As for his inexperience, I recognized that one of my major assets was my experience as Vice President. But experience, itself, can be a liability and inexperience an asset in a political campaign. To gain experience, a man must make decisions. And when he makes decisions, he makes enemies. Then too, he must assume responsibility for the consequences of those decisions. As long as the peace and prosperity issues held up, my experience would be a decided advantage; but to the extent that public confidence in the Administration on either score was shaken, I would also lose support. The advantage of Kennedy’s inexperience was the very fact that he had not participated in the making of critical decisions—and thus there was very little for his opponent to shoot at. All that the voter could judge him on was what he said, rather than what he had done, and voters quickly forget what a man says. They remember much longer what he has done.
Turning to Kennedy’s wealth, I admitted that there was a time when great wealth might have been a liability in a presidential campaign. But that time has long since passed. Indeed, the time may have come in America, in view of the length and tremendous cost of presidential campaigns, when far from being a liability, personal wealth is actually a necessity for a candidate.
Kennedy’s religion was obviously going to be a major factor in the election, and there was sharp disagreement in our group as to its probable effect. From the outset, though, I had no doubts whatever on this score: I believed that Kennedy’s religion would hurt him in states he could afford to lose anyway, and that it would help him in states he needed to win. There were several reasons why I reached this conclusion.
First, I knew that I, personally, would never raise the question and would not tolerate any use of the religious issue by anyone connected with my campaign, directly or indirectly. I did not believe it to be a legitimate issue. There were several questions as to Kennedy’s qualifications for the presidency, but I never at any time considered his religion in this category.
A second reason for my conclusion was this: although there were groups and individuals in different parts of the country who had undeniably launched an anti-Kennedy campaign based solely on his religion, I felt that the nation had come a long way in terms both of political sophistication and religious tolerance since the election of 1928—which Al Smith probably would have lost in any event but in which the margin of his defeat was increased because of the effect of the religious issue.
The most convincing argument in support of the view that Kennedy’s religion would probably be helpful rather than harmful to him came from his own campaign organization. During the 1956 Democratic Convention, Kennedy’s staff prepared and circulated a memorandum filled with past election statistics to show that a Catholic candidate on the national ticket could assure a Democratic victory—not despite but rather because of his religion. This memorandum—later printed verbatim in U. S. News & World Report on August 1, 1960—predicted the final 1960 results with great accuracy. It stated in part:
There is, or can be, such a thing as a ‘Catholic vote,’ whereby a high proportion of Catholics of all ages, residences, occupations and economic status vote for a well-known Catholic or a ticket with special Catholic appeal . . .
But the Catholic vote is far more important than its numbers—about one out of every four voters who turn out—because of its concentration in the key states and cities of the North. These are the pivotal states with large electoral votes, which vary as to their party support and several of which are inevitably necessary for a victory in the Electoral College . . .
His campaign would be largely concentrated in the key states and cities . . . If he brought into the Democratic fold only those normally Democratic Catholics who voted for Ike, he would probably swing New York, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, Pennsylvania and Illinois—for 132 electoral votes. If he also wins the votes of Catholics who shifted to the Republicans in 1948 or earlier, he could also swing New Jersey, Minnesota, Michigan, California, Wisconsin, Ohio, Maryland, Montana, and maybe even New Hampshire—for a total of 265 electoral votes (needed to win: 269) . . .
Claude Robinson produced perhaps the most convincing evidence of all of Kennedy’s potential strength. Every poll since late in 1958 showed him running stronger than any other Democratic candidate against me and the other potential Republican candidates.
We made one important decision at the conclusion of our meeting: to enter my name in all the primary contests. This was, in many respects, a risky maneuver. I would be unable to campaign extensively in the primary states while Congress was still in session. I had broken more tie votes since becoming Vice President than any other Vice President in history, and I knew that if I were away campaigning at the time such a vote occurred in the Senate, this fact could be used devastatingly against me. This meant that an opponent for the Republican nomination could select one primary state, concentrate his efforts there, and conceivably pull off a victory due to my inability to campaign on the scene. The state in which we feared this the most was New Hampshire, in view of Nelson Rockefeller’s many close ties and considerable strength there. When he failed to file in New Hampshire, we concluded that we were pretty much out of the woods as far as this danger was concerned.
There were several reasons behind our decision to enter all the primaries. First, we wanted to give Republicans an opportunity to vote for their candidate at the time the Democrats would be flocking to the polls because of the sharp contest in their party. Second, we wanted to show confidence and, at the same time, make it clear we were taking nothing for granted. And third, we wanted to give our campaign organization an opportunity to try out some of its tactics before the election itself—provide it with a “shake down cruise” in effect.
The primary campaigns made a great deal of news at the time but, in retrospect, they were relatively unimportant except that they made Kennedy’s nomination at Los Angeles inevitable. The fact, however, that in each of the primary states Kennedy was beating somebody and I was running unopposed naturally gave him more attention in press, television, and radio than I received. This was reflected in the polls. Before the first primary—in New Hampshire in April—Gallup showed the race Nixon 53 per cent—Kennedy 47 per cent. After all the primaries and immediately prior to the Democratic Convention, Kennedy had pulled ahead, with Gallup showing a 52 to 48 per cent margin. In view of the much greater exposure he had had in this period, I was not greatly concerned by this shift. I was convinced that once the conventions were over and I was no longer tied down by the Senate session, I would be able to devote my entire time to campaigning, regain the lost ground, and move into the lead again.
Two other developments occurred before the conventions, however, which were to have far more effect on the election outcome than all our carefully considered strategy decisions put together.
Early in March, Dr. Arthur E. Burns, the former chairman of the President’s Council of Economic Advisers and probably the nation’s top authority on the economic cycle, called on me in my office in the Capitol. In January, virtually all the economists in the country had been bullish about the prospects for the economy throughout 1960. But when Burns came to see me in March, he expressed great concern about the way the economy was then acting. Steel, in particular, was in trouble—new orders were lagging after the strike. Production was barely over half of rated capacity. Burns’ conclusion was that unless some decisive governmental action were taken, and taken soon, we were heading for another economic dip which would hit its low point in October, just before the elections. He urged strongly that everything possible be done to avert this development. He urgently recommended that two steps be taken immediately: by loosening up on credit and, where justifiable, by increasing spending for national security. The next time I saw the President, I discussed Burns’ proposals with him, and he in turn put the subject on the agenda for the next Cabinet meeting.
The matter was thoroughly discussed by the Cabinet but, for two reasons, Burns’ recommendation that immediate action be
taken along the lines he had suggested did not prevail. First, several of the Administration’s economic experts who attended the meeting did not share his bearish prognosis of the economic prospects. Second, even assuming his predictions might be right, there was strong sentiment against using the spending and credit powers of the Federal Government to affect the economy, unless and until conditions clearly indicated a major recession in prospect.
In supporting Burns’ point of view, I must admit that I was more sensitive politically than some of the others around the cabinet table. I knew from bitter experience how, in both 1954 and 1958, slumps which hit bottom early in October contributed to substantial Republican losses in the House and Senate. The power of the “pocketbook” issue was shown more clearly perhaps in 1958 than in any off-year election in history. On the international front, the Administration had had one of its best years. My own experience in Caracas in May had won bipartisan acclaim. That fall, President Eisenhower made what were, in my opinion, two of the most courageous and wise decisions of his entire Administration—the landing in Lebanon, and holding the line on Quemoy-Matsu. In both instances, his firm, decisive leadership avoided war and kept the peace without surrender of principle or territory. Yet, the economic dip in October was obviously uppermost in the people’s minds when they went to the polls. They completely rejected the President’s appeal for the election of Republicans to the House and Senate.
Unfortunately, Arthur Burns turned out to be a good prophet. The bottom of the 1960 dip did come in October and the economy started to move up again in November—after it was too late to affect the election returns. In October, usually a month of rising employment, the jobless rolls increased by 452,000. All the speeches, television broadcasts, and precinct work in the world could not counteract that one hard fact.
The second development, which was to have its effect during the election, was the shooting down of the U-2 reconnaissance plane over the Soviet Union, just before the Summit Conference slated for Paris in early May. Khrushchev used this incident as an excuse for breaking up the Conference. I am confident that it was only an excuse—that he undoubtedly would have found some other reason for torpedoing the Conference had the U-2 incident never occurred. But great as was the effect of the incident in Paris, it was even greater in the United States. Adlai Stevenson and Kennedy launched an all-out and, in my opinion, irresponsible attack on the President.
In a speech before the Democrats of Cook County, on May 19, Stevenson said:
We handed Khrushchev the crowbar and the sledgehammer to wreck the meeting. Without our series of blunders, Mr. Khrushchev would not have had a pretext for making his impossible demands and wild charges . . .
Kennedy went further at a press conference held May 19 in Portland, Oregon. Because there was some question of exactly what he said on that occasion, Kennedy made the following explanation in the Congressional Record on May 23:
I do not think that the timing of the U-2 incident is defensible. I think it was obviously the wrong time . . . It was a risk you would not want to take at that particular time.
Once the summit had broken up . . . Mr. Khrushchev indicated . . . there were two conditions for continuing. One, that we apologize. I think that that might have been possible to do—and that second, we try those responsible for the flight. We could not do that . . . If he had merely asked that the United States should express regret, then that would have been a reasonable term . . .
The initial reaction of the American people was not one for which either of these critics had bargained. People invariably rally around a President in a period of international crisis. And the dignity with which Eisenhower took Khrushchev’s crude insults in Paris gained him support in the United States from members of both parties. But the long-range effect was something else again. The “peace issue” was tarnished. Democratic orators were to hammer away on this theme throughout the campaign.
A third event prior to the National Conventions which affected the conduct of the campaign and possibly even the result of the election was the special session of Congress. Instead of adjourning Congress sine die before the Democratic Convention, Lyndon Johnson asked for a recess and set a date for Congress to reconvene following the Republican Convention. This was one of the shrewdest maneuvers of the 1960 campaign. It meant that while the Senate was in session, I would again be held down in Washington because of the possibility of a tie vote. Kennedy and Johnson, on the other hand, would not be so inhibited. As Senators they could arrange a “live pair” to protect their position in the event that they were away campaigning: their votes would be recorded anyway. The session itself was to turn out to be singularly non-productive. But if one of its purposes was to delay the start of my campaign, it could not have been a more complete success.
As the Democratic National Convention opened in Los Angeles, I was at Camp David already working on the first draft of my acceptance speech. I did not believe there was any question as to Kennedy’s winning the nomination. In fact, I did not listen to any of the preliminary convention proceedings except for a portion of Senator Frank Church’s inept keynote address.
The only real suspense of the Convention was over the selection of the vice presidential candidate. Bill Rogers had driven up from Washington to spend the night and we were watching television together when the first news came over the air that Lyndon Johnson was to be Kennedy’s running mate. We agreed that the Kennedy-Johnson ticket was the strongest the Democrats could possibly put in the field. In spite of Johnson’s all-out attack on Kennedy during the primaries, I had anticipated that this might be the ticket. Thruston Morton and I had discussed the situation and, acting on my suggestion, he publicly predicted that a Kennedy-Johnson “deal” was in the making. While Morton’s claim was categorically denied by both the Kennedy and the Johnson camps, I was still of the opinion that this was the ticket that would probably come out of the Convention.
The Johnson nomination for Vice President was not a surprise to me as far as Johnson was concerned. He has always been a political pragmatist and has never had too much difficulty accommodating his principles to his politics. But Kennedy’s selection of Johnson and the way he was then able to ram this choice down the throats of his liberal supporters told a lot more about Kennedy than it did about Johnson. Here, indeed, was a tough-minded, capable political operator, and a formidable opponent.
Many Republicans thought that Johnson’s selection was a mistake on Kennedy’s part. But they were grossly underestimating both men. Kennedy understood that Johnson might cost him some votes in the North—but only if Johnson campaigned extensively in the Northern states, and Kennedy was smart enough to see that no such thing occurred. While Johnson alienated some of his more conservative supporters by going on the ticket, he was the best available bridge for Kennedy between the Northern liberals and the Southern conservatives.
My estimates of the strength of the Kennedy-Johnson ticket were confirmed by Claude Robinson four days after the Democratic Convention. I had asked him to test this combination against Republican tickets of Nixon-Lodge, Nixon-Morton, and other potential vice presidential candidates. He reported that the best showing any one of the various Republican tickets could make against the Kennedy-Johnson combination was 45 to 55, which would have meant a four-million-vote majority for the Democratic ticket. Part of the margin, of course, could be attributed to the fact that the Kennedy-Johnson ticket had just had massive public exposure on television and radio and in the press through the Democratic Convention. But I was under no illusions whatever about the difficulty of the task before us. We had to regain some of the lost ground immediately and the place to begin was at the Republican National Convention.
• • •
My most critical problem was to see that our Convention ended with all Republicans united behind the ticket. If this were to be accomplished, I knew I had to take some decisive action with regard to Nelson Rockefeller. Throughout the spring, while he had not entered any of the primar
ies, he had continued to snipe away at me. I ignored his attacks—except for one occasion when he charged that I had never stated my position on the key issues and that no one, in effect, knew where I stood. At a press conference in Camden, New Jersey, on June 9, I answered his charges in detail and, by fortunate coincidence, that same week a book of my speeches and public statements3 was published. The detailed statements in the book, combined with the press conference, pretty effectively demolished his argument.
But my goal was to beat Kennedy—not Rockefeller. Rockefeller had a perfect right and, in my view, a responsibility to contest the nomination and to disagree with positions I had taken. On the other hand, I felt it was essential that he be an enthusiastic rather than a reluctant supporter of my candidacy after the Convention. His differences with Administration policies had to be ironed out.
In his inexperience, he had been the victim of almost unbelievably bad advice during the period of his abortive attempt to launch a campaign for the nomination. But I knew that under present circumstances he would not come to me—I had to go to him.
Consequently, I called Herb Brownell in New York. Brownell had always been a close personal and political friend of mine, and I knew that Rockefeller trusted and respected him. I put the problem directly to Brownell and asked for his advice. He suggested that the two of us—Rockefeller and myself—get together and he agreed to talk to Rockefeller about a mutually convenient time for such a meeting. As a result of these negotiations, I flew to New York on Friday afternoon, July 22, with no publicity whatever, and, at Rockefeller’s invitation, joined him for dinner at his apartment. During the dinner hour we reminisced cordially about some of our Washington experiences. After dinner I got right down to brass tacks.
I said that I expected to be nominated the next week at Chicago. I noted the fact that there had been a great deal of speculation as to whether he might consider the vice presidential nomination. I told him also that at the Convention, if he should indicate any interest at all, he would probably be the choice of a majority of the delegates. I did not offer him the nomination or urge him to accept it, because I did not want to put the eventual nominee in the position of being second-choice, in the event that Rockefeller refused it. But I told him of the plans I had for expanding the duties of the Vice President in the international field, as I was later to spell them out in my acceptance speech. The challenge would be great and, if he were to run for Vice President, the chances of the ticket’s winning would be increased. If we by chance should lose, he—having put personal considerations aside and acceded to the requests of the party leaders—would be in line for the presidential nomination four years hence.
Six Crises Page 41
