Kennedy and Richard Nixon, kids-posthumously lurking on our collective map. Cheated of so much as an overwrought Oliver Stone biopic, LBJ lacks the pop-culture footprint that keeps both his assassinated predecessor and his disgraced White House successor-that would be, respectively, John F. Still raw in America's memory then, Johnson is now as remote a historical figure as Genghis Khan to readers under 50. It was back in the mid-1970s that he agreed to write up the life of our 36th president, following the success of his Robert Moses biography, The Power Broker. Rowling looks like a sprinter next to Caro. Our waits between volumes are a lot longer, though. Caro's The Passage of Power: The Years of Lyndon Johnson, Vol. But within the confines of a particular subculture-people deformed by Washingtonitis, people who wish Chris Matthews didn't keep going public with our sick fetish, people whose best chance of getting laid would be an invite to C-SPAN's Christmas party-the release last week of Robert A. McNamara, let alone won a prize for being the best McNamara. Nobody dressed up as onetime Secretary of Defense Robert S. Even inside the Beltway, so far as I know, bookstores didn't stay open past midnight.
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