Dave!
He was always inquisitive and listened to all points before he spoke. You knew where he stood on things and he knew where you did. A rare politician for his time. Much needed for the present. Just sayin’…
My mother had a problem and contacted Congressman Morten’s office. He came to our home in Tilghman. My father was six foot four inches, all his brothers were tall one being six feet five inches tall. I was young and remember thinking how extremely tall he was and how long his legs stretched out across the floor (Children you never know what’s in their minds). He helped my mother. Years later a friend came home from Vietnam minus a leg from a land mine and was getting nowhere with the Veterans Administration. He came to my father for help. You know who my father contacted. He had Col. Webster get involved and it wasn’t long the problems were taking care of. About a year later my husband to be hit a land mine in Vietnam fortunately not hurt as badly as our friend but still had problems and the Veterans Administration was not helpful. My father called Congressman Morton again and again Col Webster was involved and problems were taking care of. I am sad to say Col. Webster was killed in an automobile accident. I don’t know if my father ever called him again about a problem but I do know that they talked on the phone frequently. My father was a waterman and the Congressman was always interested in what was happening on the water and the island. His name was Rogers C.B. Morton and he liked to say the C B stood for Chesapeake Bay. A wonderful man and wonderful Congressman.
Absolutely wonderful article about a magnificent man!
Thank you. We desperately need politicians with the qualities of Rog.
Yes we do!
Thank you for revisiting the story about Rog Morton. I don’t remember telling you the story about Rog and the antiwar students that we encountered one day. But it happened pretty much that way. The young people were in a group making a lot of noise, very upset and angry, and Raj walked into the middle and just stood there as they all began to absorb his presence and then he started speaking in one of the softest voices I ever remember coming out of his mouth. And the students started listening. Raj was a World War II veteran. I don’t remember what he said, but it quieted everybody down and more importantly, had them listening to him. Jay French.
As a kid, I recall Congressman Morton visiting our home often. My dad, Tex Sultenfuss, was involved in local politics and coordinated the annual Bull Roast for the Republican Congressman. Though he towered over me, I recall the Congressman bending down to my level to converse and ask me about my life.
He and numerous staffers attended my dad’s Marine Corps retirement party at our home. They were all just regular people, mingling and enjoying one another. Notable were Col. Webster and future Congressman Bill Mills- two very fine men who also were close to our family.
My dad respected Congressman Morton and campaigned for him in Queen Anne’s County. One of many desirable traits Congressman Morton had was willingness to listen and understand opposing viewpoints. Largely missing in today’s realm is the ability to agree to disagree, then be able to work together on other projects. Polarization wasn’t nearly as drastic as it is now.
Oh how excited I was every time I’d get off the school bus and see the car in our driveway with Member of Congress tags! I knew we had an interesting visitor again.
Those were the “old days” of Eastern Shore politics. Great, dedicated people, working to make a difference for The People.