The 1976 Democratic Handicap

"At the proper time, after the Republican National Convention meets, some 15 men, bleary-eyed with the loss of sleep and perspiring profusely with the excessive heat, will sit down in seclusion around a big table. I will be with them and present the name of Senator Harding to them, and before they get through they will put him over."

--James Morgan, Our Presidents

Harry M. Daugherty, a minor political boss from Ohio, made that prediction in February 1920, several months before the Republican Convention. He proved correct. Warren G. Harding was nominated at the convention and later became President of the United States.

Those were the days. The political bosses not only picked our candidates for us, they made it unnecessary for us even to speculate about who the choices would be. But now it's different. With the Democratic national convention less than six months away, we are once more beginning what has become this country's second favorite indoor sport--Picking the President.

So, before you go to your next cocktail party, you should have some facts and know a few rules of the game. Incidentally, the game itself starts in different ways for different elections. In 1976, the opening signal is "Do you think Teddy's running?" I suspect that's the way the game will start in 1980 and 1984 and 1988 as well.

First, keep in mind that the respective candidates are picked by delegates to the convention and not by Bob Novak or Johnny Apple or CBS News. (Example: On January 16, 1972, Mike Wallace asked the question, "Can anyone here beat [Ed] Muskie?" and then went on to answer no, which turned out to be a mistake of approximately the same magnitude as hiring Sally Quinn.) Most political prognostication is based on polling techniques that are about as scientific as the Literary Digest poll that picked Alf Landon over Roosevelt in 1936. And none is worse than the polling of the party chairmen in the states and counties--most of whom have never been right.

Next, remember an important rule: Know who the bosses are. The 1976 convention will be just as bossed as the 1920 one that picked Harding, the political bosses' choice back in the era of the smoke-filled back room. Yet today the Presidential primaries, which were designed to clear away the smoke and drive the boys into the front room, have become the catalyst for a new power structure, as influential as the bosses of earlier days. Only this time, the candidates themselves will be the power barons. And remember, every governor or Senator or leader with half a dozen delegates is a closet candidate. Gone are the old-time bosses for whom control of the party apparatus was more important than winning an election. They themselves never held office nor did they depend on the vagaries of a popular mandate for power; their support was drawn from patronage and a few cronies who helped count the votes. The last vestiges of that system were seen in 1967 in Gary, Indiana, where, in the mayor's race, Richard Hatcher had to bring in the Feds to take over 1000 phony names off the voters' roll and put back 5000 that had been illegally stripped of their franchise. For the old-time bosses, the critical thing to avoid was nominating a candidate who, after winning, might turn out to be the kind of political Frankenstein who attempts to seize control of the party machine and oust the bosses. Harding was no Frankenstein.

Those who sought to break the hold of the bosses proposed the Presidential primary. This system would take the power from the back-room boys and give it to the people.

So 1976 will see democracy in the form of the Presidential primary come full circle. We will have returned to the brokered convention, the smoke-filled room with the unreported deals. Only, the bosses will be new, not only new in name but new in style and, most differently, new in function and the road they have traveled to become bosses.

The 1976 convention will be bossed, all right, but remember who and what the bosses are. They will be the numerous candidates--Henry Jackson, George Wallace, Lloyd Bentsen, Fred Harris, Morris Udall, et al., the governors and Senators, blacks, women, the new labor leaders like Leonard Woodcock and Jerry Wurf; they will be a number of leaders and bosses who, in turn, will control a number of delegates. The new boss will be the honest-to-goodness elected politician whose mandate comes not from the minions of patronage appointees who were the stuff and starch of the old machines but directly from The People.

Just a few years ago, primaries were limited to eight or ten states, geographically scattered, that could fairly test a candidate's appeal, qualifications and ability. Most objective observers concede that Jack Kennedy would not have been the nominee in 1960 if he had not entered the significant primaries and won them all. But 1968 changed all that.

In 1968, Gene McCarthy vanquished the establishment and clobbered an incumbent President, and he also put the old system on notice that the times were achanging. Bobby Kennedy and McCarthy were sweeping the primaries and they took along with them a whole host of Democratic reformers who were on the verge of victory when assassination came in a lousy kitchen of a hotel in Los Angeles, then Mayor Daley and the disgrace of Chicago and dreams destroyed. Hubert Humphrey, a man who refused to enter any of the primaries, stole the nomination, the reformers said. The screams of outrage still echo. As a result, we got the McGovern Commission (and maybe even McGovern himself) and the demand that the Democratic Party become more democratic.

Many political observers will try to make you believe that the debacle of Miami and McGovern has slowed down the process, but don't you believe it. In 1976, there will be far more primaries than in 1972 (some 30 at last count). And, furthermore, we will have seen the end of the winner-take-all situation; each candidate will have his share of delegates, a situation that would enable Wallace, for example, to have more delegates in the New York delegation than any other candidate. It will be interesting to see how many votes Wallace gets in Massachusetts with its current school-busing controversy. And remember that this time he will receive delegates in proportion to his votes.

So the reforms, the democracy, the proportional representation of the delegates and the surfeit of primaries will produce a new type of boss, each with his own little specific political barony. However, the barony will be personal and not geographic.

Now that you know all this, maybe you have lost interest in the game. Contract bridge is less complicated. But don't despair. The next rule puts you back in the ball game. It's the elimination syndrome, better known as Ten Little Indians. Among other things, it gets you into a holding position and gives you a chance to think about it, since you probably hadn't before. The opening move is, "Well, I'll tell you who it isn't going to be...." (Harold Stassen is pretty safe.)

The person who asks "Do you think Teddy is running?" is probably more interested in gainsmanship and stalling than he is in the facts; but if he wants a straight answer, you might point out that for a politician in this era of distrust, his credibility rating was high when he announced he wasn't running more than a year ago. Most folks found him quite believable. I also know, however, that if he should announce tomorrow that he were resigning from the Senate, getting out of politics and joining a Trappist monastery, it would be only a short time before you would read in Evans and Novak, "If Edward Kennedy is running for President, his leaving the Senate and joining a monastery was a master stroke. He couldn't be entered in any of the primaries (those monks take vows about that); he would avoid the tough positions on the issues that Senators have to take every day; and, most of all, the celibate life would put an end to all those ugly rumors."

No, he isn't running, but you will always have to deal with those who think he is. The argument is that there will be no early-ballot consensus, so the convention will turn to Teddy. Right on the first premise but not on the second. First of all, if you think those candidate-bosses who have had to deal with the specter of Teddy in the wings throughout their campaigns are going to release their delegates to him, you haven't seen real resentment. Jackson, Wallace, Bentsen, Harris, Udall and some we haven't heard of yet will each be muttering to himself, "If it weren't for Teddy, I'd have the nomination by now."

In addition, among the sincere and true followers of the Kennedy brothers, there are many whose genuine fear for Teddy's safety would prevent their supporting his nomination. Of course, there are also some whose only moment in the sun was during Camelot and who dream once more of being "in," but they are the least effective of the Kennedy operatives and half of them will be diverted into the production of Son of Camelot, starring Sargent Shriver.

Of course, the best reason for taking Teddy's word for it is that it makes it possible to go on with the game.

Well, I can tell you who it won't be. Hubert Humphrey, that's who! Humphrey, who when left to his own devices is one of the smarter politicians in this country, will start to move up in the polls mostly because he has been left to his own devices, his staff having gone either to Jackson or to Bentsen. But, alas, after having driven their new candidates into the ditch, the staff will rejoin the almost airborne Humphrey and guide him into the nearest mountain.

Muskie won't make it, either. The itch will be more than he can stand and he'll eventually get around to scratching: By the time he finally makes up his mind to get in the race, he'll hardly be able to elbow his way in. In fact, the only nationwide TV exposure will be on the Dinah Shore show, and then only if he takes his favorite recipe. There he'll be, chopping onions, the tears will start to flow and there goes the ball game.

(continued on page 144)1976 Democratic Handicap(continued from page 120)

Jackson, who is this year's Muskie, would probably make an adequate President, but, unfortunately, he is high only in odd years. Since elections are held in even years, he'll need a constitutional amendment to move the election to 1977. While most astute observers think that his only chance in the primaries would be the narcolepsy vote--it's been said that if he were President and gave a fireside chat, the fire would go out--I think he will probably be done in by his closest friends. One of them will report "the Senator from Boeing's" anti-Semitic outburst when the Israelis buy warplanes from McDonnell Douglas.

Jimmy Carter will get a little run for his money, but I can't help but think that to most people he looks more like a kid in a bus station with his name pinned on his sweater on his way to a summer camp than a President on his way to the White House.

Jerry Brown, the governor of California, will be the most amusing to watch. He will go a long way on his reputation as an antipolitician. But the delegates in 1976 just won't be ready for an unmarried President who refuses to live in the White House or fly on Air Force 1. Brown will be sent home for some seasoning.

John Lindsay? He will definitely play a part in the Democratic National Convention. But not the part you might imagine. ABC-TV will have lost one and gained one in 1976. The big loser will be its morning show, Good Morning, America.

At one point in the deadlocked convention, inspiration will strike and someone will point up to the ABC anchor booth, thus starting a draft-Lindsay movement. But, alas, just as it's about off the ground, Walter Cronkite will leave his convention perch for a stroll on the floor. And once more the convention will be deadlocked.

•

What will 1976 bring? Probably the most boring political year--for the Democrats, anyway--in a long time. It will look like a bunch of empty suits running from one nonevent to another; and by the time the first ten primaries are over, they will be running the results either opposite the box scores on the sports pages--"In the Eastern Division of the Democratic League, only George Wallace is doing better than .500 in the win column, if you disregard the two ties"--or in the financial section next to the Dow-Jones averages: "The whole market was depressed by the Nebraska primary and the volume of votes hit a new low, with the composite list selling off three points. The average candidate was down 25 cents." The Sunday news shows will have more effect than the Tuesday election. In fact, Carter will have pulled out, after getting into an argument with Peter Lisagor as to when the War of 1812 was fought.

The Republican primaries will be but a charade, and the only drama or suspense will be in wondering what dumb thing President Ford will do next to help Ronald Reagan get the nomination. And all this help won't go unnoticed by Reagan, for when he announced that he didn't believe in balanced tickets but would choose as a running mate a man with his conservative views, he was signaling that Ford would make a great Vice-President, probably the best since Agnew.

But the republic will survive, even though the candidates and their staffs won't. And that won't be so bad. Richard Nixon's true contribution to American politics will be that he and his example put an end to government by advance men. We can also hope that we have seen the last of the Chuck Colsons and return to a Civil Service that is just that--civil and of service.

Another effect will be the weakening of the political parties. It used to be that when the traditional two parties failed to inspire, a new party would emerge. This time it will be a nonparty, a political coalition of sorts, which will come about by default. It will be put forth not as a daring idea in politics but as a reaction to the earlier disappointments. It is not just that the old loyalties and affiliations have broken down and the time has come for new ones to take their place; most people are now convinced that the new will turn out to be as fruitless as the old.

The nonvoters will continue to grow in number, approaching two out of every three, their feelings best expressed by the little old lady in Ohio who said, "I never vote--it only encourages the bastards." There has been little that government has done of late to encourage voter participation, and living with an appointed President and Vice-President may just increase the apathy at the polls.

By the time the Democratic National Convention is held, all the numbers will be in place. The bosses will have studied the Scoreboard and realized it doesn't add up. Thanks to the multiplicity of primaries and proportional representation, no one will get close to the 1505 delegates needed to get the nomination. Wallace will have the most, with perhaps close to 900. The next closest will have 400 and the rest will be spread all over the place. The animosity and hard feelings left over from the primaries, plus the understandable division between the Wallacites and the others, will make it impossible for any combination of front runners to get together.

The convention itself will only be acting out what has been decided on beforehand. (Only McGovern would star in a play that ran until three in the morning before he made his grand entrance.) Stage-managing and scripting of the convention can hardly be called immoral. Both parties have an obligation to put their best face forward and certainly not to be dull. So one of the things that the bosses will be sure of is that the name Hugh Carey is placed quietly in nomination. About as quietly as Edward Moore Kennedy can do it, that is.

As the ordeal of the primaries comes to an end, and as it becomes obvious that it will bear no fruit, the bosses will start the serious business of looking for a viable, electable candidate. In 1952, when the time came, they surprised us with an obscure governor of Illinois, a man who delighted us all, Adlai Stevenson.

The talk will turn to Hugh Carey. And good talk it will be. His welcoming speech in Madison Square Garden will remind many of the one given in 1952 by the then governor of Illinois. And all will be aware of the great job he did in bringing labor and the banks and government together in saving the very city in which the Democratic National Convention will be held--New York. (The fact that his brilliant state chairman, Pat Cunningham, got the convention for New York City won't go unnoticed, either.)

And there will be plenty of good old Hugh Carey stories, for he is well known and much liked around Washington. His 14 years in Congress are well remembered:

He was a tremendously effective legislator and always one of the boys. Bobby Kennedy called him his favorite Congressman. It was at Bobby's urging that the congressional leaders chose Carey as floor manager of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act of 1965, the first legislation providing Federal aid to parochial and private schools--textbooks, tutoring, special programs--that was upheld by the Supreme Court.

Carey was recruited from the House Education and Labor Committee for that task as an urban Catholic who could build a compromise between Catholics, who needed aid for inner-city schools, and strict constitutionalists defending churchstate separation.

Carey and the late Adam Clayton Powell, then chairman of the Education and Labor Committee, were a tough team to beat. A Southern foe of theirs said, "When they did that tango of theirs, the money would start to pour back to the cities." (Incidentally, Carey voted against the House decision to unseat Powell.)

But to those who knew him best in Washington, he was always his own guy and they marveled at how he could always vote liberal and yet continue to be elected from one of the most conservative districts in New York. It was evident that Carey was a hell of a vote getter and a guy the voters trusted and with whom they identified.

The past race for governor in New York would not go unnoticed by the bosses looking at Carey's track record. First of all, he ran against the Democratic leaders' first choice, Howard Samuels, who had spent more money and time on running for governor than anyone except Nelson Rockefeller. It was a campaign that Carey pretty well ran and financed himself (with his brother's money), and he showed skillful use of the media. David Garth, his TV man, who naturally wants some of the credit, is quick to point out that Hugh is a campaign consultant's dream. "Most people who are in politics any length of time tend to lose their contact with the people and, hence, the people with them. But not Hugh," he says.

But for the bosses, the test is the election. And Carey's feat in 1974 would warm the heart of the most cynical pol. Carey's 58 percent is a record vote for a New York gubernatorial candidate in this century. The Republicans were in trouble, you say? Jacob Javits didn't have any trouble in the same state; Jerry Brown just squeezed through in California on the same day; and Democratic governor Jack Gilligan lost in Ohio. The city vote? Overwhelmingly Carey. Upstate and rural? Carey. Black? Carey. Jews? Carey. Catholics? Carey (he was running against a Catholic). Carey got a million more votes that day than anyone else in the country. A meaningful test, as meaningful an election as was held.

So, in 1976, as it becomes more and more apparent that the primaries will not produce a consensus candidate, there will be stirrings in Washington and New York. Few will remember that New York was the first capital of the United States, but the roll call of its most recent governors will remind us that it has always had a Presidential candidate in the wings--Al Smith, F.D.R., Tom Dewey, Averell Harriman and Nelson Rockefeller.

Cunningham's hectic travel schedule, as he takes soundings and carries the word across the country, will probably go unnoticed. More apparent will be Bob Wagner, the Empire State's best politico, who can work Wall Street and is very much at home in the house of labor, as he starts to tie it all together.

Kennedy in-law Stephen Smith will give the first indication where the dynasty is leaning when he joins with Ed Carey, Hugh's oil-rich brother, in tying up most of the big money in the Democratic Party.

Senator Abe Ribicoff, who was first for J.F.K., will be an "early in" with the Washington crowd, but the real push will come from Carey's old friends and colleagues in the House of Representatives--Tip O'Neill, Peter Rodino, Phil Burton and Topper Thompson. Maybe they always knew that if they were going to elect one of theirs, he would have to leave town for a couple of years....

•

On Monday night, the 12th of July, 1976, Chairman Robert Strauss will call the convention to order: The Democrats are up. The fight over the platform is quite tame by Democratic standards. But there is another sense of excitement in the hall--the feeling of a possible return to Camelot. A return to a time before Dallas, before Vietnam, and a time before brother Martin and brother Bobby were gunned down. A time before the coarseness of Lyndon Johnson and the excesses of Richard Nixon. A feeling that maybe, at last, they have found a new-model John Kennedy in Hugh Carey.

John Kennedy may have gone to Harvard; Hugh Carey went to St. John's. John Kennedy had an exotic war record on a PT boat in the South Pacific; Hugh Carey rose from private to colonel fighting in Europe, captured Aachen in Germany and liberated the inmates of Nordhausen, one of Germany's worst concentration camps. John Kennedy had a rich father; Hugh Carey has a rich brother. John Kennedy was a friend of the Harrimans, the Wagners, the New York pols. So is Hugh Carey. John Kennedy had hustled the Democratic Party through the primary route. Hugh Carey would wait and force the Democratic Party to hustle him.

So the moment comes for Senator Edward Kennedy to step to the rostrum and place the name Hugh Carey in nomination. The band, as well as the delegates, really feels that Happy Days Are Here Again.

It is Wagner who has put the deal together to get Teddy to nominate Governor Carey. Wagner, former mayor of New York City, Ambassador to Spain and friend of Presidents, put all the pieces together in Carey's race for governor. Kennedy has not taken any sides in the various primaries, is eager to be in the thick of things and, as his brothers Jack and Bobby did, feels very comfortable with old Hugh Carey. Playing the leading role in the drama and yet having no responsibility except to his family suits him just fine. In fact, it amuses him to say to his friends that he is a stalking-horse for Carey.

The speech is so good that David Burke and Dick Goodwin have a fistfight over who wrote it.

The choice of Vice-President was Wagner's, too, though Teddy White writes later that it was Arthur Schlesinger's. But the credit for moving rapidly on it must go to McGovern. He had shown the way.

The nomination of Adlai Stevenson III for Veep catches the country, but not the pros, by surprise. After all, he had not been bloodied in any of the primary fights. Secondly, as the chairman of the subcommittee that fought the big oil companies, both domestic and foreign, he has emerged as a true leader of the populist consumer movement that is sweeping the country. And thirdly, the name Adlai Stevenson itself reassures the One Worlders, both at home and abroad, that Hugh Carey's vision goes beyond Prospect Park and the Brooklyn Navy Yard. And, for what it's worth, Mayor Daley, who has a few delegates and lots of mystique, is more than gratified that some few people see that his fine Irish hand is still in Presidential politics.

As in 1960, the Democrats leave New York with the feeling that it is a new beginning; but unlike 1960, they won't have second thoughts about the number-two spot (no Lyndon Johnson this time). Governor Carey will prove that the Democrats have someone who is big enough to handle a national campaign, and the Carey-Stevenson ticket will ride this wave right into the White House.

•

Carey, as President, proves to be an innovator, just as he has been in his campaign. During the campaign, his most startling appointment has been that of his national-security advisor. He, of course, appoints a Harvard man, so that "they" will think that "they" are getting theirs. It is David Halberstam.

Like his predecessors, Carey gets daily briefings on the state of the economy and the state of the world. He is the first, however, to receive a daily report on the state of the clan.

The scene is the upstairs bedroom of the White House: The President and Ethel are having breakfast in bed. (The Ethel Kennedy--Hugh Carey marriage at St. Patrick's Cathedral provides depression-weary America with the only bright moment it has had that year. The nation not only sees the wedding on TV but it sees and participates in the party that follows. Fifth Avenue is turned into a mall for the occasion, with a skating party at the Rockefeller Center ice rink.)

President Carey, having finished that crucial first cup of coffee, sends for Bill vanden Heuvel. Bill has the top job in the kitchen Cabinet, that of Children's Coordinator. After all, between them, Hugh and Ethel have 23 children.

Vanden Heuvel reports: "Basically, the only change from yesterday is that one son has left his wife, two kids were busted for pot and the 11-year-old water-bombed the French ambassador from the roof of the White House. This is offset by the facts that one of the boys passed the Virginia bar exam and that the September, October and November White House weddings are all still go."

"And young Bobby was nominated for a Pulitzer," Ethel adds proudly.

"I know, Ethel," the President sighs. "For exposing my Secretary of the Treasury."