the air, the unknown substance from which votes are compounded. I heard him say over and over, “Thank you, fellow. Thank you, fellow.” If I ever saw a man running for office, it was Nelson Rockefeller. Finally he gripped my hand and said, “Thank you, fellow. That was a great speech.” I thought: “Damn him. He can defeat Kennedy and he knows it.”
Later on I rejoined my wife, to find that while I was at the dais, she had been sitting with Emmett Hughes, one of my favorite politicians, the gray eminence of the Rockefeller team. I had first known him as an editor at
Life
, and he was one of the best. He had often worked on my material and I could always tell where he had added something because he had a penchant for alliteration and an uncontrollable fondness for the letter p. Often during the time that he wrote Eisenhower’s speeches I would listen to the President read off something like “our powerful posture of preparedness,” and I would say to myself, “That’s my boy, Emmett.” He was a tall, prematurely gray, extremely brilliant young man whose book
America, the Vincible
must have outraged the Republican administration,for it was a frontal attack on the Eisenhower foreign and defense policies. Now Hughes was supporting Rockefeller, and they made a formidable team.
That evening I asked Emmett some desultory questions and he replied in kind, and so well did he mask his feelings that I got the impression that he had given up on Rockefeller’s chances for the Republican nomination. The very next afternoon the governor released his famous statement concerning the direction in which his party ought to move. It constituted a direct attack on current Republican policies and an oblique attack on Nixon. It was a persuasive document, and it tore the Republican party apart. We were told that when Eisenhower saw it he growled, “Emmett Hughes wrote this.” When I read the strong alliterative passages I said the same thing, and we were both right. Then I read the vituperation from Republican headquarters and slowly realized that even though defeat seemed certain if the Republicans nominated Nixon, the professionals were determined to do so and to crush Rockefeller. I could not believe what I was witnessing.
“It looks as if Rocky won’t make it,” I told my wife.
“That’s too bad for the nation,” she said. “He’d be a fine President.”
“It’s good for Kennedy,” I replied.
When the conventions were over my optimism waned somewhat. It seemed to me that the Democratic convention had been a rather shabby affair, with Stevenson refusing to run openly yet borrowing help from Mrs. Roosevelt; with Lyndon Johnson trying to cram into a few days the work that should have occupied him over severalmonths; with the disgraceful bumbling of Robert Meyner; with the lackluster keynote speech of Frank Church, which at times grew ludicrous; and most of all with the inept acceptance speech of John Kennedy.
In contrast it seemed to me that the Republicans had got off to a rousing start. President Eisenhower’s speech was one of the best I had ever heard him give; it frightened me with its visions of the old soldier stumping the nation in October; he was going to be very persuasive indeed, and I suspected that his old magic would be doubly appealing with its necessary overtones of a President Washington’s farewell. Walter Judd’s keynote speech, compared to Frank Church’s, was a masterpiece, even though its policies dated back to the 1920’s. Governor Rockefeller’s graceful acceptance of the inevitable was beguiling and gave the picture, at least, of a united party. And I think no one could deny that the acceptance speech of Vice President Nixon was stirring, forceful, and well thought out. He created a most favorable impression on me—I vaguely sensed that he wasn’t saying much, but suspected that the details would be filled in later—and when I read that Senator Kennedy had agreed to share the same
Later on I rejoined my wife, to find that while I was at the dais, she had been sitting with Emmett Hughes, one of my favorite politicians, the gray eminence of the Rockefeller team. I had first known him as an editor at
Life
, and he was one of the best. He had often worked on my material and I could always tell where he had added something because he had a penchant for alliteration and an uncontrollable fondness for the letter p. Often during the time that he wrote Eisenhower’s speeches I would listen to the President read off something like “our powerful posture of preparedness,” and I would say to myself, “That’s my boy, Emmett.” He was a tall, prematurely gray, extremely brilliant young man whose book
America, the Vincible
must have outraged the Republican administration,for it was a frontal attack on the Eisenhower foreign and defense policies. Now Hughes was supporting Rockefeller, and they made a formidable team.
That evening I asked Emmett some desultory questions and he replied in kind, and so well did he mask his feelings that I got the impression that he had given up on Rockefeller’s chances for the Republican nomination. The very next afternoon the governor released his famous statement concerning the direction in which his party ought to move. It constituted a direct attack on current Republican policies and an oblique attack on Nixon. It was a persuasive document, and it tore the Republican party apart. We were told that when Eisenhower saw it he growled, “Emmett Hughes wrote this.” When I read the strong alliterative passages I said the same thing, and we were both right. Then I read the vituperation from Republican headquarters and slowly realized that even though defeat seemed certain if the Republicans nominated Nixon, the professionals were determined to do so and to crush Rockefeller. I could not believe what I was witnessing.
“It looks as if Rocky won’t make it,” I told my wife.
“That’s too bad for the nation,” she said. “He’d be a fine President.”
“It’s good for Kennedy,” I replied.
When the conventions were over my optimism waned somewhat. It seemed to me that the Democratic convention had been a rather shabby affair, with Stevenson refusing to run openly yet borrowing help from Mrs. Roosevelt; with Lyndon Johnson trying to cram into a few days the work that should have occupied him over severalmonths; with the disgraceful bumbling of Robert Meyner; with the lackluster keynote speech of Frank Church, which at times grew ludicrous; and most of all with the inept acceptance speech of John Kennedy.
In contrast it seemed to me that the Republicans had got off to a rousing start. President Eisenhower’s speech was one of the best I had ever heard him give; it frightened me with its visions of the old soldier stumping the nation in October; he was going to be very persuasive indeed, and I suspected that his old magic would be doubly appealing with its necessary overtones of a President Washington’s farewell. Walter Judd’s keynote speech, compared to Frank Church’s, was a masterpiece, even though its policies dated back to the 1920’s. Governor Rockefeller’s graceful acceptance of the inevitable was beguiling and gave the picture, at least, of a united party. And I think no one could deny that the acceptance speech of Vice President Nixon was stirring, forceful, and well thought out. He created a most favorable impression on me—I vaguely sensed that he wasn’t saying much, but suspected that the details would be filled in later—and when I read that Senator Kennedy had agreed to share the same
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