He (LBJ) told me that his mother loved him greatly, but always made him feel that unless he kept succeeding, she would withdraw love from him. If he came home with a bad report card, for instance, she would actually pretend that he had died. She would sit at the dinner table and say to her husband and his brother, “Isn’t it too bad that Lyndon has gone from us.” That is a pretty severe statement, to make somebody feel that, “Unless I keep succeeding, there’s not going to be anything for me there. ” He even had a certain warehouse at the ranch where — each time you went to visit him he felt compelled to give you a gift, almost as if you wouldn’t come back unless he could buy your friendship by more and more gifts. And actually he had the gifts arranged in shelves, so that each time you went to visit him you got to choose from a higher and higher shelf. So as you became an intimate friend, you finally made it to the top shelf, almost like at an amusement park. So at the beginning, I was just getting certificates that I’d flown on Air Force One. Then finally I got a scarf that had his name printed on it 500 times, until finally — this is an incredibly crazy story — I got to the top shelf after about a year and a half, and he told me that he was so excited to give me this gift, because it meant that we were very close friends. He loved it so much too, because it meant that I would think of him every morning and every night when I opened this wonderful gift. I opened it up, and inside was the largest electric toothbrush I’d ever seen in my life, with his picture on one side and the formal presidential seal on the other side. I thought, “Oh my God, this man is right. I will think of him every morning and every night!”