In October 1964, undercover police in Washington, D.C., arrested two middle-aged men after observing them having sex in a YMCA bathroom.

It wasn’t an unusual thing in that day. Police in Washington and elsewhere, including Chicago, routinely undertook similar investigations to snare gay men. It also wasn’t unusual that the next day the two men were exposed in Washington newspapers. Men arrested on such charges were often intentionally humiliated by such news coverage.

What was unusual was that one of the men was one of the most influential men in the United States, Walter Jenkins, then-President Lyndon Baines Johnson’s most trusted advisor and aide.

Jenkins had been at Johnson’s side for years as LBJ ambitiously rose through the ranks of power from Congress to the White House. He was known as the man who would calm Johnson when he lost his temper, the aide who kept the volatile president focused and on an even keel.

No one knew, of course, about Jenkins’ sexual orientation. Like most men of his era, he kept it well hidden from his peers, even from his wife and family. When the first reports of his arrest came back to the White House, LBJ was incredulous.

Unfortunately for Jenkins, the president was also prepared to just cut his old advisor loose, with no public support. The newspapers and Johnson’s enemies were prepared to do much more. Many were ready to rip Jenkins to shreds in an effort to damage Johnson. When the White House released a perfunctory statement that said only that Jenkins had resigned, it looked pretty bleak for him.

Then a remarkable thing happened. The president’s wife, Lady Bird Johnson, in a phone conversation that was recorded and preserved, called her husband and told him she was going to release a public statement in support of Jenkins. LBJ tried to dissuade her, telling her it would do no good, it would make them look bad, that she should just stay quiet and let his advisors figure out what to do.

No, Lady Bird Johnson politely said. Jenkins had been a good friend and trusted member of their family—this was a matter of principle. After listening to her husband’s arguments, Lady Bird ended the conversation, saying, in her soft Texas drawl, “My love, my love, I pray for you along with Walter. You’re a brave, good guy, and if you read some things I said in Walter’s support they'll be along the line that I just said to you.”

She then released a statement to the media that was both emotional and transformational, praising Jenkins for his “dedicated service to his country.”

Instantly, the climate changed. Editorials urged restraint and compassion for Jenkins, and Johnson’s opponent in that fall’s presidential election, Barry Goldwater, overruled members of his staff who wanted to use Jenkins’ arrest against LBJ.

Lady Bird Johnson’s quiet but firm act made life much easier for Jenkins after the arrest. He returned to Texas but stayed in touch with the Johnsons. LBJ told friends he never understood what led Jenkins to seek out sex with men, but, no doubt influenced by his wife, he once again became close to his old aide after he left the White House in 1969.

Lady Bird Johnson died last week at the age of 94. She left a rich legacy, especially as an advocate for stewardship of our environment. That’s what most historians will remember her for.

For us, though, it’s worth remembering, particularly in this day when so many politicians think nothing of using mean-spirited, anti-gay rhetoric to advance their interests, that Lady Bird Johnson stood up for decency and compassion toward a gay friend in an era when doing such a thing wasn’t politically correct.

That’s called class, and she had it in abundance. May she rest in peace.