TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/election/44elect/44elect.011

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p>              H/                                                            ╚November 13, 1944

THE ELECTION

What Happened



     It was Franklin Roosevelt in a walkaway. His popular
percentage was a shade lower than in 1940, his Electoral College
vote a smashing victory. Once the returns began piling in, there
was never any doubt.

     The people did more than reject a tradition against extra
Presidential terms. They reversed a historic decision of 25 years
ago, when the U.S. embraced isolationism after World War I. In
the 1944 election no isolationist could find comfort. The people
had spoken for international cooperation.

     One other great fact emerged: the new political influence of
labor. This time organized labor really worked in U.S. politics,
with money, brains and sweat, for F.D.R.

     Probably the biggest if least exciting factor in the
election was a widespread feeling that the U.S. could not risk
changing Presidents in wartime.


The Winner

     From the green-curtained voting booth came a clank of gears
as the main control lever jerked irritably back & forth. Then a
voice, familiar to all of the U.S. and to most of the world,
spoke distinctly from behind the curtains: "The goddamned thing
won't work."

     A solicitous election official hastened forward with advice.
The lever clanked again, caught correctly this time. Franklin
Delano Roosevelt, 62 self-styled tree grower of New York State,
voter No. 251 of Hyde Park village, had exercised his right as a
U.S. citizen.

     In voting booths throughout the nation, some 40,000,000
other U.S. citizens were exercising the same right. Before
midnight, the verdict was clear: Franklin Roosevelt, the first
U.S. President to serve three terms in the White House, had
rolled up a huge popular vote -- and a landslide electoral vote
-- to give him his fourth term.

     "Preserve Our Union." On the very eve of Election Day,
Candidate Roosevelt made one more little trip: a five-hour, 80-
mile drive through Dutchess, Orange and Ulster counties to say a
few words of greeting to his "friends and neighbors."

     In the open back seat of a Packard touring car, Candidate
Roosevelt set out, bundled to his white-stubbled chin in a
beaver-collared overcoat, his old brown campaign fedora scrunched
on his balding poll. Beside him sat Secretary of the Treasury
Henry Morgenthau, shivering in a lightweight topcoat, his nose
and chin blue with cold. The sky was lead-colored, the wind
sharp. Franklin Roosevelt coughed occasionally and his eyes
watered behind his pince-nez. But at Pughkeepsie, Wappingers
Falls, Kingston and Newburgh, he waved his arm, grinned, bobbed
his head vigorously, spoke cheerfully to the street crowds.

     That night, from Hyde Park, he closed his campaign with a
prayer written from him by the Rt. Rev. Angus Dun, Episcopal
bishop of Washington, D.C. "Almighty God . . . we commend to Thy
overruling Providence the men and women of our forces. . . . Be
Thou their strength. . . .Guide . . . the nations of the world
into the way of justice and truth and establish among them that
peace which is the reward of righteousness. . . . Make the whole
people of this land equal to our high trust, reverent in the use
of freedom, just in the exercise of power, generous in the
protection of weakness. . . . Make us ill content with the
inequalities of opportunity which still prevail among us.
Preserve our Union against all the divisions of race and class
which threaten us. . . . May the blessing of God Almighty rest
upon the whole land. May He give us light to guide us, courage to
support us, charity to unite us, now and forever. Amen."

     On Election Day, Franklin Roosevelt slept late, set out at
noon in the warm sunshine for the oak-beamed town hall at Hyde
Park. There, at the polls, where he gave his occupation to
Inspector Mildred M. Todd as "tree-grower," he enthusiastically
accepted a piece of candy from Miss Todd, entered the booth
munching.

     There was a light Hyde Park supper of scrambled eggs, his
"lucky dish." Then the President sat down to the old game at
which he is expert-tabulating election returns. Supper dishes and
cloth were whisked away; tally sheets and sharpened pencils were
laid on the green felt cover. The big radio, provided by NBC,
began to announce returns. Secretary Grace Tully and Mrs. Ruth
Rumelt, Steve Early's secretary, moved in & out with flashes from
A.P. and U.P. tickers. Around the big table, individual state
scores were kept by the President's intimates: Henry Morgenthau,
Admiral Leahy, Steve Early, Samuel Rosenman, Robert Sherwood. As
"managing editor," the President assembled the totals.

     Vice Admiral Ross T. McIntyre, the President's personal
physician, hovered close; he would not leave, he said, unless or
until the returns moved substantially in F.D.R.'s favor. (He left
just before 11 p.m.) At 11:15 came the dull thump of a bass drum
and the shrill tootle of fifes, and the usual torchlight parade
of neighbors milled up the circular driveway.

     The President was wheeled out on the porch by Valet Arthur
Prettyman. Mr. Roosevelt remarked playfully that on the basis of
partial returns it appeared that returns were partial to Hyde
Park. In high good humor, grinning at the battery of
photographers, he noted several children in the branches of one
of the trees, and recalled how he had climbed the very same tree
as a child to escape discipline. From that tree, he said, he saw
his first torchlight parade from the village, at the time of
Cleveland's election in 1892. "I got out of bed to come
downstairs in an old-fashioned nightshirt-wrapped in a buffalo
robe."

     Then the President went back into the house. Reporters were
folding up their notebooks when Eleanor Roosevelt popped up in
the door and remarked in a stage whisper to a group of chattering
Vassar girls: "The President thinks the election is won."

     Some guests stayed for coffee, chocolate, coconut layer
cake. Eleanor Roosevelt lighted a fire in the library's huge
marble fireplace.

     By 3:50 Franklin Roosevelt went to bed. He had dispatched
the following statement:

     "His Excellency, Thomas E. Dewey . . . I thank you for your
statement which I heard over the air a few minutes ago."

     Soon military security would clamp down on the President's
movements again. He and the U.S. would get back to their main
business -- winning the war.


The Loser

     In Albany, the wind was raw and sharp as the Governor of New
York and his wife -- both in solemn mood-boarded the train for
Manhattan to vote, and then to wait a nation's decision. In
Manhattan, 78 people were in line ahead of the Dewey's in the
Park Avenue precinct. The others stood aside, despite Dewey's
protest that "We haven't anything else to do today. We can wait."

     The anxious hours ticked away: lunch, just the Deweys
together, in their five-bedroom suite at the Hotel Roosevelt; in
the afternoon, a "thank you" meeting for 250 party leaders;
dinner in an uptown apartment with six close friends. As the
election returns began to pour into Republican National
Headquarters at the Hotel Roosevelt, the crowds downstairs in the
big ballroom were confident -- many wore evening clothes, ready
to go out and celebrate. But on the tenth floor, the Dewey party,
isolated from press and public, listened tensely. The first
tidings seemed "encouraging," but by 11:30 p.m. the news looked
bad, Dewey was on the verge of conceding. Then Dewey's staff of
statisticians found there was a mathematical chance; bellhops
brought in Scotch highballs, sandwiches, coffee.

     Shortly after midnight, many pro-Dewey newspapers abandoned
hope. But at 1:30 a.m., G.O.P. Chairman Herbert Brownell gave 40
waiting newsmen the first official G.O.P. report: results in key
states were still "inconclusive." At 3:15 a.m., most of the
downstairs celebrants had gone home in dejection. Then Tom Dewey
and his wife came out to see newsmen. He read a statement: "It's
clear that Mr. Roosevelt had been re-elected for a fourth term,
and every good American will wholeheartedly accept the will of
the people. . . . (I devoutly) hope that in the difficult years
ahead, divine Providence will guide and protect the President of
the United States."

     The Associated Press's veteran Jack Bell shook Tom Dewey's
hand, and wished him better luck in 1948. "I have no illusions
about that," the Governor replied. He paused a moment, as if
there were more to say, could he find the right words. then he
added: "I haven't said anything that I am sorry for or that I
ever will have to take back."


The Vice-Presidency

     In a suite atop Kansas City's Hotel Muehlebach, Harry S.
Truman heard the big news. He had spent a middling busy day. In
the morning, he and his pleasant-faced wife drove from Kansas
City to Independence (pop: 16,066) to vote. Then the Trumans
drove to nearby Grandview, shepherded the Senator's 91-year-old
mother to the polling booth. In the evening, he gathered with old
friends in his hotel suite, joked: "Everybody around here is
nervous but me."

     When first returns from Missouri indicated that the state
might go Republican, Truman exclaimed: "Wow! I think that calls
for a concert." He slid behind the chrysanthemum-bedecked piano,
tinkled out Paderewski's Minuet, followed it with gay waltzes. At
9:30 p.m. Vice President Wallace, whose doggedly devoted
campaigning had brought him both sneers ("the Johnny Appleseed of
1944"), and cheers (louder at Madison Square Garden than those
for Truman), became the first to "concede" a Democratic victory.
But Harry Truman kept his thin mouth closed. When Tom Dewey
conceded defeat at 2:15 a.m. (C.W.T.), Truman hailed it as a
"grand statement" that showed "American sportsmanship." Not till
3 a.m. did the cautious, homespun man who will be the 34th Vice
President feel confident enough to go to bed.

     Governor Bricker also had friends around him in his chambers
in Ohio's capital. Honest John kept shaking hands all around,
passed out cigars. But as the night faded so did the merriment.
When Dewey's statement came over the radio, Bricker sat staring
at the wall, his teeth clamped hard on his pipe. Twenty-five
minutes later, he too conceded defeat. When his term as governor
expires Jan. 8, friends expect that John Bricker will go into
private law practice.