TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/election/56elect/56elect.006

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                                  <                                          ╚September 3, 1956

REPUBLICANS

The Turn to the Future


     With the clatter of pots and pans in the political kitchen,
the cries of brawling candidates in the national living room,
and the static of charge and countercharge on the party line,
the true voice of the U.S. political system has a hard time
getting through to the people. But last week, for a moment in
history, the election-year hubbub died low, the lines cleared,
and from San Francisco came the clear tones of a political
leader turning squarely to the future of a Republican Party once
known, however justly, for its dedication to the past.

     For those grown fond of the din, the 1956 Republican
national Convention may well have seemed dull, and, compared to
the Democratic meeting (or past G.O.P. conventions), it was.
There were no fights, no cliff-hanging situations. With hardly a
discordant tock to its tick, it ran off with multi-jewel
precision. At the flick of a hand from Hollywood's George
Murphy, the convention entertainment director, singers of all
shapes and sizes appeared to entertain the delegates. At the
drop of a G.O.P. hero's name, sign-toting Young Republicans in
varsity sweaters snake-danced down

Cow Palace aisles like half time at College Stadium. At the rap
of a gavel from Permanent Chairman Joe Martin, the demonstrators
vanished like so many genii.

     Over the Shoulder. The Republicans heard the sounds of the
past. Rough-hewn Joe Martin looked over his political shoulder
and spoke of "the past that despoiled our heritage with the
indelible stains of corruption and Communism." Patriarch
Herbert Hoover, erect and unbowed at 82, touched off one of the
convention's most heartfelt demonstrations, thanked the old
friends who had stood up for him through thick and thin ("And
some of those years where they stood up were pretty thin"),
traced the development of man's freedoms from Greece and Rome to
Runnymede to Philadelphia, A.D. 1776, and its "fulfillment of
God's purpose that the mind, spirit and enterprise of man should
be free."

     Tom Dewey, a Republican of later vintage, looked to the
less distant past. "Mr. Truman," said he, added to Chicago's
"enlightenment of the day by declaring that mr. Stevenson could
not win. Then he went further. He solemnly warned the country
that it should not risk a trial-and-error Administration under
Mr. Stevenson . . . I should say this -- that the nation is
indebted to Mr. Truman for this involuntary lapse into
objectivity."

     Moment of Quiet. The renominations of President Dwight
Eisenhower and Vice President Richard Nixon were unanimous. The
President was soon to note the historic disparities of the
Republican party in telling how it gathered in "Free-Soilers,
Independent Democrats, conscience Whigs, Barnburners, Soft
Hunkers, teetotalers, vegetarians and transcendentalists." But
in 1956, Republicans were united in knowing whom and what they
wanted. Dwight Eisenhower could have brought on a "wide open"
presidential nomination only by his own irrevocable withdrawal.
And for months Ike had tried to avoid the appearance of
dictation by withholding his all-out endorsement of Nixon. The
fact: only by an unvarnished turndown of Nixon -- in itself a
denial of a "wide open" convention -- could the President have
changed the final results.

     The snake-dancing, the balloon-popping and the
voice-lifting finally died away -- and it was this moment when
the clear tone could come through. In accepting his nomination,
Dwight Eisenhower devoted himself to a single subject: the
future. By applying new and progressive ideas to old and
established principles, the U.S. through the Republican Party
could reach for a greater tomorrow. In that tomorrow, the pain
of crippling disease would be vastly reduced, political wisdom
would ensure justice and harmony, and the means would be at
hand for "the full realization of all the good things of the
world.

     "My fellow Americans," concluded the President, "the kind
of era I have described is possible." The great auditorium in
San Francisco was hushed, and from that hush had come a voice
that Americans of all faiths and factions could hear and
understand, as rarely before, in the tumult and shouting of
U.S. election years.


Zestful Leader

     Cheerleaders bounded and bounced in a political
harlequinade, and Republican dignitaries lined up with grins
wide enough for tooth inspection as the presidential Columbine
III touched down at San Francisco's International Airport just
ahead of the fog bank rolling over the San Bruno hills. Dwight
Eisenhower, his face ruddy with returned strength and alight
with expectation, stepped lightly from the big airplane, faced
microphones and told why he had come a day ahead of schedule to
the scene of the Republican National Convention. "I suddenly
discovered this was too interesting a place to stay away from,"
he said. "I just read the names of too many friends in the
paper, and I wanted to see them."

     The simple statement told a lot about the Eisenhower of
Election Year 1956; the military hero who walked so gingerly for
so long in the political world has become a zestful party leader
who thoroughly like that world and its political inhabitants.
Last week, by his every word and act, he proved it.

     The Whole List. San Francisco was like wine to Ike. As he
came close to the heart of the city on his run from the airport,
he ordered his Lincoln stopped so that the Plexiglas bubble-top
could be pushed back. There he stood in the rear waving, first
with his left hand, then right, then both, to the heavy crowds
who lined the streets and packed Union Square in front of the
downtown St. Francis Hotel. His Secret Service escort moved
narrow-eyed and tense through the surging, shouting lobby
throng, but the President was clearly delighted as he and Mamie
Eisenhower made their way to the elevator for the ride to their
two-bedroom suite on the sixth floor. There President Eisenhower
received brief courtesy calls from  California Republican
leaders, chatted with his family, retired early.

     He was up early Wednesday morning, ready for anything. And
the first problem was unscheduled: from vice President Nixon
came an early-morning call reporting his father seriously ill in
La Habra. Said Ike: "You've got to go."

     The day's regular order of business began with an 8:30
breakfast with Republican National Chairman Leonard Hall. After
Hall, in rapid order, came California's Senator Bill Knowland,
Convention Chairman Joe Martin, Platform Committee Chairman
Prescott Bush, and a string of others, including Detroit's Mayor
Albert Cobo, who is running for governor of Michigan. Dick
Nixon's Republican critic, haggard harold Stassen, appeared on
the sixth floor, conferred for an hour and a half with
Presidential Staff Chief Sherman Adams before seeing Ike for
ten minutes. The immediate aftermath of Stassen's visit: the
first live TV presidential press conference in U.S. history.

     His Own Strength. When Ike slipped through a butler's
pantry into the Italian Room of the St. Francis, Washington
newsmen who had been away covering the conventions were
astonished by the change that two weeks had made in his looks
and outlook. He seemed muscular, his normally high color had
returned, his eyes had brightened. Harold Stassen, said the
President, had become "absolutely convinced that the majority of
the delegates want Nixon," and had therefore asked to "second
the nomination of the Vice President."

     After his Stassen announcement, he fielded an assortment of
humdrum political questions. Then in one memorable sentence he
made clear however modestly, that he has come to recognize his
own unique political strength. Asked if he agreed that Dick
Nixon would weaken the Republican ticket, Ike replied: "Now,
frankly -- this could get a little embarrassing -- because all
the polls that I saw showed this: that any Vice President
seemed to reduce my percentage just a little."

     "Pretty Soft Touch." That afternoon, with Mamie, son John
and daughter-in-law Barbara, and his hearty brothers Earl and
Edgar Eisenhower, the President of the U.S. watched the
convention proceedings on television. he listened solemnly
while Indiana's Charlie Halleck -- who nominated Wendell Willkie
in 1940 -- addressed him on the screen, nominated him as "the
most widely beloved, the most universally respected, the most
profoundly dedicated man of our times." He watched with
fascination as his nomination was seconded by eight assorted
Republicans -- including a South Dakota dirt farmer, a Texas
mother of six, a Louisiana ex- Democrat, a Negro educator, a
Rhode Island steelworker, Notre Dame's longtime (1941-53)
Football Coach Frank Leahy, and Maryland's Governor Theodore
Roosevelt McKeldin.

     Through the roll call, brother Earl ribbed the President:
"Think you're going to make it?" and "Wait till your opposition
moves up on you." and "Yea, you got a pretty soft touch this
time." Ike laughed: "You know, I haven't lost a vote yet." He
never did.

     "You've Really Got Me." Wednesday night he put on his new
blue suit, and with Mamie, who wore a black velvet cocktail
dress and a mammoth ribbon, slipped in early to the Republican
Centennial Ball in San Francisco's handsome Civic Auditorium.
Although only 1,500 of the 7,000 guests had arrived, the great
cry went up: "We want Ike! We want Ike!" Almost by instinct,
the President threw both hands up in the air, the familiar grin
wrinkled his face. Then, suddenly, something happened. He broke
out laughing, his hands turned outward, his shoulders shrugged,
he turned half around and said quietly: "Well, well, for golly
sakes -- you've really got me." By those close friends who
heard him, this was translated to mean that Ike finally knew he
was heart and soul in politics -- and loved it.

     On Thursday, the convention's final day, the President fell
to politicking with a heartier will than ever. All morning long,
Republican candidates for Congress streamed into the
presidential suite for individual photographs with their
party's leader -- a performance that the press dubbed
"Operation Coattail." Ike once looked on that sort of thing as
sheer drudgery. Not so last week, as he slapped Republican
backs, asked about state and local political problems, assured
each picture mate: "Now really, I want to see you in Washington
next January."

     On the way from the St. Francis to the Cow Palace for his
acceptance speech, President Eisenhower stood in the rear of his
Lincoln and waved all the way, hardly noticing when his hat blew
from his hand (it was recovered by a nimble Secret Service man).
Marching down the ramp into the Cow Palace auditorium with Mamie
at his side, Ike watched delightedly while delegates trumpeted
and paraded for nearly 20 minutes. Down from the roof came
hundreds of red, white and blue balloons, some labeled "Ike,"
some "Dick." Finally, the preliminaries over, President
Eisenhower faced the 1956 Republican Convention and began to
read a memorable speech that lifted the Eisenhower doctrine to a
new peak of intensity and power.


The Handle of Faith

     "This is a good time to think about the future," said
Dwight Eisenhower, "for this convention is celebrating its 100th
anniversary." So saying, he staked his speech on pointing the
Grand Old Party away from all the inhibitions of its recent past
toward a vista that it had never really allowed itself since the
exuberant days of Theodore Roosevelt. From Henrik Ibsen he
borrowed his text: "I hold that man is in the right who is most
closely in league with the future."

     "Today I want to demonstrate the truth of a singe
proposition: the Republican party is the party of the future. I
hold that the Republican party and platform are right in 1956
because they are most closely in league with the future. And
for this reason [they] will be decisively approved in 1956."

     To stake down his single proposition, Ike outlined some
sharp points:

     "It is the party of long-range principle, not short-term
expediency."

     "Change based on principle is progress. Constant change
without principle becomes chaos." He cited specific examples
from recent dialogues between principle and expediency (for
"expediency" many of his listeners read Democrats).

     -- On the farm problem, expediency had multiplied "our
price- depressing surpluses as bad." The answer: a "program of
principle" that will "preserve our continent's basic resource of
soil" and a determined effort to get farm prices and income
"back on a genuinely healthy basis."

     -- In labor relations, the Administration has stuck fast to
the principle of free collective bargaining despite the argument
that in major labor disputes the Government should force the
parties to agree by knocking their heads together. The result:
"For the first time in our history, a complete steel contract
was negotiated and signed without direct Government
intervention."

     -- In the area of federal v. states' rights, expediency had
argued for "the centralization short cut every time something
[had] to be done." Replied Ike: "Geographical balance of power
is essential to our form of free society." Hence, "we stemmed
the stampede to Washington. We made a special point to build up
state activities," and thereby saved for the present and the
future "the unique system of division of authority which has
proved so successful in reconciling our oldest ideas of personal
freedom with the 20th century need for decisiveness in action."

     "It is the party which concentrates on the facts and issues
of today and tomorrow, not the facts and issues of yesterday."

     The challenges are many: the need for better schools,
health, housing, power development, the peaceful use of atomic
energy. Many Democrats, nonetheless, are blinded in their
approach to these problems by "their obsession with the
depression." Says the party of the future: Let us quit fighting
the battles of the past and face up to the issues on which
long-term well-being depends.

     "It is the party that draws people together, not drives
them apart."

     By rejecting the "technique of pitting group against group
for cheap political advantage," it has "again [become] the
rallying point" -- as it was in Lincoln's time -- "for
Americans of all callings, races and incomes."

     "It is the party through which the many things that still
need doing will soonest be done -- and will be done by
enlisting the fullest energies of free, creative, individual
people."

     Through quiet action, and by enlisting public support and
participation, it has brought about "more genuine -- and often
voluntary -- progress toward equal justice and opportunity in
the last three years than was accomplished in all the previous
twenty." True, said the President, "there are still enough
needless sufferings to be cured, enough injustices to be erased .
. . Republicans, independents, discerning Democrats, come on in
and help!"

     Finally, he drove a few nails into the coffin that holds
the isolationist elements of his party. U.S. security, he said,
can be maintained only by the maintenance of U.S. moral,
economic and military power. Another imperative for peace is
collective security -- "not [for] military strength alone" but
to help other nations "realize their own potentialities." But
even that is not enough to insure peace "in the era of the
thermonuclear bomb" -- which has made war "not just tragic, but
preposterous." Hence, the final imperative for peace is to "try
to bridge the great chasm that separates [us] from the peoples
under Communist rule."

     Of course, he said, little can come of this effort unless
the Communist leaders are willing. In the recent slight lifting
of the Iron Curtain, Ike saw "signs [of] some small degree" of a
new Communist spirit of conciliation. His fervent hope: "Little
by little, mistrust based on falsehoods will give way to
international understanding based on truth."

     For his conclusion, the President borrowed a line from the
Rev. Henry Ward Beecher: "Every tomorrow has two handles. We can
take hold of it with the handle of anxiety or the handle of
faith." Holding fast to the handle of faith -- in himself, in
his party, and in the ability of the nation to respond to the
challenges of the new era -- Dwight David Eisenhower "humbly
but confidently" accepted his second nomination for the
presidency.

______________________________________________________________
THE VICE-PRESIDENCY
Unanimous Choice

     Only a flat, last-minute, wildly improbable turndown by the
top man could have beaten him, but Richard Nixon was taking
nothing for granted last week in this campaign for
vice-presidential renomination. Chigger-bitten by Harold
Stassen, stung by California Governor Goodwin Knight's
bumblebee efforts against him, Nixon spread political balm in
San Francisco with a soothing hand. Like a busy doctor, he
moved from room to room of his mark Hopkins Hotel suite to talk
to delegations -- and before long, the traffic was so heavy
that the only way the delegates could leave was by the interior
fire stairs.

     On his first full day in the convention city, Nixon
received a silver candlestick and an endorsement from the Young
Republicans, saw delegations from Michigan, Wisconsin, New York
(where Tom Dewey had given him an unqualified, effective
endorsement), Pennsylvania and Missouri (where Delegation
Chairman Elroy Bromwich remained a feeble flicker of anti-Nixon
sentiment). Next day came eight more delegations, and the day
after that, nine. Also on the program: a trip to the
International Airport to greet Dwight Eisenhower.

     "Cussed & Discussed." Nixon used much the same polished,
effective script in his approaches to all the state delegations.
The Republicans, said he, have "something better to offer than
smear and vilification. We have the record of the Eisenhower
Administration." (Cheers.) The Democratic nominees are
"dedicated men -- they are probably the best their convention
could select." (Somber silence.) The "greatest danger is one of
complacency. "(Uncomplacent looks.) As for his own candidacy,
the convention was "going to have a little voting tomorrow, and
regardless of how the voting comes out, I'm going to be pitching
for you." (Loud cheers.) In any event, Nixon concluded, "I have
been cussed and discussed -- but everybody pretty well agrees
that Pat's all right." (Pat Nixon blushed prettily, delegates
rose cheering, headed happily for the fire-escape exit.)

     Between delegations on Monday, Nixon managed to find time
for a luncheon trip to Fisherman's Wharf with newsmen and Dan
Gainey, Minnesota jewelry manufacturer who backed Harold
Stassen in 1948 and 1952 but has grown increasingly cool toward
Childe Harold. No sooner had Nixon left his car for the
block-long walk to the Exposition Grotto than a crowd began to
gather. Nixon showed all the pump-handle efficiency of an Estes
Kefauver in shaking hands with cab drivers, tourists,
shopkeepers, cops, and everyone else he could reach.

     Bad News. On roll-call day -- Wednesday -- Nixon had
planned to see nine more delegations -- but news from his home
in La Habra, Calif. forced a cancellation. To Nixon's suite
came a call from his brother Don: their father, Frank Nixon, 77,
had suffered a partially ruptured abdominal artery, and seemed
near death. The light went out of Dick Nixon's triumphal march
to nomination: before 8 a.m., he and Pat were on the way home.

     Almost that same time, Harold Stassen was throwing in the
towel on his dump-Nixon fight. Throughout the week, the
haggardly smiling Stassen had endured small indignities: he as
booed in the Fairmont Hotel; delegates flaunted insulting
buttons saying, "stASSen" and "Stassen Stop Harassin'." Stassen
could have taken all that if he had been making headway. But
even he perceived that he had underestimated Dick Nixon's
strength in the Republican party. At the eleventh hour on
Wednesday he went to Eisenhower, said he was giving up, asked
permission to second Nixon's nomination that afternoon. Ike did
not give Stassen the satisfaction of making the capitulation
announcement; instead, the President called his remarkable
press conference to make the announcement himself.

     "A Good Loser." To the two-story stucco house in a
neglected La Habra orange grove came the news bulletin of
Stassen's surrender. There Frank Nixon labored for life under a
green oxygen mask. At the foot of his bed was a television set;
on top of it rested the family Bible. Dick Nixon told his father
about Stassen's surrender. The old man smiled, said painfully:
"He's a good loser." Asked the son: "You heard that President
Eisenhower opened his press conference by saying everyone is
praying for you?" Replied his father: "Thank you."

     There, in his family's home, the Vice President watched his
renomination on television. Massachusetts' Governor Christian
A. Herter, proposed by Stassen as the man to stop Nixon, himself
made the nominating speech. Stassen was one of the seconders.
An ex-Democrat from Nebraska, one Terry Carpenter, backed down
after nominating a fictitious "symbol of an open convention"
named Joe Smith (thereby setting off a spate of "Yes, Virginia,
There Is a Joe Smith" editorials in the U.S. press). Governor
"Goodie" Knight choked down his gorge and made the California
announcement of 70 votes for Nixon. The nomination, like Ike's,
was unanimous -- and old Frank Nixon took new heart, began
gaining strength to the extent that Richard Nixon returned to
San Francisco to deliver his acceptance speech.

     "We Believe . . ." The Richard Nixon who appeared on
television screens to accept his nomination was a long way from
the scowling, black-bearded mud-slinger that the Fair Dealing
cartoonists had led their readers to expect. Simply and
eloquently, he set forth his party's beliefs. "We believe," he
said, "that government should be a partner with business and
with labor and not a partisan to encourage one to fight with
the other . . . We believe in human welfare but not the welfare
state. We seek social gains, but we reject completely the
well-intentioned, but mistaken theories of those who would
socialize, federalize or nationalize basic American
institutions."

     Only at the end did Nixon permit himself a reference to
that which weighed heaviest on him. "The skill of the fine
doctors who are attending my father," he said, "could not
possibly have equaled the lift which he has received from the
events for which you were responsible yesterday. For that we
thank you. Good-bye and good luck."

______________________________________________________________
PLATFORMS
The Issues

     The Republican platform, like almost everything else about
the G.O.P. convention, was straight Eisenhower. Mild in its
criticism of the Democrats, it pointed with pride to the
achievements of the last 3 1/2 years, and broad-brushed plans
for the future. In only one respect did the Platform Committee
turn down a strong presidential hint: instead of the short,
concise statement he would have liked, Ike and the G.O.P.
delegates got a document of 13,500 words, twice the length of
the 1952 Republican platform. 1,500 words longer than the 1956
Democratic effort.

     Wordiness was not the only common denominator of this
year's party platforms. The Democratic platform had ripped
heavily into the G.O.P. record, was studded with such words as
"betrayal," "vote-buying," "bluster and bluff." But when the
Democrats got right down to stating their objectives, they and
the Republicans turned out to be in remarkable agreement in
most areas. Only when they explained how they proposed to
achieve their respective goals did the Republicans and
Democrats demonstrate that there are still fundamental, if
steadily narrowing, differences between them. Items:

     Civil Rights. Both decry discrimination because of race,
color or creed and the use of force to implement the Supreme
Court's desegregation decisions. But the Democrats merely
"recognize the Supreme Court . . . as one of the three
constitutional . . . branches of the Federal Government," and
note that its decisions "have brought consequences of vast
importance to our Nation as a whole." The Republicans "accept"
the decisions, and say that public-school discrimination must be
"progressively eliminated . . . with all deliberate speed."

     Agriculture. Both agree that farmers are entitled to a full
share of the national prosperity; that the soil bank, commodity
loan and rural electrification programs should be continued;
that new foreign markets must be sought for U.S. farm products;
that the plight of low-income farmers must be remedied. Beyond
these, the issues are struck. The Democrats urge restoration of
rigid price supports at 90% of parity, aim toward 100% of parity
with a variety of proposals for more federal farm legislation.
(Notably avoided: any mention of the ill-famed Brannan Plan,
long the official policy of the Truman Administration.) The
Republicans stand by the farm policies of Eisenhower and
Agriculture Secretary Ezra Taft Benson, favor a "versatile,
flexible program to meet . . . rapidly changing conditions" and
"full freedom instead of . . . more regimentation."

     Foreign Policy. Both support self-determination for all
peoples, freedom for Communist satellites. U.S. aid for under-
developed countries, a strong United Nations, an unequivocal ban
on U.N. membership for Red China, regional mutual security pacts
such as NATO and SEATO, the Good Neighbor policy, bipartisan
conduct of foreign affairs, a release of U.S. prisoners in
China, and reciprocal trade hedged by selective but vaguely
defined protective tariffs. At issue: in the explosive Middle
East, the Democrats advocate sale of "defensive weapons" to
Israel; the Republicans pledge themselves to "support the
independence of Israel against armed aggression."

     National Defense. Both agree that the U.S. must continue to
maintain a military establishment powerful enough to deter
aggression. At issue: the Democrats charge the Administration
has settled for "second best" defense; the Republicans believe
the U.S. "has the strongest striking force in the world." The
more specific Republican plank calls for a jet-powered
long-range Air Force, the most effective guided missiles, a
modern Navy with a powerful air arm, an Army with unequaled
mobility and firepower, and bases "strategically dispersed at
home and around the world."

     Fiscal & Tax Policies. Both pledge a balanced budget, tax
reductions for lower-income groups, tight antitrust law
enforcement. At issue: the Democrats propose tax relief through a
$200 increase in personal-income tax exemption; the Republicans
promise that there will be tax cuts "in so far as consistent
with a balanced budget." The Democrats want to use "all
practical means" to make long and short-term credit available
to small businesses; the Republicans pledge loans at "reasonable
rates" to small businesses that have "records of permanency but
are in temporary need."

     Labor. Both support the right to organize, full employment,
federal aid for depressed areas. At issue: the Democrats
advocate outright repeal of the Taft-Hartley Act and a return
to something more like the Wagner Act; the Republicans suggest
modification and improvement of Taft-Hartley. The Democrats also
propose an increase in the national minimum wage from $1 to
$1.25 an hour; the Republicans mention no increase, but want to
extend the minimum- wage-law protection to more workers.

     Natural Resources. Both advocate bigger and better soil,
water and timber conservation programs, more support for the
national-park system, more outdoor recreational facilities. At
issue: the Democrats advocate more public-power projects and
more Government control over the nation's resources; the
Republicans believe their development must come through
federal-state-local "partnerships," with all interested parties
assuming equal responsibility.