She was a great Texas broad in the truest sense of the word: strong, fearless, great-hearted, smart, and not reluctant to stand up to her larger-than-life husband, who was variously described as "difficult," "driven," "headstrong," "ambitious," "powerful," and who could be bullying, unfaithful, and crude.

You know, I've read quite a few accolades about the indomitable Lady Bird Johnson today; all about her contribution to conservation and the environment and the "beautification" of the country.  They paint a powerful portrait of a strong-willed political wife, married to a veritable force of nature in the midst of very troubled times, who went on to leave quite a legacy in her own right.  It's all true.

But I remember how it was back when she first started to draw attention to the cause she loved so fiercely and to which she dedicated her life, and it wasn't such a bouquet of compliments, back then.

They laughed at her.

You see, back before Lady Bird began to draw national attention to it, there was no such thing as littering laws.  People used to fly down the highway in their big muscle-cars with the windows rolled down and the radio blaring, and when they finished their hamburger or sandwich or soda or cigarette, they just threw that stuff right out the car window.

Nobody thought a thing about it, until the sides of the roads began to resemble weedy landfills.  People didn't "adopt" a mile of roadway back then; you didn't see workers in orange vests walking along, spiking up trash.

It's not that Lady Bird Johnson did not throw her ferocious energies into the powerhouse concerns of the day--she campaigned tirelessly for the Civil Rights Act, for one thing. 

She was mobbed, beaten over the head with plaquards, even spit upon because she said it was time for the South, in particular, to let go of its Jim Crow legacy.  She campaigned for her husband's signature legislation in areas where the death threats prevented his doing so himself.

She fought for civil rights and she fought for Headstart, and she fought for the Job Corps and for many other of her husband's signature policies, but cleaning up our nation's highways and ghettos, beautifying the capitol, and preserving and conserving wildflower resources was all her own.

And they laughed at her.

In fact, by referring to her work as "beautification," they were actually making a snide aside.  She hated the term.  Called it "prissy" and "sissified."  Strong Texas women grow up and live among strong Texas men, and they know condescension when they see it.

She would not be deterred.

You can read all sorts of fine tributes to Lady Bird Johnson in any of the major newspapers today, or watch Ted Koppell's magnificent interview with her, which includes, in her own voice, how the terrible events that made her husband president on November 22, 1963 unfurled.

I'm not going to link to all that and quote them all.  This is personal. 

This is one Texas broad to another:

Lady Bird, every time I drive down a Texas highway blanketed from one side to another with bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes and huisache daisies and primroses...I think of you.

Every time I visit our nation's capitol, and enjoy tulips and daffodils, dogwoods and azaleas lining Connecticut Avenue and circling the Washington Monument...I think of you.

Every time I hear of one of 150 environmental laws, the landmark Clean Air Act, and even the National Park Service...I think of you.

Every time I pull over into a scenic overlook or rest stop sponsored by the highway department in a beautiful spot, I know I have you to thank.

Every time I hear about another busload of kids gaggling down to the Texas Hill Country's beautiful Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center to learn about natural beauty, conservation, and the preservation of the environment, I know you are responsible.

Many lesser women would have been cowed by a man such as Lyndon Johnson.  You turned out to be his best asset.

Your beauty, dignity, and song-in-my-heart love for the natural beauty of our nation has graced each and every one of us in little ways we scarcely notice.

They used to laugh at you.

They're not laughing now.