TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/election/44elect/44elect.004

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=            ╚July 31, 1944

DEMOCRATS

For the Fourth Time



The Man Who Wasn't There

     The C.I.O., the Northern city bosses and the South clashed
last week at the 20th Democratic convention in Chicago. The
fight, which ranged from the rawest of ward-heel tactics to the
most delicate and nimble-witted of manipulations, ended in defeat
for the C.I.O. and the Native Radical wing of the Democratic
Party.

     The C.I.O. and the evangelical amateurs had proved strong --
the strongest of the three clashing wings of the party. But they
lost to a combination of the city machines (Kelly, Hague and
Flynn) and the entrenched conservatives of the South. But more
important, the Wallace wing lost because Franklin Roosevelt had
weighted the scales against it.

     For Franklin Roosevelt, absent only physically from this
convention, as in 1940, was still undisputed master of the
Democratic Party. With his support Henry Wallace might again have
won the Vice Presidential nomination. But the President chose to
buy party unity instead. He gave the go-ahead to unexciting Harry
S. Truman of Missouri, whom none of the three factions could warm
to -- nor strenuously object to, either. The Vice-Presidency had
more than Throttlebottom proportions this time: each delegate
kept uppermost in mind that his choice for Vice President might
become President.

     This precarious unity might well hold the Democrats together
through the 1944 election. But it had been bought at the expense
of those who believed that the Democratic Party was still
liberal-dominated; now all could see that the President had meant
it when he said that Dr. New Deal was dead. Dr. Win-the-War was
the Commander in Chief, who might campaign by pageantry instead
of platforms.

     Equally clear was the other half of campaign strategy -- the
kind of aggression to be used against the Republicans. In speech
after speech the Democrats dragged out Herbert Hoover as the man
they prefer to campaign against. The convention relished the
steady pounding at the 1928-32 U.S. President. He was one issue
all Democrats could agree on.

     For the Democratic Party of 1944 was, in the phrase of the
New York Times's Anne O'Hare McCormick, "a strange parade of
incompatibles." This rickety combination of discordant elements
was held together by one man and one man only:Franklin Roosevelt.


For the Fourth Time

     At the lonely prairie stops where the President's train
switched engines, and in the busy city terminals where it slipped
in & out unannounced, this time there were no conspicuous
deployments of military guards to give away the secret. But
things get around: crowds jammed railroad platforms several times
during the six-day, 16 state cross-country trip. They got only a
quick look at the President's chief of staff, Admiral William D.
Leahy, or at Fala parading about; the President stayed inside his
private car. He was, by his own definition, traveling in
"performance of my duties under the Constitution."

     At Chicago, Democratic Chairman Bob Hannegan came aboard for
a quick political conference, and after the Presidential party
traveled on Hannegan kept in touch by telephone. The train rolled
into a siding in a big West Coast naval base the day the
convention began.

     The Tired Old Men. The President's fourth nomination had
been inevitable for so long that even the Democrats opposed to
Term IV did not trouble to make any case for the two-term
tradition. And long before the ballots were cast, convention
orators were unabashedly referring to Franklin Roosevelt as the
nominee. On the opening night, Keynoter Bob Kerr, Oklahoma's
pink-jowled Governor, set the theme: "with our Commander in Chief
to victory." He also showed how deeply one of Tom Dewey's
arguments had sunk in by roaring: "Shall we discard as a 'tired
old man' 59-year-old Admiral Nimits. . . .62-year-old Admiral
Halsey . . . 64-year-old General MacArthur . . . 66-year-old
Admiral King . . . 64-year-old General Marshall? No, Mr. Dewey,
we know we are winning this war with these 'tired old men,'
including the 62-year-old Roosevelt as their Commander in Chief."
(Actually Admiral Halsey is only 61, Admiral King 65, General
Marshall 63).

     The Ovation.  Senator Alben Barkley formally nominated
Franklin Roosevelt next afternoon, in 40 minutes of ponderous
eulogy. Instantly the aisles were crowded with marchers, hundreds
of delegates ably abetted by the leather-lunged 27th Ward-heelers
who stooge for Chicago's Mayor Ed Kelly. Placards which they had
been holding face down as they sat were now waved high:
"Roosevelt and Victory"; "Roosevelt and Lasting Peace." The
organ, and a brassy band above it in the gallery, blanketed the
loud speakers with furious music. Timed, the actual cheering for
the President lasted only 14 seconds; after that the organ and
the band alternated, with occasional perfunctory whoops from the
galleries.

     A few Southern delegates sat stiffly in their seats; many
delegates, though standing, merely watched as the marchers
paraded the aisles, waving their placards.

     Outside in the lobby, curly-haired Mayor Ed Kelly stood
talking with Jersey's Boss Hague. The demonstration had been on
for ten minutes before Kelly said: "Well, let's go out and grab a
banner -- just for the workout." Replied Frank Hague; "What's
this -- nomination for the President?" Kelly grunted yes. They
eyed each other thoughtfully, then decided to stay where they
were.

     This "ovation" for Franklin Roosevelt and Term IV lasted 36
minutes. Later, a Florida woman delegate rose to nominate
Virginia's Harry Byrd for President. There were boos. On the
platform, the gavel rapped firmly, and able Convention Chairman
Sam Jackson shouted: "No Democrat alive is entitled to boos from
anybody!" The boos stopped.

     The vote: Roosevelt, 1,086; Byrd, 89; James A. Farley, 1.
(Byrd's vote: the solid delegations of Virginia (24), Louisiana
(22), and Mississippi (20): also scattered votes from Texas (12),
Florida (4), South Carolina (3 1\2), Alabama (2), West Virginia
(1), New York (1\2)).

     Voice from Afar.  That night Franklin Roosevelt sat before a
microphone in his private railroad car on the West Coast. His
voice blared into the convention hall from giant four-way
amplifiers in the rafters of the stadium. As they listened, most
of the delegates kept their eyes on the empty speaker's stand,
where klieg lights were still focused. The effect was eerie.

     Franklin Roosevelt's acceptance set firmly the line of the
Term IV campaign:

     DRAFT. "In spite of my desire to retire to private life . .
. you in this convention . . . have asked me to continue."

     NEW HANDS. "It seems wholly likely that within the next four
years our armed forces . . . will have gained a complete victory
over Germany and Japan, and that the world once more will be at
peace. . . . Whenever that time comes, new hands will then have
full opportunity to realize the ideals which we seek." (In 1940
the President promised: "When (the next) term is over, there will
be another President. . . .")

     MISREPRESENTATIONS. "I shall not campaign, in the usual
sense, for the office. In these days of tragic sorrow, I do not
consider it fitting. And besides, in these days of global
warfare, I shall not be able to find the time. I shall, however,
feel free . . . to correct any misrepresentations."

     EXPERIENCE. "The people of the United States will decide
this fall whether they wish to turn over this 1944 job, this
world-wide job, to inexperienced or immature hands, to those who
opposed lend-lease and international cooperation. . . . until
they could read the polls of popular sentiment; or whether they
wish to leave it to those who saw the danger from abroad, and met
it head-on. . ."


How the Bosses Did It

     Harry Truman, the grey little junior Senator from Missouri,
was nominated for the Vice-Presidency twice. The second time was
last week, by a majority of the 1,176 delegates to the 29th
Democratic Convention. The first time was at a meeting in the
White House, the week before.

     Scene I: Washington.  At that White House meeting were
present the Democratic National Chairman, strapping Bob Hannegan,
Chicago's Boss and Mayor, Ed Kelly, and four others. The visitors
had political business with the President: they wanted to name
over the various Vice Presidential possibilities: Henry Wallace,
Truman, "Assistant President" Jimmy Byrnes, Supreme Court Justice
William O. Douglas, Senator Alben Barkley. The President
indicated, in each case, that it would be a pleasure to run with
the man named. I was said that tears came to Franklin Roosevelt's
eyes when Jimmy Byrnes was mentioned; everyone there knew that
the 63-year-old South Carolinian had no chance, with his long
record of filibustering against anti-lynching bills. But everyone
thought he detected a slightly firmer emphasis on the word
"pleasure" as Harry Truman's name was trotted out. This piece of
political finesse was satisfactory all around; the President had
not been forced to take an open stand for one of his henchmen and
against the others; and still the Party bosses had been given the
"Go" signal on Truman.

     Consequently, four days before the convention opened the
race seemed wide-open, and the one-day booms blossomed in
methodical order: for Barkley, Douglas, Byrnes and Speaker Sam
Rayburn. The Byrnes boom got farthest first and then fell
flattest. The first of many intimate and important dinners in
Chicago ended Byrnes's candidacy.

     Scene II: the Blackstone. To Bob Hannegan's three-room suite
in the venerable old Blackstone Hotel, two nights before the
convention, went P.A.C.'s Chairman Sidney Hillman and C.I.O.
President Phil Murray. Also present: Postmaster General Frank
Walker. Mincing no works, Messrs. Hillman & Murray told Bob
Hannegan and Frank Walker that Jimmy Byrnes was not acceptable to
P.A.C.  Reasons: 1) he is a confirmed Southerner; 2) as
OWMobilizer, he has held wages down. Hillman and Murray then went
a good deal farther. No Southerner, they said, would get P.A.C.
backing. Jimmy Byrnes gracefully withdrew. P.A.C.'s power
blossomed fabulously.

     The Truman boom was under way, managed carefully by
Hannegan, Frank Walker, and Bosses Ed Kelly and Ed Flynn of New
York. Harry Truman insisted that he did not want the job. For one
thing, unlike all the other candidates in Chicago, he did not
believe that the President really had chosen him. A story got
around that he broke down in his hotel room and cried, telling
friends that the Vice Presidential responsibilities were beyond
him.

     Scene III: the Sherman. The Wallace camp set to work in
earnest. Their preconvention count of solid, first-ballot votes
had stood at 200. By Wednesday morning it rocketed to 350. All
day long delegates streamed in & out of P.A.C.'s Sherman Hotel
headquarters.

     That afternoon, at a secret caucus, an emotional Phil Murray
addressed P.A.C.'s delegates (from 28 states). In his low,
Scottish burr, thrusting his fist forward, Phil Murray said:
"Wallace . . . Wallace . . . Wallace. That's it. Just keep
pounding."

     P.A.C.'s first-ballot count for Wallace rose to 400, then to
450.

     Scene IV: the Blackstone. The bosses too, had gone to work.
His collar open, his shirt sweat-soaked, Bob Hannegan dickered
all Wednesday afternoon in his Blackstone suite. Better than
anyone else, he knew that a majority of the 1,176 delegates were
both: 1) anti-Wallace, and 2) at sea, waiting for a signal from
the lighthouse. Hannegan then let it be known that he had
telephoned the President, and that the President wanted Truman.
Ed Flynn passed along the same news to New York's 96 delegates.
So did Ed Kelly.

     Kentucky's massive, paunchy Alben Barkley was so outraged at
this report (he, too, had been given a friendly Roosevelt back
pat) that he called back all advance copies of his address
nominating Franklin Roosevelt for Term IV, and threatened not to
make the speech at all, Cried "Dear Alben": "I certainly don't
know which shell the pea is under."

     Many delegates just would not believe the story of the
Roosevelt-Hannegan phone call. The story was changed. Now the
bosses said that Franklin Roosevelt had put his preference for
Harry Truman in writing. But Bob Hannegan had no such letter to
show. The Wallace camp screamed "phony." Said Wallace's
secretary, beefy Harold R. Young (who had unpractically set up
headquarters in Chicago with a single bottle of whiskey): "The
convention is in the hands of our enemies." Bob Hannegan finally
produced such a letter but then: 1) it turned out to be dated
only 24 hours earlier; and 2) Mr. Roosevelt also mentioned
Justice Douglas as one with whom "I should be very glad to run."

     Scene V: John Touhy's.  The caucuses ground on. Ed Kelly
herded Illinois' 58 delegates out to Committeeman John Touhy's
famed 27th Ward Club (across from the Stadium), where food &
drink was free. Ed Kelly tried to get his 58 Illinois delegates
to pledge for Truman. The Wallace men balked. Ed Kelly smoothly
switched to his own Senator, Scott Lucas, of Illinois. By now the
strategy of both camps was clear. The bosses would nominate all
possible favorite sons, confuse and wear down the delegates, then
try to push through Truman, or a compromise. The Wallace camp was
holding firm, determined to switch to no one.

     Scene VI: The Stadium.  Henry Wallace, battling for his
political life, had the galleries with him. After his
stiffnecked, forthright seconding speech for Franklin Roosevelt
he got the most honest ovation of the convention, three minutes
of real cheering. Later that same day, after the President's
voice had boomed, too loud, through the cluster of amplifiers,
the name of Henry Wallace set the galleries afire. From every
corner of the Stadium, packed with PACsters, came the chant: "We
want Wallace!" At this point the Wallace nomination might have
been roared through. Balding Chairman Sam Jackson, try as he
might, could not stop the chanting and the noise. Finally, he
called for adjournment. The entire Stadium rocked with a chorus
of "No!" But Sam Jackson purred smoothly: "The ayes have it."

     Scene VII: Private Room H.  By next day, everything was
organized. All tickets to the Stadium were checked not once, by
ushers, but twice, by Ed Kelly's blue-shirted cops. Clusters of
tieless war workers, carrying clusters of Wallace placards, were
turned away. They just did not seem to have the right kind of
tickets.

     The bosses were very busy. Their work was done in the air-
conditioned "Private Room H," reached by a dark corridor
underneath the speaker's stand. In & out, all afternoon, went
Hannegan, Kelly, Flynn, Walker, Hague & Co.  Harry Truman stayed
there for three hours, handshaking the delegates as the bosses
brought them in. Inside, someone was always on the telephone, and
whispered snatches of conversation floated to the door: "I think
we got California in shape . . ." "Kelly said . . ." "At the New
York caucus, they . . ." "Don't worry too much about Alabama. . "
One of the most impressive lines, used with small-town
delegates, was the whisper: "I think they have the President on
the wire. . . ."

     Finally, Ed Kelly wrenched himself away long enough to mount
the speakers' platform. He solemnly placed in nomination the men
of Illinois' favorite son, Scott Lucas. Everyone in the stadium
knew what Kelly was doing, and he was booed so hard and so
repeatedly that he could only finish by appealing to them as
"chairman of the Illinois delegation, as Mayor of Chicago, and as
host to the convention."

     Scene VIII: On the Floor.  As the boos mounted, the band and
organ played, and then, from the wings of the Stadium, poured an
endless procession of Kelly workers, with Lucas signs: BUSINESS
WANTS LUCAS, LABOR WANTS LUCAS, EVERY SOLDIER, SAILOR AND MARINE
WANTS LUCAS, EVERY FATHER AND MOTHER OF A SERVICEMAN WANTS
LUCAS.

     The galleries howled and booed as this phoniest of all
parades proceeded; they watched silently as the Kellymen
shuffled off in magnificent embarrassment.

     It was now 4:30 o'clock, and the delegates' stomachs were
empty, their throats dry. The balloting began.

     Ballot I. The first ballot turned out to be a trial run.
Wallace led all the way. Truman relied heavily on the big
delegations. Final result: Wallace, 429 1\2; Truman, 319 1\2. The
13 favorite sons, with 393 1\2 votes held the balance of power.

     The convention had been in uninterrupted session for six
and a half hours. At the outer gates, galleryites were beginning
to arrive for the night session. Up to the microphone stepped
Chairman Sam Jackson to pull the neatest parliamentary trick of
the convention. He announced that Ballot II would be taken
immediately, and that, since there was no recess, the convention
was still in afternoon session and no tickets for the night
meeting would be honored. Even at this late date the bosses were
taking no chances on getting a Wallace gallery.

     Ballot II. Ballot II was a thrilling battle until the break
came. At the quartermark. Wallace led, 148 votes to Truman's 125,
with seven key states "passing" waiting to see which way to
jump). Then Ed Flynn brought in 74 1\2 New York votes, and Truman
went ahead for the first time. The score: Truman 246; Wallace
187. Then Favorite Son Bob Kerr, Governor of Oklahoma, withdrew
his name: 22 more votes for Truman.

     At the halfway mark the count stood Truman, 342; Wallace,
286. But the Wallacemen were fighting; the count narrowed;
suddenly it was neck-&-neck: Truman, 400; Wallace, 395.

     With Truman holding a narrow lead, 477 1\2-to-472 1\2, the
bosses could wait no longer. Alabama's Bankhead withdrew his
name, threw 22 votes to Truman, South Carolina switched all 18
votes to Truman. The galleries howled and screamed, Indiana's
huge Boss Frank McHale withdrew Paul McNutt's name. Maine came
over to Truman. "We want Wallace!" roared the galleries.

     But the real rush had begun. State chairmen frantically
waved their banners for recognition. The Wallace total shrank
swiftly.

     Scene IX: Back to Touhy's. In the Illinois section, Ed Kelly
suddenly snapped at Scott Lucas: "Christ Almighty, let's get in
this thing. We're clean out." Out rushed the whole Illinois
delegation for a caucus at John Touhy's. Wyoming switched to
Truman. Aging, ex-Ambassador James Gerard got the microphone for
New York, raped out: "New York is now unanimous. . . . Make it 93
for Truman." The Truman total 558 1\2 with 589 needed to
nominate.

     By now the fickle crowd was on its feet, cheering every
Truman gain, as the last, faint chants of "We want Wallace" came
from the upper tiers. Ohio added 23 to the Truman score. Then
West Virginia, whose Governor Matt Neely had held firm for
Wallace, broke down. It added 13 votes for Truman, enough to put
him over.

     Back from John Touhy's, led by a flying wedge of cops, came
Illinois. Breathing heavily, Ed Kelly grabbed the microphone,
shouted out: "Illinois now 54 for Truman, 4 for Wallace." He
turned to a henchman: "Did we make it?" He had not. It was all
over. Running fast for the Trumman bandwagon, Ed Kelly had only
managed to get his fingernails on the spare tire.

     Suddenly, all the hundreds of Wallace placards had vanished.
The three huge white Wallace balloons, which had hung over the
convention all day, were let go; they floated swiftly to the dim
rafters overhead, there to bump softly above the smoke, the
lights, and the cheers.

     Once again, the bosses had won.


The Defeated

     Henry Wallace had not wanted to go to Chicago. He was tired
and jittery after his trip home from China. His stomach was
upset: he had politely munched too many Chinese radishes. For
several days he avoided friends and politics by simply locking
the door of his Wardman Park apartment.

     Finally, after frantic urging by his worried friends, he
decided to join battle in Chicago. He made an exquisitely
characteristic entrance. While other candidates were ogling
photographers and passing out broadsides, Henry Wallace boarded
his train one stop away from Washington, got off again one stop
before Chicago. Twelve cameramen and half a dozen reporters were
left waiting at Chicago's Grand Central Station.

     His press conference, four hours after arrival, was the most
pack-jammed of the convention. Henry Wallace had to be shoved
through the crowd (only a third were newsmen). Sitting on a
rickety table, with flash bubbles popping and microphones thrust
at his face, Henry Wallace said stiffly, belligerently: "I am in
this fight to the finish." What did he think of the President's
feeble endorsement of him, which some of his own followers were
calling a stab in the back? "The President did all I expected him
to do. I told him that in justice to himself and myself there
should be nothing in the nature of dictation."

     Next afternoon he appeared on the Stadium platform to second
the nomination of Franklin Roosevelt. But he had more in mind
than the usual string of adjectives; he was prepared to give the
delegates his idea of what the Democratic Party should be.
Whether conservatives squirmed, or Southerners saw red, or New
Dealers cheered, Henry Wallace's speech was the first that
riveted the delegates' attention. It was blunt, brave, tactless.
It easily explained why Henry Wallace was the bet-loved and best-
hated man in the Stadium. Southerners got a heaping dose of brine
in their open wounds as Henry Wallace, no longer ill at ease,
rubbed in the word "liberal" eleven times in his brief platform
appearance:

     "The future belongs to those who go down the line
unswervingly for the liberal principles of both political
democracy and economic democracy regardless of race, color or
religion. In a political, educational and economic sense, there
must be no inferior races. The poll tax must go. Equal
educational opportunities must come. The future must bring equal
wages for equal work regardless of sex or race. . . . The
Democratic Party cannot long survive as a conservative party. . .
.  Democrats who try to play the Republican game inside the
Democratic Party always find that it just can't work on a
national scale."

     After that, Henry Wallace seemed considerably relaxed. That
night, after the galleries had given him the biggest ovation of
the convention, he dropped in at his Sherman Hotel quarters. When
he noted that some of his well-wishers were sipping highballs, he
asked happily: "Has anyone got a glass of plain bubbly water?"

     During the important first ballot, he napped at his hotel. A
car waited down in the street to rush him to the Stadium. It was
not needed. When the convention stampeded to Truman, Wallace went
out for a walk with a few close friends. He said: "I feel freer
now. I was not rehired. If I were a candidate I would have to
follow a schedule and deal with issues from a partisan
standpoint. This way, I can do more for liberalism."