He replied just as candidly. He said he appreciated my speaking as frankly as I had. He realized that pressures for him to run for Vice President would probably mount after he arrived in Chicago, but he said that he simply did not want to be Vice President and therefore could not put his heart into the campaign if he were to be selected as the candidate. At this point we dropped the subject entirely and I suggested that we discuss the differences we might have on key issues, to see if we could work them out prior to the approval of the platform in Chicago.
Rockefeller said he had been doing some thinking on this score during the afternoon and had in fact prepared a statement of principles which he hoped I would agree to. For the most part, I found the positions he had written down were the same as those I had previously and consistently supported. But there were some major and significant exceptions and, from approximately ten o’clock that evening when we started to discuss his proposed joint-statement, until 4:30 the following morning, we went over the various points of the statement, issue-by-issue, until we finally reached agreement.
This final statement was labeled by some political partisans, as well as by some of the press and the radio-TV commentators, as a “surrender” by Nixon to Rockefeller. Any objective analysis of the statement would lead to exactly the contrary conclusion.
On issue after issue, I found it necessary to refuse to endorse Rockefeller’s position because it was not in accord with President Eisenhower’s and my own. The most sticky area—one which took us almost three hours to resolve—was the field of national security. I told Rockefeller that I had no objection wherever the statement advocated new or stepped-up programs for the future. But I would not approve any phrase in the statement which even by implication criticized the policies of the Eisenhower Administration. After prolonged discussion, my position prevailed, and all criticism of the Administration was removed from the final statement. Our conclusion on national security—“we can and must provide the necessary increased expenditures for these efforts; there must be no price ceiling on America’s security”—far from being a new position on my part, was a reaffirmation of convictions I had stated on many previous occasions.
In the domestic field, our differences were resolved without too much difficulty. Again, it was Rockefeller who did the “surrendering”—on his proposal for financing compulsory health insurance for the aged from social security payments; on his insistence that “compulsory arbitration” be one of the weapons in the arsenal of Federal agencies for the settlement of labor disputes; and on an arbitrary rate of “forced” economic growth of 5 or 6 per cent annually, as the Rockefeller Brothers Fund Report had advocated.
In view of these facts, I was genuinely surprised when later Saturday morning I received frantic calls from my Chicago Convention headquarters urging me to come to Chicago immediately because of reports that I had “surrendered” to Rockefeller in the “Treaty of Fifth Avenue.” In retrospect, I think what concerned my friends was that I had gone to see Rockefeller at all. They felt, no doubt, after his abortive bid for the nomination, that he should have come to me. But I believe my decision was the right one. I knew I was in the stronger bargaining position and that Rockefeller was confronted with a very ticklish face-saving problem. By going to see him in New York and working out differences that were more illusory than real, I was able to insure his support for the Republican ticket. I have found, over the years, that Republicans have an almost cannibalistic urge to destroy and consume one another whenever they happen to disagree. If Kennedy and Johnson, for example, had been Republicans, there never would have been a Kennedy-Johnson ticket in 1960. Perhaps by 1964 the political realities will force Republicans to consider the need for greater tactical accommodation.
Nevertheless, when I arrived in Chicago—midday on Monday, July 25—I found the delegates in an angry and rebellious mood. They thought Rockefeller deserved nothing but the back of my hand. But through an initial press conference in which I directly took on all the charges of a “surrender” to Rockefeller and answered each of them, and by meeting groups of delegates on virtually a round-the-clock basis as well as greeting and shaking hands and being photographed with every one of the 2600 delegates and alternates, I was finally able to set the record straight and to prepare the way for a receptive audience for my acceptance speech.
• • •
In the meantime, the Convention had been going better than I could have dared hope. The major speakers—Walter Judd, Herbert Hoover, and Tom Dewey—and the Convention officials—Thruston Morton, Charlie Halleck, Cecil Underwood, and Chuck Percy—had carried off their assignments in superb fashion. To cap it off, President Eisenhower had arrived in Chicago on Tuesday and delivered one of the most effective political speeches he had ever made. The reports we received from all over the country indicated that our Convention was having a far more favorable impact than the comparatively inept Democratic performance in Los Angeles two weeks before.
On Wednesday, Governor Mark O. Hatfield of Oregon, one of our few winners in 1958, placed my name in nomination before the Convention and, following my selection as the candidate by acclamation, I called a meeting of the major leaders of the party to consider the decision on a running mate.
For several weeks before the Convention, I had discussed potential vice presidential nominees with President Eisenhower and other close advisers. From the outset, I laid down certain standards that the nominee would have to meet: above all, he must be a man who could, if he had to, assume the duties of the presidency. Beyond that, his major qualification would have to be that he shared the views of the presidential nominee on major domestic and international issues.
There were several potential candidates for Vice President who, in my view, met these standards: Henry Cabot Lodge, Thruston Morton, Congressman Gerry Ford of Michigan, Secretary of Labor Jim Mitchell, Secretary of Interior Fred Seaton, and Congressman Walter Judd. When Kennedy won the Democratic nomination, Jim Mitchell ruled himself out. He recognized that putting him on the ticket would be attacked as a crude attempt to cater to the Catholic vote simply because the Democrats had nominated a Catholic for President.
By the time we reached Chicago, the choice had narrowed down to Lodge, Morton, and Judd. In a talk we had shortly after his sensational keynote address, Judd candidly told me that he felt he could render greater service in the campaign and to the new Administration after the election in his role as a Congressman.
Choosing between Lodge and Morton was difficult. Morton and I had come to the House together back in 1947. We had been close personal friends and he was doing an excellent job as Chairman of the National Committee. I knew he would be a loyal colleague as a running mate and would be a very effective campaigner. We shared virtually the same views on national and international issues. But he agreed with me that Lodge had certain assets which the ticket needed. He was from the East where we most needed support. As our UN spokesman, he had been receiving tremendous nationwide exposure in a very favorable way, most recently during the hot debates over the U-2 incident and spying in general. Morton would add strength to the ticket in the Midwest—where I was already strong. Lodge might add strength in the East—and here my own strength was somewhat doubtful.
Prior to my arrival in Chicago, President Eisenhower had conveyed to me his independent conclusion that Lodge would be the strongest vice presidential nominee we could select. But I did not make the final decision until meeting with the party leaders after my own nomination. The great majority of them agreed that Lodge was the man who would add most to the ticket. John Bricker had perhaps the greatest impact in the meeting when he threw his and Ohio’s support behind Lodge. At the end of a long session during which each of the 32 leaders present expressed his views, I announced my decision that Lodge should be nominated. After the session broke up, I phoned Lodge, reaching him around 2:30 in the morning Central Time. He knew that he had been under consideration and that there was a good chance he might be named as the nominee. He m
ade plans to fly to Chicago on Thursday to accept the nomination.
My three days in Chicago had been long and exhausting ones. I had attended delegation meetings, met with the Platform Committee, and posed for photographs with all the delegates and with hundreds of candidates who wanted pictures with the presidential nominee for their own campaigns. But I knew that on Thursday evening I would be making a speech which, next to the Fund Broadcast during the 1952 campaign, would be the most important political address I had ever made. It had to be a speech which would unite the Republicans—and not alienate the Democratic voters. It had to be one which defended the record of the Eisenhower Administration but also pointed the way to future progress. It had to be one which took pride in what we had accomplished in the past eight years in keeping the peace without surrender—but which also would chart a future course designed not just to hold our own but to assure victory for the forces of freedom. Fortunately, this was one of the few occasions in my public life when I had been able to set aside ample time to read, to think, and to write before determining the final form of what I was to say.
The standard of speeches for the Convention had been particularly high. Barry Goldwater had spoken with great effect, calling on his supporters to join him in working enthusiastically for the Convention’s nominee. Lodge preceded me to the rostrum and received an enthusiastic ovation. Rockefeller introduced me, gracefully and eloquently. As I walked through the aisle to the podium, the fatigue I had felt as a result of three days with almost no sleep left me completely. As I started to speak, I could sense that this would be one of my better efforts.
In the thousands of speeches I had made in my political career, there had never been a more responsive audience. Because of my speaking experience, I have become a fair judge of how much time a speech will require. I estimated this one at thirty-five minutes, including maximum applause. But I had not reckoned with the enthusiasm of the Convention that evening. When I finally concluded, the speech had run forty-eight minutes, and the extra time was due entirely to applause which I was unable to control.
That speech was to mark a high point of my campaign for the presidency. Even my severest critics gave it high marks for content and delivery. And the reaction of the television audience was more favorable even than that of the audience in Convention Hall.
The audience particularly responded to these passages:
One hundred years ago, in this very city, Abraham Lincoln was nominated for President . . . The question then was freedom for the slaves and survival of the nation. The question now is freedom for all mankind and the survival of civilization.
We shall build a better America . . . in which we shall see the realization of the dreams of millions of people not only in America but throughout the world—for a fuller, freer, richer life than men have ever known in the history of mankind.
What we must do is wage the battles for peace and freedom with the same . . . dedication with which we wage battles in war . . . The only answer to a strategy of victory for the Communist world is a strategy of victory for the free world. Let the victory we seek . . . be the victory of freedom over tyranny, of plenty over hunger, of health over disease, in every country of the world.
When Mr. Khrushchev says our grandchildren will live under Communism, let us say his grandchildren will live in freedom.
Our answer to the threat of the Communist revolution is renewed devotion to the great ideals of the American Revolution . . . that still live in the minds and hearts of people everywhere.
I believe in the American dream, because I have seen it come true in my own life.
Abraham Lincoln was asked during the dark days of the tragic War between the States whether he thought God was on his side. His answer was, ‘My concern is not whether God is on our side, but whether we are on God’s side.’ My fellow Americans, may that ever be our prayer for our country. And in that spirit—with faith in America, with faith in her ideals and in her people, I accept your nomination for President of the United States.
When I returned to Washington from Chicago, I began to realize what a tremendous impact the Republican Convention had had on the country. What was particularly encouraging was the number of Democrats who said they were going to support the Nixon-Lodge ticket in November.
The selection of Lodge as vice presidential nominee was meeting with approval in all parts of the country. Barry Goldwater, who had indicated prior to the nomination that he thought Lodge would help the ticket in the East but would not be an asset in the West and Midwest, spoke to me a few days after the Convention and said he had changed his mind—Lodge’s selection was proving popular everywhere.
• • •
The impact of our Convention was reflected in the polls. Claude Robinson reported that from the low point of 45 to 55, recorded immediately after the Democratic Convention, our ticket had now moved slightly into the lead—51 to 49. Gallup’s first post-Convention poll indicated a similar shift, with Nixon-Lodge at 53 and Kennedy-Johnson at 47 per cent. We knew that some of this gain was simply a reflection of our more recent massive exposure on TV and in the press. The new figures in no way changed the conviction I had had since January—that the race would probably be one of the closest in history, and that consequently it would be decided by which candidate was able to put on the more intensive campaign.
That was why I had announced in my acceptance speech that I would undertake the unprecedented task of campaigning in every one of the fifty states. Many disagreed with this decision, but I believed there were strong reasons for carrying it out. In view of the closeness of the election, the outcome in a state with a very small electoral vote might have determined the result. I also recognized that Kennedy would have a considerable advantage in the big Northeastern industrial states. To balance our anticipated losses there, we needed every Western, Southern, and Midwestern state we could possibly win. I felt it was essential to go to each of the traditionally Republican farm states because we could not safely assume that any one of these states would necessarily be in the Republican column. In the usually Republican states of the Northeast—Maine, Vermont, and New Hampshire—Kennedy had so much reported strength that, again, I felt it was essential to include them in my campaign. And in the South, I felt that as the Republican candidate I had an obligation to encourage and build on the trend, which President Eisenhower’s victories had started in 1952 and 1956, toward a real two-party system in the Southern states. In meetings with my campaign staff, we mapped out a tentative schedule, therefore, for a fifty-state tour. Our plan was to visit Hawaii, Alaska, several of the Southern states, and Maine, Vermont, and New Hampshire prior to September 12—which we had set as the opening date for continuous day-to-day campaigning. In the eight weeks after September 12, we would then be able to concentrate our efforts on the states with the big electoral votes and on other states in the doubtful column. We could not know then that a serious crimp was to upset all these careful plans.
My first swing, from August 2 to 6, was highly successful. We flew to Reno, Nevada, for a homecoming rally for Pat, to my own home town of Whittier, and then to Hawaii—the first visit a nominee of either party was to make to the fiftieth state. We stopped at Seattle for an airport rally on the way back from Hawaii, and arrived in Washington four days after we had left, having visited four states and traveled nearly 12,000 air-miles. The crowds everywhere along the way had been bigger than we expected and most enthusiastic.
On our return to Washington I scheduled several conferences in which crucial decisions were made for the campaign ahead.
First, I called on the President to discuss plans for his own participation in the campaign. At the outset of the meeting, he said he wanted to do everything he possibly could to assure a Republican victory. But he felt it was important for me to establish my own identity as the new leader of the party. Consequently he thought he should avoid taking so active a part early in the campaign as to overshadow my own appearances. He also expressed the conviction
that his great influence with the American people was due in substantial part to his image of being President of all the people, and not just a partisan as Truman had been. Consequently, he thought his first swing around the country should be non-political in character and that he should reserve his frankly partisan speeches until later in the campaign.
After our meeting, Jerry Persons invited me to his office for further discussions. No one knew Eisenhower better than Persons where political matters were concerned, and Persons summed up his attitude this way: “I believe we should give great weight to the Old Man’s intuition on his participation in the campaign. If the party people force him to make political speeches before he believes he should, he simply can’t put his heart into them. There is no question about his getting into the campaign in good time. After Kennedy, Johnson, Stevenson, and some of the other Democrats start to get rough, he’ll get his dander up and go after them. But until he himself feels that he wants to make political speeches, we should not allow anybody to force him to do so.” I agreed with Persons’ evaluation and that is how we left it—Eisenhower in control of his own timing.
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