Transcript: Chapter 26

John Connally: The basic, sedentary life that he was relegated to was not the type of life that he enjoyed or had ever known. His life had been enormously active, had been centered around politics. All of a sudden, he had nothing to be active about, and the politics was gone.

Doris Kearns Goodwin: Now he was left to this ranch, but he had to have staff meetings in the morning or else he would have gone crazy. But they might have only been three or four Mexican field hands, and he was telling them which tractors, and which eggs were going to be laid by which hens, almost. And at night, he literally couldn't go to sleep unless he had reports, just as he had always had in the White House, but now it would be how many eggs had been laid by these hens. And it was almost as if the monarchy had been reduced to this small ranch but the habits had to stay the same.

And as all of that sadness set in, then there was a certain frenzy of wondering, would history remember him well? And then, I think, his whole mood began to change.

Elizabeth Wickenden, LBJ Family Friend: He was extremely depressed, and he wouldn't talk about anything in the last twenty-five years. He would talk about the early days; he wouldn't talk about anything in the subsequent years.

Ronnie Dugger: He was -- he had this long white hair, and it's all curled - you know, it kind of curled to the back of his hair, and he looked like a hippie. I think he chose to look like a hippie because he contained everything. He looked like he was identifying with the kids who'd been demonstrating against the war. Maybe he was trying to say to them, "Hey, I understand. If I'd have been young, I might have done the same thing."

Eliot Janeway: I think he drank himself to death, knowing that he shouldn't have drunk, shouldn't have smoked, shouldn't have got overweight. He had the heart problem. He always said that men in the Johnson family didn't live long, and I think he just asked for it and just waited for it to happen.

Narrator: On a cold day in the winter of 1972, Johnson left the seclusion of his ranch and traveled to Austin to speak about civil rights for the last time.

Mrs. Johnson: He got up out of his bed from a bad angina attack, just put a pocketful of those little nitroglycerine pills in.

President Johnson: Now, let me make it plain that when I say "black," as I do a good many times in this little statement, I also mean brown and yellow and red and all other people who suffer discrimination.

Harry McPherson: His heart was really hurting, and he -- I remember seeing him pop a nitroglycerine pill.

President Johnson: We know how much still remains to be done; and if our efforts continue, and if our will is strong, and if our hearts are right, and if courage remains our constant companion, then, my fellow Americans, I am confident we shall overcome.

Narrator: This would be the last speech he would ever give. Within six weeks, on January 22, 1973, Lyndon Johnson's heart stopped beating. He was sixty-four years old. Five days later, the Vietnam War ended for America in a peace treaty signed in Paris.

Ronnie Dugger: He was just interesting as hell. I mean, you know, compared to most people who kind of go through life vainly, making their dreadful moral points of condemning this or hoping for that or scratching the back of their head, Lyndon really moved. He was moving all the time. The few times I was with him, it was -- he was just fun to be around. And you liked him. You liked him. I liked him when I was with him more than I did when I was thinking about him. [laughs]