Kennedy (31 page)

Earlier, as he had finished dressing for the occasion, his long-time aide Ted Reardon had asked him to autograph for Reardon’s son a press release copy of the speech, and the Senator had written: “To Timmy, with best personal regards from your old friend, John Kennedy.” Beneath his signature, he scratched initials which Ted thought were “N.D.” for Notre Dame as a potential future school for Timmy. Was that it? he asked. “Hell, no,” said John Kennedy. “That’s N.P.—Next President. Let’s go.”

T
HE 1960 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION CAMPAIGN OPENED On a low
note for John Kennedy. The Democrats were divided and fatigued. His nomination had angered the party’s already shaky Southern wing. His selection of Johnson had angered the already suspicious liberals. Skepticism marked the attitude of farmers toward Kennedy, labor toward Johnson and Negroes toward both candidates. Stevenson die-hards complained about Kennedy’s ambition, wealth, father, brother and refusal to commit himself on Stevenson for Secretary of State. Republican nominee Nixon, on the other hand, supported by Rockefeller and Goldwater and certain he had a helpful running mate in Lodge, had effectively rallied his followers with a brilliant acceptance address.

The polls showed Nixon was far better known than Kennedy on the basis of his national office and four nationwide campaigns; that Nixon was considered the more experienced; and that Kennedy was known primarily as a wealthy, inexperienced, youthful Catholic. Immediately after the two conventions the polls showed Nixon ahead by a comfortable margin, 50-44, with 6 percent undecided. The supposed “normal” Democratic majority comprised a large majority in the South—now uncertain over religion and civil rights—and a seesaw split in the rest of the country where the election would be decided. Eisenhower had given the Democratic strongholds of the North the habit of voting Republican at the Presidential level. Many of the key states, such as New York, New Jersey, Michigan and Pennsylvania, had not been carried by the Democrats in a national election since Roosevelt in 1944. Democrats, moreover, were more inclined to be ticket-splitters, party defectors and nonvoters
than were Republicans. Their party covered a far wider spectrum of divergent viewpoints that enabled individual Congressmen to win in individual districts but posed serious problems for a national ticket.

The Republicans, by way of contrast, were sitting pretty. They controlled the Executive Branch, with all its powers of patronage, publicity and public fund allocations. They had the larger share of the big financial contributors. Eisenhower’s popularity and moderation had blurred the traditional Democratic issues, his prestige was a formidable Nixon asset, and his eight years had been marked by apparent peace and prosperity. In fact, observers could recall no instance of the electorate’s switching parties in power under such generally contented conditions. By any historical test, even apart from his unprecedented religion and youth, Kennedy seemed likely to be defeated. His stern warnings about the superficial nature of this peace and prosperity seemed to some only to guarantee his rejection by a complacent electorate, much as Kennedy had seen Churchill rejected in the thirties.

Nixon, on the other hand, was more popular than his party and more able and likable than his enemies portrayed him. He had a quick and cool mind, a fluent tongue, vast campaign experience and intimate knowledge of television. To lead his united and well-financed party, he had an efficient organization and personal staff and could draw on the entire Executive Branch for research and ideas. His running mate, Lodge, was far better known nationally than Johnson and may well have been better known at that stage than Kennedy.

Although Kennedy in time won more editorial support than any Democratic Presidential nominee since Franklin Roosevelt, the nation’s newspaper editors and publishers (in sharp contrast with the reporters covering the campaign) were overwhelmingly pro-Republican and pro-Nixon. Of the less than one out of six who supported Kennedy editorially, many had originally preferred Stevenson or some other Democrat and gave only lukewarm or belated endorsement to the ticket. The most noted example was the
New York Times.
But Kennedy, mindful of the fact that the influential
Times
had not endorsed a Democrat for President since 1944, was pleased that its editors had on balance favored him. (“I’m one of those,” he later said, referring to a well-known
Times
advertisement, “who can truthfully say, ‘I got my job through the New
York Times’
“)

The late summer and early fall of 1960 were also marked by Soviet Chairman Khrushchev’s visit to the United Nations, highlighting Nixon’s claim of superior experience in “standing up to Khrushchev,” reminding voters of the Vice President’s much-publicized argument with the Soviet Chairman at an American kitchen exhibition in Moscow, and occupying the front pages at a time when the lesser-known Kennedy
needed the nation’s attention. Demonstrating its toughness, the Republican administration announced that Khrushchev—and Castro, too, when he also arrived at the UN—would be confined to Manhattan (“But they have not confined them,” said Kennedy on the campaign circuit, “in Latin America or around the world”).

A mixed liability and asset was the determined and well-financed effort of Teamster boss Jimmy Hoffa to rally his large and powerful union against the Kennedys. He was joined in that effort by Longshoreman boss Harry Bridges and a few other leaders. (Brooklyn gangster Joey Gallo, asking Bob Kennedy if his influence could be helpful, was told, “Just tell everybody you’re voting for Nixon.”)

But the most frustrating handicap to the Democrats that summer had been self-imposed. Johnson and Rayburn had decided, prior to the Democratic Convention, to recess the Congress and reconvene it after the convention.

Whatever their motive, the reconvened session only embittered Kennedy. It embarrassed both him and Johnson because of their inability to push legislation past the Republican-Southern Democratic coalition, particularly in the House Rules Committee. The results offered fresh evidence of Democratic disarray in the South, where Nixon’s initial forays were well received, and where he sent Senator Barry Gold-water to campaign extensively. The opposition of powerful Southern Democratic Senators and Congressmen to their party’s legislative program, aided by the threat of Eisenhower’s veto, rendered the Democratic majorities in both houses uncomfortably impotent, and encouraged the Republicans to disrupt Democratic plans still further through political and parliamentary maneuvers on civil rights. The increasingly vituperative and unproductive session also tied Kennedy and Johnson, far more than Nixon, down in Washington—where there were no votes to be won—until the Labor Day weekend.

Kennedy was not, however, wholly idle in the interval between the convention and Labor Day. After two days of rest with his wife and daughter at Hyannis Port (he had promised her a week), he plunged into a series of planning meetings with his brother and staff, strategy meetings with Johnson, unity meetings with disappointed Democrats, policy meetings with Stevenson and Bowles and quick trips about the country. He visited Eleanor Roosevelt in Hyde Park and Harry Truman in Independence, soliciting and securing their support. Feuding factions were coordinated, if not united, from New York to Florida to California. Despite the summer lull, a large, comprehensive nationwide registration
drive was launched, emphasizing personal contact with millions of unregistered voters and securing in many states more new Democratic voters than Kennedy’s ultimate margin. “Each of you go out and register one person between now and November,” said the Senator, “and you are in effect voting twice.”

From his summer cottage, now shielded from a stream of sightseers by a new fence as well as police, came a series of manifestoes identifying Nixon with Benson, Eisenhower’s unpopular Secretary of Agriculture. Nationality spokesmen, minority spokesmen, farm spokesmen, labor leaders and liberal leaders all paraded to Hyannis Port as the old Democratic coalition was rebuilt, the new convention wounds were patched up and the Kennedy campaign organization was made ready.

After three Congressional, two Senatorial and seven Presidential primary campaigns, all successful, John Kennedy knew how to campaign. He knew how best to use all the modern tools—air travel, television, advance men, a brain trust and polls (but not, as reported, computers). He knew how to create crowds and crowd appeal in a highly personal campaign that nevertheless focused on issues. The basic approach employed in Massachusetts had been applied and improved in the primaries, and it was further broadened for the election campaign.

One of the candidate’s first, wisest and boldest moves was to refuse to be his own campaign manager. He recognized that all his own time and energy should be devoted to public and television appearances, mostly away from Washington, and that the administrative work of scheduling, fund-raising and organizing the fifty states (which he had supervised prior to the convention) should be directed by others. “All I have to do is show up,” he said in admiring the handiwork of his team.

He insisted that the two-headed monstrosity of 1956, when Stevenson and the National Chairman had directed separate operations, be avoided by integrating his team with the Democratic National Committee. The entire operation was headed by the tireless Bob Kennedy as campaign manager, assisted by O’Brien as chief organizer, O’Donnell as chief schedule coordinator, John Bailey as chief contact with the professionals, Stephen Smith as chief administrator and moneyman, Pierre Salinger as chief press aide (with the help of Donald Wilson and Andrew Hatcher) and other preconvention regulars. Old campaign aides from Massachusetts were recruited, including Richard Maguire, who handled scheduling when O’Donnell left with the candidate, and Richard Donahue, who assisted O’Brien on organization.

Byron “Whizzer” White headed Citizens for Kennedy, a network
of local volunteer organizations whose efforts were combined with the regular party organization in some communities, “coordinated” by an out-of-state Kennedy man in others, and resisted or ignored by local party leaders in still others. New Jersey Congressman Frank Thompson led the successful registration drive. Senator Henry “Scoop” Jackson of Washington was interim chairman of the Democratic National Committee. Luther Hodges served as chairman of the business and professional men’s group. Teddy Kennedy was in charge of operations in the Western states. Sargent Shriver and Harris Wofford worked with Negro leaders—including, after some high-level negotiations, the flamboyant but effective Adam Clayton Powell—attempting to improve a normally Democratic vote among Negroes that was clearly in doubt in 1960 owing to their cynicism on civil rights in general, Kennedy’s voting record and running mate in particular, and the influence of prejudiced Protestant Negro preachers. A host of lawyers, legislative aides, Kennedy family friends and old National Committee hands volunteered or were drafted to serve as “advance men” for every Kennedy appearance and as “coordinators” for every state.

Advance men were the unsung heroes of the campaign. Arriving several days before the candidate, they worked with local party leaders to plan the schedule, determine the motorcade route, decide on platform sites and seating, turn out the crowds, work with the police and local press, and distribute flags, press kits and buttons. They arranged for most of the “spontaneous” hand-lettered signs, usually hoisted by the children of local party workers and volunteers, which impressed the press with such messages as “Baptists for Kennedy” and “Kennedy
Sí
, Nixon
No!”
(Some, of course—such as “Let’s put a new John in the White House”—actually were spontaneous.)

Upon the
Caroline’s
arrival in each major city, the advance man came on board first to brief the Senator on names, faces and local color, and to distribute copies of a detailed schedule which included all room assignments, telephone numbers, press accommodations and baggage arrangements. If our hotel rooms were inadequate or our baggage late, we could blame the advance men. If there were enough cars and buses at the airport for the group of fifty aides and reporters with the candidate, and a band at the rally and a table for the press, we could thank the advance men. Some, such as Vince Gaughan of New York and Jerry Bruno of Wisconsin, often mastered a million details with remarkable precision. Others constantly encountered and contributed obstacles and delays. “I wonder,” said the candidate to Mike DiSalle, as they waited patiently for an advance man outside of Youngstown, Ohio, to straighten out and start the order of procession, “how Napoleon ever got his army to Austerlitz.” “It was easy,” replied the Governor. “He didn’t have any advance men.”

Other specialists and campaigners were recruited. Harry Truman had a schedule which took him in particular to his fellow Baptists. Adlai Stevenson was especially helpful in California. Hubert Humphrey helped hold Minnesota and woo liberals elsewhere, as all primary feuds were forgotten: