Andy Borowitz is a New York-based humorist and political commentator who a few days ago posted this on The Borowitz Report:
MUSK’S DEPT. OF GOVERNMENT EFFICIENCY CUTS POSITION OF VICE PRESIDENT
(WASHINGTON—The Borowitz Report) —Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) has eliminated the position of vice president of the United States, Musk announced on Monday.
“The job of the vice president is to fill in for the president if he falls ill,” Musk said. “This seemed unnecessary since I’m in superb health.”
Musk added that he was inspired to cut the VP position “because JD Vance hasn’t been seen in weeks and no one’s missed him.”
According to sources within DOGE, Vance will immediately be reassigned as a used Tesla salesman.
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Well, is a Vice-President about as useful as a (fill in the blank)?
His or her main importance is that the Veep will become the Prez if the big guy is ruled incapable of continuing in office.
One of country’s best-ever syndicated political commentators, Jules Witcover, wrote a book that came out in 2014, The Americam Vice Presidency: From Irrelevance to Power. His column that came out on October 18, 2014, was headlined, “Come On, Joe, Being Veep Ain’t So Bad: The Virtues of the vice-president.”
We have a new Veep, one who seemed to disappear at some point in the recent campaign; not an unusual situation when the presidential nominee sucks all of the air out of a room or out of a campaign. But it’s likely he will become more visible because he’s likely to break a lot of votes, as he did a few days ago when he broke a tie to confirm a new cabinet member. We enjoyed Witcover’s column so much that we offer it now that J.D. Vance has become America’s official second banana. .
The general public regard for the American vice presidency was once summed up by Thomas R. Marshall, Woodrow Wilson’s standby, in the sad story of a man who had two sons. One was lost at sea, the other became vice president of the United States, and neither was ever heard from again. Wilson offered his own judgment of Marshall by once unguardedly referring to him as “a small-caliber man.”
The office of the vice presidency has never ceased to be the brunt of ridicule—even by its very occupants. Vice President Joe Biden at Harvard last week jokingly derided the office as “a bitch” before quickly insisting, perhaps less convincingly, that taking it was the “best decision I ever made.”
Not all vice presidents would say the same, especially most of the early, long-forgotten ones like Daniel Tompkins, George Dallas and William King. But despite Marshall’s and Biden’s gibes, most latter-day occupants of the second office have been significant—in some cases, essential—presidential partners in governing the country, attesting to the power of the role. Often, less-than-illustrious vice presidential performances have had less to do with the office itself than with the selection of running mates by presidents-to-be and how well, once elected, they made use of their seconds-in-command. If being vice president is like being lost at sea, it’s because, as history confirms, for too long presidents picked their VPs frivolously or carelessly and then left them to drift.
The first three presidents—George Washington, John Adams and Thomas Jefferson—had no say whatsoever concerning the identity of their vice presidents, as the Constitution stipulated that the runner-up in the balloting for president would get the job. The faults of this system were soon apparent. Adams, as Washington’s first veep, observed woefully, not unlike Biden, that “in this I am nothing, but I may be everything.” The second VP, Thomas Jefferson, used much of his four years in the office subverting his boss by creating what eventually became the Democratic Party, while publicly deploring “factions” in the young nation’s politics. (He once insisted, “if I could not go to heaven but with a party, I would not go at all.” Two centuries later, historian Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr. was moved to observe: “Even Jefferson soon decided that, with the right party, he would be willing to go, if not to heaven, at least to the White House.”)
By 1804, when the Twelfth Amendment was ratified, it had become clear that the existing VP selection system meant members of rival factions might be forced to work together, imperiling continuity of policy if a vice president succeeded to the presidency. At first, the path to the vice presidency was often through the death of a commander in chief. Eight accidental presidents, from John Tyler to Lyndon Johnson reached the Oval Office through the death of their party leader (though Tyler opportunistically turned Whig once he was president), and Gerald Ford got there by way of Richard Nixon’s resignation in the Watergate scandal.
Other Vice Presidents Who Hated Their Job
“Look at all the Vice Presidents in history. Where are they? They were about as useful as a cow’s fifth teat.” —Harry Truman
“Once there were two brothers. One ran away to sea; the other was elected vice president of the United States. And nothing was heard of either of them again.” —Thomas R. Marshall
“I go to funerals. I go to earthquakes.” —Nelson Rockefeller
“I would a great deal rather be anything, say professor of history, than vice president.” —Theodore Roosevelt, before becoming William McKinley’s vice president
“I have no interest in it. Might very well turn it down, indeed, and probably would.” —Al Gore, before becoming Bill Clinton’s vice president
“The vice presidency is not worth a bucket of warm piss.” —John Nance Garner
But in the modern era, seekers of the two top offices, for practical purposes, have run on the same ticket—and increasingly the president wisely has decided to make greater use of the second office in governance. For too many years, presidents basically ignored their understudy as they clung warily to their power and closely guarded presidential secrets. In 1945, when Vice President Harry Truman took the Oval Office after the death of Franklin D. Roosevelt, he hadn’t even been told that the atomic bomb that would end World War II was near completion. Succeeding vice presidents were generally kept better informed, but 30 more years passed before they were employed in a manner commensurate to their experience and skills. Even Lyndon Johnson, master of the U.S. Senate prior to becoming John F. Kennedy’s second-in-command, was essentially kept on the sidelines as key Kennedy aides handled major legislative matters, to LBJ’s immense frustration.
Ironically, not until a Washington outsider named Jimmy Carter became president in 1977 was the vice president made a genuine presidential partner. Carter personally interviewed and chose running mate Walter Mondale, a U.S. senator from Minnesota, who, in alliance with the president, was most responsible for the evolution of the second office.
In a sense, the defeated 1972 Democratic presidential nominee George McGovern inadvertently played a role in the development of the Mondale model. After selecting Sen. Thomas Eagleton of Missouri as his original running mate under the pressures of a contested national convention, McGovern dropped him upon disclosure that Eagleton had received electric-shock therapy for mental depression. The furor persuaded Carter four years later to conduct a thorough personal vetting of several running-mate prospects, including Mondale.
In advance of Mondale’s interview by Carter in Plains, Georgia, the senator’s chief of staff Richard Moe drew up a detailed memorandum on what Carter seemed to need and want in a vice president. Mondale and Moe then crafted a paper describing what Mondale could offer and sent it to Carter, who bought into it at once. When he met Mondale, Carter told him: “I want you to be in the chain of command—a vice president with the power to act in the president’s place.”
Once installed in the White House, Carter and Mondale together created the modern model for putting the vice presidency to work fulltime. Carter gave Mondale complete access to him in the Oval Office and to his inner circle, and made him his chief adviser in dealing with Congress, about which Carter had no experience, as was often revealed.
Since then, after a long history of idle and near-invisible occupants, the office has evolved into a vehicle of notable political power. Four of the last six vice presidents—Mondale, Al Gore, Dick Cheney and Joe Biden—have had major roles in governing the nation never envisioned by the Founding Fathers. Their power, to be sure, has been delegated by the presidents under whom they’ve served; the Constitution gives the vice president only two roles, as presidential standby and president of the U.S. Senate, without a vote except to break a tie. These four, however VPs, and to a lesser extent two others—the senior George Bush, who later was elected president in his own right, and his vice president, Dan Quayle—also had access to the president and freedom to weigh in on certain policy decisions.
The senior Bush, who first ran for president against Ronald Reagan in 1980 before becoming his VP, professed to abhor the vice presidency. When asked whether he would accept it, he repeatedly said: “Take Sherman and cube it,” referring to the Civil War general’s declaration that “if nominated, I will not run; if elected, I will not serve.” But in the end, Bush took the job and kept a low profile, particularly as Reagan recovered from the 1981 assassination attempt that could have made his stand-in the president.
When Bush was elected president in 1988, for a sort of third Reagan term that distinctly didn’t turn out that way, he startled the political world by selecting the singularly unimpressive Quayle as his running mate. Presidential nominees always vow they will pick the individual most qualified to succeed to the presidency if destiny dictates, but Bush appeared to pick his own Bush as vice president—a youthful and pleasant enough fellow from a well-off conservative family who would happily serve in the shadow of the president. But the gaffe-prone choice was particularly baffling inasmuch as Bush himself, only weeks into his own vice presidency, had come within inches of the presidency in that shooting of Reagan.
Reagan followed the Mondale model in bringing Bush into the West Wing, but without the same regular access. Clinton in 1992 adopted the model with Gore but gave him specific areas of responsibility in government reorganization and cleaning up the environment.
George W. Bush also assigned his vice president specific areas of responsibility—in this case, in military and foreign policy matters—but went a step further. In 2001, the junior Bush allowed Cheney to set up what in some respects was a parallel staff of his own, with key former aides also placed elsewhere in the administration, assuring Cheney broad influence. In turn, Cheney took on roles in expanding presidential powers and wartime policies. His advocacy of intelligence-gathering and treatment of prisoners and detainees cast him almost as a de facto assistant president. Ironically, Bush had asked Cheney to help him find a running mate, and in effect he wound up finding himself.
Biden, after first telling Barack Obama he could better serve his country by continuing as chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, agreed to be his running mate on Obama’s promise that he would always “be in the room” when major decisions were made. Like Mondale, Biden would serve as a general adviser without departmental or other limiting responsibilities, as both VPs had desired. In office, however, Biden has taken on some specific policy assignments such as overseeing the use of economic stimulus funds in the states and cities and being the administration’s voice for middle-class concerns—and, for good or ill, overseeing the withdrawal of U.S. forces from Iraq.
The most successful vice presidential candidates seem to be the ones explicitly chosen for their judgment and competence. Of course, even in recent experience, this yardstick is not always used. Beyond the senior Bush’s selection of the gaffe-prone Quayle, Republican presidential nominee John McCain’s gamble on Alaska Governor Sarah Palin in 2008 confirmed that White House aspirants remain capable of yielding to purely political judgments of what may get them elected. Palin proved to be a charismatic running mate but was also one woefully ill-informed on matters that would come to a president’s desk, which might very well have contributed to McCain’s margin of defeat.
In most other cases, the vice presidency has not been much of a stepping-stone to the presidency. After Adams and Jefferson became vice president as runners-up in the soon-discarded presidential balloting, only two occupants, Martin Van Buren and the senior George Bush, ever have been elected directly from the second office—and both lost reelection. Three vice presidents, Mondale, Hubert Humphrey and Gore, did win their party’s presidential nomination, but were left outside the Oval Office looking in. Biden probably won’t even get that far.
Nevertheless, the vice presidency has come a long way, even since its lowest point in 1973, when Spiro Agnew was forced to resign as he faced conviction for taking payoffs from construction contractors as governor in Maryland and later in the White House. President Richard Nixon, himself imperiled in the Watergate scandal, at first regarded Agnew as his insurance policy. A 1973 White House tape caught Nixon telling aides: “Impeach Nixon? Well, then they get Agnew.” And later: “No assassin in his right mind would kill me. They know that if they did they would end up with Agnew!” On another occasion, Nixon considered removing Agnew from the line of presidential succession by appointing him to … the Supreme Court!
Fortunately, most recent presidential nominees have taken to heart their responsibility to choose VPs reasonably qualified to become president. But voters still look to the top of the ticket at the ballot box, leaving to presidents thereafter to make the most—or least—of who’s waiting in the wings.
Today, J. D. Vance, seemingly “the man who wasn’t there” during the latter weeks of the campaign and pretty much since then, has become the gentleman-in-waiting should the oldest person ever inaugurated in the presidency not make it to his political 18th green.
*Jules Witcover and I share the same birth day. He is about 13-14 years older than I am but is an inspiration to the younger generation of political observers, of which I am a part. I didn’t say WHICH younger generation, but younger.