Nixonland. Part 41

The next day the business was voting on platform resolutions. McGovern operatives begged the women's and gay liberationists to drop their demand for floor votes on their planks to moderate the Democrats' image for TV. These operatives ruefully discovered that political purists could also act like ward bosses, extracting their own pounds of political flesh. The gays reminded them of how McGovern would not have won the coveted spot at the top of the California primary ballot if it weren't for a last-minute signature drive in the gay bars of the Castro by the Alice B. Toklas Memorial Democratic Club. "We do not come to you pleading for your understanding or pleading for your tolerance," San Francisco delegate Jim Foster p.r.o.nounced during his ten minutes. "We come to you affirming our pride in our lifestyle, affirming validity to seek and maintain meaningful emotional relationships and affirming our right to partic.i.p.ate in the life of this country on an equal basis with every citizen."

The TV lights made his light-colored linen jacket with its patchwork of thick lines look particularly garish. Then delegate Kathleen Wilch of Ohio went to the podium on behalf of McGovern. She asked delegates to vote against the gay rights plank: it would "commit the Democratic Party to seek repeal of all laws involving the protection of children from s.e.xual approaches by adults" and force "repeal of all laws relating to prost.i.tution, pandering, pimping"-and "commit this party to repeal many laws designed to protect the young, the innocent, and the weak."

McGovern's convention rejected gay rights in a landslide. Be that as it may, one week later, George Meany officially announced the AFL-CIO wouldn't be endorsing a presidential candidate that year. At a Steelworkers' convention in September, he explained why: the "Democratic Party has been taken over by people named Jack who look like Jills and smell like johns."

Then, the acrimonious battle over the abortion plank: "In matters relating to human reproduction each person's right to privacy, freedom of choice, and individual conscience should be fully respected, consistent with relevant Supreme Court decisions."

A "pro-choice" woman took the podium: "The freedom of all people to control their own fertility must be an essential human health right.... For the first time fifty-seven percent of all Americans believe abortion should be a decision between a woman and her physician."

Then a "right-to-life" man spoke on "the slaughter of the most innocent whose right to live is not mentioned in the minority report."

Then Shirley MacLaine spoke her piece in favor of her candidate's position: equivocation. The subject should be "kept out of the political process," she said, though delegates should "vote their conscience." Some 250 McGovern floor whips raced once more up and down the aisles to defeat the plank, insisting Humphrey and Wallace supporters were conspiring to saddle McGovern with the "extremism" label to deny him the nomination. The plank lost by 472 votes. "SISTERS VS. SISTERS," headlined the Washington Post Washington Post the next morning: "Gloria Steinem's usually controlled monotone quivered as she wept in rage, verbally attacked Gary Hart, and called McGovern strategists 'b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.'" The paper also quoted a pro-choice Humphrey supporter: "I resent the McGovern people who say he is so pure. One of the reasons so many women supported him six months ago was because they thought he was liberal on abortion." the next morning: "Gloria Steinem's usually controlled monotone quivered as she wept in rage, verbally attacked Gary Hart, and called McGovern strategists 'b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.'" The paper also quoted a pro-choice Humphrey supporter: "I resent the McGovern people who say he is so pure. One of the reasons so many women supported him six months ago was because they thought he was liberal on abortion."

The New Politics reformers had fantasized a pure politics, a politics of unyielding principle-an anti antipolitics. But in the real world politics without equivocation or compromise is impossible. Thus an unintended consequence for the would-be antipolitician. Announcing one's inflexibility sabotages him in advance. Every time he makes a political decision, he looks like a sellout. The reformers fantasized an open open politics, in which all points of view had time to be heard. That meant that the Tuesday session adjourned eleven hours after it began, at 6:15 a.m.-a fortunate thing, coolheaded Democratic strategists decided, terrified over what this all looked like on TV. politics, in which all points of view had time to be heard. That meant that the Tuesday session adjourned eleven hours after it began, at 6:15 a.m.-a fortunate thing, coolheaded Democratic strategists decided, terrified over what this all looked like on TV.

On nomination day Humphrey officially announced his withdrawal. George McGovern, whose campaign had once been such a long shot the network camera crews called his campaign bus the "morgue patrol," would be the Democrats' nominee for president.

His day didn't begin happily. McGovern was quoted in the morning papers saying that, though he would order an immediate cease-fire on inauguration day, he would keep up America's "military capability in Thailand and on the high seas" until all prisoners of war were returned. He had made this promise in person to the POW wives who had traveled at their own expense to Miami. That didn't satisfy several hundred militants who refused to leave the Doral lobby, to the terror of Secret Service and police, until McGovern explained why he had just chosen to become a "puppet of the bosses," "warmonger," and "lying pig."

He came down from his suite, looked them in the eye, and said, "I'm not shifting my position on any of the fundamental stands I've taken in this campaign." He reminded them that he was against imprisoning marijuana smokers but not for its legalization, and that he believed in "amnesty for all young men who stood up against the war." His directness quieted their rebellion. Then it was back to his suite to work on his acceptance speech; then off to the convention center to learn how Pyrrhus felt.

Just as in 1968, McGovern was nominated by Connecticut senator Abe Ribicoff. During lulls in the roll call the band played the theme from the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar. Jesus Christ Superstar. He was put over the top by one of d.i.c.k Daley's friends, who even announced that his delegation was endorsing the latest liberal crusade: boycotting lettuce in solidarity with Cesar Chavez and the United Farm Workers. McGovern's tally was 1,564.95 to slightly over 1,000 for everyone else combined. The regulars fell into line. That was what regulars did. "There are two reasons that we are going to win this election," boomed Oklahoma's Carl Albert, the man who had done Mayor Daley's bidding at the podium in 1968 in Chicago. "One is- He was put over the top by one of d.i.c.k Daley's friends, who even announced that his delegation was endorsing the latest liberal crusade: boycotting lettuce in solidarity with Cesar Chavez and the United Farm Workers. McGovern's tally was 1,564.95 to slightly over 1,000 for everyone else combined. The regulars fell into line. That was what regulars did. "There are two reasons that we are going to win this election," boomed Oklahoma's Carl Albert, the man who had done Mayor Daley's bidding at the podium in 1968 in Chicago. "One is-George McGovern! The other is- The other is-Richard Nixon!"

The contenders dutifully stood hands raised together as the balloons dropped: Muskie, Chisholm, Scoop Jackson, Humphrey, who was flashing peace signs. But the 250 McGovern floor managers weren't able to whip up the traditional resolution to make the nomination unanimous-something even Barry Goldwater had been able to manage. Too much water under the bridge for that. One hippie's sign during the celebratory demonstration read simply MCGOVERN SUCKS! MCGOVERN SUCKS! Another, a black man's, said Another, a black man's, said DON'T VOTE '72! DON'T VOTE '72!

George McGovern was learning what a mess of pottage a presidential nomination could be when your defining trait was supposed to be your purity.

He would now learn how difficult it could be, too, to deliberate on important decisions during a convention in which sensitive debates wasted eleven hours straight.

He received a midnight call of congratulations from Ted Kennedy-still America's favorite Democrat. McGovern asked him to be his running mate. Kennedy refused, citing "very personal reasons." McGovern called Abraham Ribicoff. Ribicoff turned him down. The campaign had to come up with someone by 4 p.m. Thursday, the deadline for putting names in nomination. They started a.s.sembling a hasty list, which they hadn't had time to do what with all the credentials fights and platform fights and a.s.suaging meetings.

Leonard Woodc.o.c.k, president of the United Auto Workers-a Catholic labor leader to earn back some white ethnics? (Then someone found out he hadn't been to ma.s.s in twenty years.) Patrick Lucey, governor of Wisconsin, also Catholic? (His wife, some people feared, was another Martha Mitch.e.l.l.) The names of senators and governors started flying: DNC chiefs, network anchormen, feminists, blacks, Father Hesburgh, president of Notre Dame (surely he still went to ma.s.s?).

They settled on Kevin White, mayor of Boston. Someone thought to clear the idea with Ted Kennedy. Kennedy called back two and a half hours before the deadline and said he wasn't a fan. Kevin White was out.

A call went out to Senator g.a.y.l.o.r.d Nelson of Wisconsin, a hero of the ecologists. Senator Nelson answered with a spousal veto and suggested Missouri's young senator Thomas Eagleton, a Catholic with Kennedy looks and charm who came out of the Democrats' blue-collar, urban-boss milieu. He was a friend of labor; maybe George Meany would take a shine to him.

Though no one knew much else about him.

Thomas Eagleton's name had appeared in the New York Times New York Times and the and the Washington Post Washington Post but sixty-seven times since he'd become a senator in 1969. (g.a.y.l.o.r.d Nelson showed up six hundred times in the same span; Kennedy, almost four thousand.) But then there was the old saying: a running mate can't help you, only hurt you. Maybe the obscurity was a plus. Someone heard he'd had an alcohol problem. They checked it out, and the reports were found lacking. McGovern personally placed the call; Eagleton said yes-before, he later quipped, McGovern had time to change his mind. When word got out just how desperate McGovern had been to make the deadline to nominate a vice president, Defense Secretary Laird insinuated that McGovern got Eagleton to take the job in exchange for agreeing to continue production on the F-15 fighter, built in a plant in Eagleton's hometown. but sixty-seven times since he'd become a senator in 1969. (g.a.y.l.o.r.d Nelson showed up six hundred times in the same span; Kennedy, almost four thousand.) But then there was the old saying: a running mate can't help you, only hurt you. Maybe the obscurity was a plus. Someone heard he'd had an alcohol problem. They checked it out, and the reports were found lacking. McGovern personally placed the call; Eagleton said yes-before, he later quipped, McGovern had time to change his mind. When word got out just how desperate McGovern had been to make the deadline to nominate a vice president, Defense Secretary Laird insinuated that McGovern got Eagleton to take the job in exchange for agreeing to continue production on the F-15 fighter, built in a plant in Eagleton's hometown.

Another old ritual had gone by the wayside in the reformed Democratic Party: the idea that the convention rubber-stamps the nominee's choice for running mate. Endicott "Chub" Peabody, the former governor of Ma.s.sachusetts, had traveled to thirty-seven states since January campaigning for the vice presidency. Feminists put Frances "Sissy" Farenthold, who had almost won the Democratic gubernatorial primary in Texas, into nomination. Senator Mike Gravel had his own name put in-then seconded himself. Hodding Carter, the liberal Mississippi newspaper editor, Congressman Peter Rodino, and a New York adman named Stanley Arnold were nominated, too. The Wallace people nominated their black delegate, a Dallas disc jockey. There were drawn-out nominating and seconding speeches for everyone. This This would show America: the Democrats were the party of openness. Then, in a three-hour roll call, Senator Eagleton got but 58 percent, and seventy-nine other "candidates" had votes recorded for them-including Jerry Rubin, Martha Mitch.e.l.l, Mao Tse-tung, and Archie Bunker. would show America: the Democrats were the party of openness. Then, in a three-hour roll call, Senator Eagleton got but 58 percent, and seventy-nine other "candidates" had votes recorded for them-including Jerry Rubin, Martha Mitch.e.l.l, Mao Tse-tung, and Archie Bunker.

The 1972 Democratic National Convention concluded with what some thought was the greatest speech of George McGovern's career. Unfortunately, it was delivered at 2:45 a.m. Only 3 million people saw it. Twenty million would watch Nixon's acceptance speech in prime time a month and a half later. Plenty more had been watching hours earlier during the vice-presidential roll call, when two men wearing purple shirts reading GAY POWER GAY POWER kissed in the aisles. Television cameramen have an eye for the peculiar. Though the vast majority of conventioneers looked utterly conventional, they dwelled on the likes of Beth Ann Labson, an eighteen-year-old California delegate, walking around without shoes. ("By 1976," wrote Abbie and Jerry, "the convention will be held in a meadow.") Larry O'Brien delivered a speech at the podium while, twenty feet below, Allen Ginsberg sat cross-legged, chanting mantras. Denim and tie-dyed T-shirts and peasant dresses; men carrying babies in papoose boards-and, the kissed in the aisles. Television cameramen have an eye for the peculiar. Though the vast majority of conventioneers looked utterly conventional, they dwelled on the likes of Beth Ann Labson, an eighteen-year-old California delegate, walking around without shoes. ("By 1976," wrote Abbie and Jerry, "the convention will be held in a meadow.") Larry O'Brien delivered a speech at the podium while, twenty feet below, Allen Ginsberg sat cross-legged, chanting mantras. Denim and tie-dyed T-shirts and peasant dresses; men carrying babies in papoose boards-and, the Post Post recorded in its article on the abortion floor debate, "girls in patched jeans and no bras." A black man and a white woman kissing on camera. Interracial marriage had been illegal in some Southern states until a Supreme Court decision only five years earlier. recorded in its article on the abortion floor debate, "girls in patched jeans and no bras." A black man and a white woman kissing on camera. Interracial marriage had been illegal in some Southern states until a Supreme Court decision only five years earlier.

Where were the sweaty, fat, bald men in suits and ties of yesteryear? The congressmen's wives in evening gowns? The plump matrons in floral dresses dancing with banners and balloons? The broads in cheerleader outfits, Humphreyettes, Johnsonettes, Kennedyettes, Stevensonettes, Trumanettes-where were they they? The only men dressed in Native American dress were...Native Americans.

These people were...the wrong kind of exuberant. They were dressed... They were dressed...the wrong kind of crazy. The colors were... The colors were...the wrong kind of riotous. The women were... The women were...the wrong kind of s.e.xy.

Gus Tyler, old-line leader of the International Ladies' Garment Workers' Union, watched it back home on TV. Tyler was a socialist. He knew something about radical. He also knew something about people's longing for security and stability. That was what had made him a socialist. He also thought he knew something about politics: there was no politics without accommodation. That was what made him a Democrat. Democrat. He wondered what this all must look like to the farmer in Iowa, a housewife in Bensonhurst, "somebody out there," he later reflected to an interviewer, "in Peoria." He wondered what this all must look like to the farmer in Iowa, a housewife in Bensonhurst, "somebody out there," he later reflected to an interviewer, "in Peoria."

All of these people had given the Democrats a landslide in 1964. They had trusted the Democratic Party.

In the interim they had seen America plunged into chaos.

And then they looked at this convention and thought, "Here are the people who are responsible for this chaos." "Here are the people who are responsible for this chaos."

McGovern retreated to South Dakota for a much needed vacation, press corps in tow: "I made Harry Reasoner's bed this morning," a maid at the Hi-Ho Motel in Custer told a newspaper columnist. "It was not a big deal. It was like any bed."

The press studied the latest Gallup finding: McGovern had only gained two points from Miami Beach-and even Goldwater had gained 20 points from his convention. The McGovern camp maintained its customary confidence, exchanging stories like the one about the North Dakota mayor who came to Miami complaining, "There are more hippies than mayors as delegates," but left proudly sporting a McGovern pin, having discovered these hippies decent people worthy of his respect. It didn't feel feel like Richard Nixon's America. Even in this little town in the middle of nowhere the kids looked as if they'd stepped out of Greenwich Village. Nineteen-year-old hotel maids-voting age!-talked about how they were thinking about moving into communes. A special ran on TV featuring Joe c.o.c.ker and Richie Havens-the bill from Woodstock, delivered straight into the living rooms of Custer, South Dakota. like Richard Nixon's America. Even in this little town in the middle of nowhere the kids looked as if they'd stepped out of Greenwich Village. Nineteen-year-old hotel maids-voting age!-talked about how they were thinking about moving into communes. A special ran on TV featuring Joe c.o.c.ker and Richie Havens-the bill from Woodstock, delivered straight into the living rooms of Custer, South Dakota.

Although choosing Custer as the billet for his vacation was not a good omen for someone entering the battle of a lifetime.

The reporters were bored and listless, thinking of packing it in. The candidate arrived late to a noon press conference Monday in a pine-paneled auditorium at a serene lakeside resort, uttered plat.i.tudes about what a pleasure it would be to work closely with them over the next three months. Thomas Eagleton took his turn at the podium-the boys weren't even bothering to take notes-and told one of those silly loosening-up politician's jokes. He looks a little like Jack Lemmon, He looks a little like Jack Lemmon, some distractedly thought. some distractedly thought.

Then Eagleton switched to a quieter voice: "In political campaigning it is part and parcel of that campaigning that there will be rumors about candidates. Rumors have followed me during my political career, dating back when I first ran for office in 1956...."

The press boys fumbled for their notebooks.

"On three occasions in my life I have voluntarily gone into hospitals as a result of nervous exhaustion and fatigue."

The Knight newspaper chain had been working on that scoop. It hadn't taken them much effort to track down what the McGovern staff had not been able to in the headlong rush of Miami Beach. A reporter acting on a tip (from a loyal Democrat wishing to help the ticket, it turned out) had shown up at a hospital in St. Louis, and the staff protested that they couldn't violate the confidence of one of their patients by revealing his mental maladies.

The news conference was an attempt to head off the story. Eagleton's statement tried to make of his "nervous exhaustion" a virtue: "A few in this room know me well...and they know me to be an intense and hard-fighting person.... I pushed myself, terribly hard, long hours, day and night.... And, for a month in 1960, four days in 1964, three weeks in 1966, being an intense and hard-fighting person put me in the hospital."

He had learned from the experience, Eagleton said. "I pace myself a great deal better than I did in the earlier years."

Gingerly, the press corps asked questions. "I don't mean to be indelicate..."; "I hate to persist on this subject..."; no one knew the protocol for this sort of thing.

Was McGovern informed informed about any of this? about any of this?

"No, he was not. He was made aware of it on the weekend or the Monday after the convention."

And how did he react?

McGovern fielded that one: "When I talked to Senator Eagleton about my decision to ask him to go as my running mate, I asked if he had any problems in his past that were significant or worth discussing with me. He said no and I agree with that."

What kind of amateur hour were they running here?

"During these periods, did you receive any psychiatric help?" someone had the presence of mind to ask.

"Yes, I did..."

"Can you tell us what kind of psychiatric treatment you received?"

Barbara Eagleton, the loyal political wife, tried to hide her discomfort.

"Counseling from a psychiatrist, including electric shock."

Well. That seemed a little...intense. Especially since George Stanley McGovern had just p.r.o.nounced, "I am fully satisfied on the basis of everything I've learned about these brief hospital visits"-a month for nervous exhaustion was brief?-"that what is manifested in Senator Eagleton's part was the good judgment to seek out medical care when he was exhausted." Not telling McGovern he'd had electroshock therapy? What kind of judgment was that? Not telling McGovern he'd had electroshock therapy? What kind of judgment was that? "As far as I am concerned, there is no member of that Senate who is any sounder in mind, body, and spirit than Tom Eagleton. I am fully satisfied and if I had known every detail that he discussed this morning...he still would have been my choice for vice president." "As far as I am concerned, there is no member of that Senate who is any sounder in mind, body, and spirit than Tom Eagleton. I am fully satisfied and if I had known every detail that he discussed this morning...he still would have been my choice for vice president."

If he had it to do over again, someone asked Eagleton, would he do it differently?

"Senator McGovern's staff was aware, I believe, the night before my name was put in nomination, of the rumors...that were circulating on the floor of the convention and they were satisfied as to my health."

Telegrams to McGovern flooded in.

"AFTER MONTHS OF PRECINCT WORK FOR YOUR NOMINATION WE BITTERLY RESENT THAT YOU JEOPARDIZE OUR HOPE WITH EAGLETON. DEMAND HE RESIGN."

"WHILE WE UNDERSTAND YOUR COMPa.s.sION, WE STRONGLY URGE YOU TO ACCEPT HIS IMMEDIATE RESIGNATION."

"DO YOU WANT NUT FOR VICE PRESIDENT. DROP EAGLETON."

The problem being that the resort's only working wire machine was in the pressroom. The reporters saw his supporters' reaction before McGovern did. This did not make for effective strategizing.

The reporters pressed the McGovern flacks for answers. They replied with briefings about what the McGovern family had had for dinner. McGovern himself told an AP reporter he would have to "wait and see" for the public's reaction before making a decision. That mealymouthed quote was on the wires the next morning. The flacks put out a statement claiming McGovern had been misunderstood, that he was "one thousand percent for Tom Eagleton."

Richard Nixon, or Lyndon Johnson for that matter, would have known better; they wouldn't go on the record as being more than 98 percent certain the sun would rise in the east the next morning.

Richard Nixon knew Americans didn't want to know their politicians had psychological problems like anyone else. That was why, back in the 1950s, after Walter Winch.e.l.l raised suspicions about the number of visits Nixon was making to a certain Dr. Hutschnecker on Park Avenue, Nixon started seeing a military doctor in Washington instead.

That evening at a buffalo-meat barbecue the reporters tried out Tom Eagleton jokes on one another. (The week's funniest came from Julian Bond, riffing on reports that Nixon had several times come close to dumping Spiro Agnew: "At least we know ours had treatment.") For two more surreal days in South Dakota, McGovern flacks pretended nothing was wrong. Then, Friday afternoon, McGovern pulled in Jules Witcover of the Los Angeles Times Los Angeles Times for a ninety-minute not-for-attribution interview. That night at dinner McGovern hopped from table to table, just to make sure every reporter got the message: he himself was still confident Eagleton could serve flawlessly as vice president, and, of course, G.o.d forbid, president. He said for a ninety-minute not-for-attribution interview. That night at dinner McGovern hopped from table to table, just to make sure every reporter got the message: he himself was still confident Eagleton could serve flawlessly as vice president, and, of course, G.o.d forbid, president. He said the people the people wanted him to get rid of Eagleton, but he hoped he wouldn't have to come to him making such a decision: he hoped Eagleton would voluntarily withdraw for the sake of the party. They could quote him, he said, as "sources close to McGovern." wanted him to get rid of Eagleton, but he hoped he wouldn't have to come to him making such a decision: he hoped Eagleton would voluntarily withdraw for the sake of the party. They could quote him, he said, as "sources close to McGovern."

It was all a bit clumsier than when the Franklins around Dwight D. Eisenhower attempted to ditch Richard Nixon in 1952; then, they had isolated the affable antipolitician Eisenhower from any a.s.sociation with the crime. Here McGovern was spreading the dirt himself. It would prove a poor decision, especially since McGovern's target, like Nixon, refused to go quietly. Eagleton showed up for scheduled appearances in California and Hawaii looking for all the world like a confident man. Then Jack Anderson, on his syndicated radio show, said, "We have now located photostats of half a dozen arrests for drunken driving." Eagleton called it a "d.a.m.nable lie"-and when Anderson wasn't able to produce the doc.u.ments, Eagleton exercised a bit of the old Nixonian jujitsu: he reaped status as a victim. Accepting an endors.e.m.e.nt for the ticket at the convention of the Retail Clerks International a.s.sociation convention in Honolulu, he compared himself to another Missouri senator who ran for vice president: Harry Truman. "I hope I have some measure of the guts he possessed."

"Give 'em h.e.l.l, Tom!" the unionists shouted in response.

He continued, "The people have understanding and compa.s.sion in their hearts. I'm a stronger, better person than I was seventy-two hours ago. You have to come under a little adversity to find out who your friends are."

Poor George McGovern. He was still getting messages out in the press that his vice-presidential candidate should quit and save face, just as the Eisenhower people had in 1952. But just like Nixon, Eagleton bluffed the boss-though with a liberal's sort of bluff: Go ahead and fire me. Show the world you have no compa.s.sion. Go ahead and fire me. Show the world you have no compa.s.sion.

Reporters noticed Checkers Speech parallels. One asked Eagleton if he would go on television to defend himself. He replied, "I won't put my family on television," adding, "We have a dog, too, called Pumpkin." He appeared on CBS's Face the Nation Face the Nation on Sunday, said he'd be meeting with McGovern the next night, and that as far as he was concerned "I'm going to stay on the ticket. That's my firm, irrevocable intent." on Sunday, said he'd be meeting with McGovern the next night, and that as far as he was concerned "I'm going to stay on the ticket. That's my firm, irrevocable intent."

The next morning the new issues of Time Time and and Newsweek Newsweek came out, Eagleton on the covers, looking moist-eyed, unshaven-and sympathetic ("McGovern's First Crisis" displaced came out, Eagleton on the covers, looking moist-eyed, unshaven-and sympathetic ("McGovern's First Crisis" displaced Time Time's Olympic preview: "Munich: Where the Good Times Are"). McGovern didn't help his own case. "If we took a poll and ninety-nine percent of the people thought he should stay on the ticket, that other one percent could still be crucial," he was quoted telling Time Time-some antipolitician. The liberal St. Louis Post-Dispatch St. Louis Post-Dispatch called him "spineless." called him "spineless."

Adding insult to injury, Time Time reported its own survey: 76.7 percent said Eagleton's medical record wouldn't affect their vote. reported its own survey: 76.7 percent said Eagleton's medical record wouldn't affect their vote. Time Time also noted, "An almost Mafia-like atmosphere developed amid the rustic charms of McGovern's retreat." They reported that, according to Eagleton, McGovern had told him that though he "had been under pressure" to fire him, "he's one thousand percent behind me." And that McGovern, like some Tammany hack filling out a "balanced ticket," was only considering Roman Catholics. (They didn't report what happened the previous week at McGovern headquarters in Los Angeles: all thirty phone lines were cut by vandals.) also noted, "An almost Mafia-like atmosphere developed amid the rustic charms of McGovern's retreat." They reported that, according to Eagleton, McGovern had told him that though he "had been under pressure" to fire him, "he's one thousand percent behind me." And that McGovern, like some Tammany hack filling out a "balanced ticket," was only considering Roman Catholics. (They didn't report what happened the previous week at McGovern headquarters in Los Angeles: all thirty phone lines were cut by vandals.) The wheels were off the bus. The Democratic pros who'd been telling him since the press conference to cut Eagleton loose now said he had no choice: donors had stopped sending checks. McGovern performed the execution at close range, standing next to the martyr at a press conference, now at the height of his sympathy with the public. Then McGovern requested time on all three networks the next night to explain himself. All three networks refused.

George McGovern also owned a dog. His name was Atticus-as in Atticus Finch, the saintly lawyer in To Kill a Mockingbird. To Kill a Mockingbird. But we live in a fallen world. The saintly don't survive in politics. "In the Democratic primaries, Senator McGovern managed to convey the impression that he was somehow not a politician in the customary sense," James Naughton wrote in the But we live in a fallen world. The saintly don't survive in politics. "In the Democratic primaries, Senator McGovern managed to convey the impression that he was somehow not a politician in the customary sense," James Naughton wrote in the New York Times. New York Times. "His reaction to Mr. Eagleton's disclosure may have seriously impaired that image." "His reaction to Mr. Eagleton's disclosure may have seriously impaired that image."

Richard Nixon received a blow the next morning from the Washington Post: Washington Post: "Bug Suspect Got Campaign Funds," ran a small article by Carl Bernstein and his colleague Bob Woodward. Though the story was hardly noticeable among the thirteen pieces, heralded by a banner across all eight columns, on the Eagleton resignation. "Bug Suspect Got Campaign Funds," ran a small article by Carl Bernstein and his colleague Bob Woodward. Though the story was hardly noticeable among the thirteen pieces, heralded by a banner across all eight columns, on the Eagleton resignation.

Perhaps because it was such a heavy news day, the only mention of the return of Jane Fonda to the United States after a tour of North Vietnam was relegated to a brief item in the gossip column. Vietnam was becoming a forgotten war. Jane Fonda was one of the few who insisted people remember. She had once been an apple-cheeked s.e.x symbol, a girl next door, so conventional that in 1959 she accepted the ceremonial t.i.tle of "Miss Army Recruiter." She had been trying to visit North Vietnam for over a year. Finally granted a visa, she arrived during the Democratic National Convention. Upon her return, she announced she was quitting acting to work full-time for Richard Nixon's defeat.

She wanted to help prisoners of war. It would later become easy to forget: helping prisoners of war was a strong issue for the left. (It was one of the reasons Nixon was so eager to co-opt it for himself.) Years earlier, after the Pentagon started sneaking contraband like radio parts into care packages, and Hanoi insisted all POW mail be routed through Moscow to be X-rayed, Washington decided to halt the mail deliveries altogether. Radicals traveling to "the other side" were thus the only conduit for letters. Even as the president stepped up his political exploitation of their captivity, the government's actual indifference to POWs could be chilling. In one case parents only learned their son was alive in 1971 upon his release by the NLF. He had managed to get out a letter to his family in 1969, but the Pentagon had warehoused it, claiming to be studying it that entire time for "propaganda" content.

Some POW families joined the antiwar movement. Valerie Kushner, wife of an imprisoned major, received an extraordinary letter from the president's military a.s.sistant: "Frankly, I saw no purpose in replying to your December letter to the President since his policies with regard to prisoners and missing have been made public and you and the others who wrote the letter obviously do not agree with them." She began traveling with McGovern, and seconded his presidential nomination.

By the time Fonda got her visa, she had another motive besides delivering a satchel of letters: those reports that American planes were bombing the dikes. Sweden's amba.s.sador had inspected the damage and said it looked like a "methodic" attempt to flood North Vietnam's rice paddies, and that, with all the mines floating so menacingly in Haiphong Harbor, no other food could be imported, and the population would starve en ma.s.se.

For the hearty few still agitating full-time to stop the war, the reports were simultaneously vindicating and agonizing. h.e.l.lfire from American aircraft had surpa.s.sed anything previously imaginable in the history of warfare: 176,000 tons of bombs on Cambodia, more than fell on j.a.pan during the entirety of World War II; over five times that on Laos. Hawks who claimed America was pulling her punches used to blare that all it would take to beat the Communists was to turn North Vietnam into a parking lot. More or less, that had already happened. In 1968 the outgoing army chief of staff, General Harold K. Johnson, calculated that U.S. planes had covered the country with enough steel to pave it over to the depth of one-eight of an inch. By 1970 he added another quarter inch to the estimate. That was before before Richard Nixon really got started. And it excluded the bombs on Richard Nixon really got started. And it excluded the bombs on South South Vietnam, where periodic "bombing halts" didn't apply. That country we were seeking to liberate was. .h.i.t with as much tonnage as all the others combined. Vietnam, where periodic "bombing halts" didn't apply. That country we were seeking to liberate was. .h.i.t with as much tonnage as all the others combined.

But as a political strategy, bombing worked. American troop strength was now below seventy thousand, few enough for the public to ignore. Vietnamization, "removed the war from our minds while it is being inflicted on the bodies of others," said Fonda. "Will the American people say 'right on,' our hands are clean because our men aren't being killed?"

Fonda arrived in Hanoi alone, a woman armed with only cameras, hobbling on a fractured foot. The day before, Jean Thorval of Agence France-Presse had been standing on one of the earthen dikes when bombs struck another nearby. It seemed, he reported in Le Monde, Le Monde, "the attack was aimed at a whole system of dikes." Fonda gave a speech over Radio Hanoi, hoping it would reach the pilots, describing, in case they didn't know, how the antipersonnel bombs beneath their wings functioned: "the attack was aimed at a whole system of dikes." Fonda gave a speech over Radio Hanoi, hoping it would reach the pilots, describing, in case they didn't know, how the antipersonnel bombs beneath their wings functioned: "They cannot destroy bridges or factories. They cannot pierce steel or cement. Their only target is unprotected human flesh." They "now contain rough-edged plastic pellets, and your bosses, whose minds think in terms of statistics, not human lives, are proud of this new perfection. The plastic pellets don't show up on X-rays and cannot be removed. The hospitals here are filled with babies and women and old people who will live for the rest of their lives in agony with these pellets embedded in them.... Tonight, when you are alone, ask yourselves: What are you doing? Accept no ready answers fed to you by rote from basic training on up, but as men, as human beings. Can you justify what you are doing?"

The tragic, otherworldly naivete of Hollywood celebrities in politics: as if the world were a Henry Fonda movie, in which the pure-hearted idealist always won the day. It was quite a thing to ask active-duty servicemen: search your heart, and don't follow orders-though she never asked that of them explicitly-because those orders might be illegal.

While Fonda was in Vietnam, the New York Times New York Times reported that the rules of engagement for "fixed wing air operations" since May of 1971-no incendiary ammunitions were to be used in inhabited areas-included a B-52sized loophole: unless "necessary for the accomplishment of the commander's mission." The paper reported estimates by U.S. officials of twenty-five thousand civilian deaths in South Vietnam by both sides since the start of the spring offensive. This, as Fonda inspected damage to a dike that held back the confluence of six rivers. The bombs had entered at a slant-more difficult to repair and invisible from aerial photographs, her hosts explained. Bomb craters ten meters across and eight meters deep (and two meters below sea level) flanked the wall. Rice paddies stretched to the horizon-no military targets in sight. reported that the rules of engagement for "fixed wing air operations" since May of 1971-no incendiary ammunitions were to be used in inhabited areas-included a B-52sized loophole: unless "necessary for the accomplishment of the commander's mission." The paper reported estimates by U.S. officials of twenty-five thousand civilian deaths in South Vietnam by both sides since the start of the spring offensive. This, as Fonda inspected damage to a dike that held back the confluence of six rivers. The bombs had entered at a slant-more difficult to repair and invisible from aerial photographs, her hosts explained. Bomb craters ten meters across and eight meters deep (and two meters below sea level) flanked the wall. Rice paddies stretched to the horizon-no military targets in sight.

Fonda recorded her amazement at the men and women riding bicycles across narrow, muddy paths carrying huge baskets of earth balanced at the ends of bamboo poles in ovenlike heat to repair the dikes. All visitors to North Vietnam were struck by the same thing: as Richard Nixon might put it, they had will in spades. will in spades. "It is impossible for this visitor to detect any atmosphere of fear," Anthony Lewis had recently reported in the "It is impossible for this visitor to detect any atmosphere of fear," Anthony Lewis had recently reported in the Times Times after visiting hospitals that had been bombed despite red crosses painted on their roofs. ("Nixon's flying," a peasant would tell Fonda when they heard rumblings in the distance and the ground shook. "No give d.a.m.n," someone would defiantly add.) Ramsey Clark, former attorney general under Lyndon Johnson, arrived in North Vietnam just after Fonda left. He noted, "The people of this country believe their cause is just. Every person I have seen has shown by his acts and his words his total commitment." American intelligence agents had been offering similar reports for years. after visiting hospitals that had been bombed despite red crosses painted on their roofs. ("Nixon's flying," a peasant would tell Fonda when they heard rumblings in the distance and the ground shook. "No give d.a.m.n," someone would defiantly add.) Ramsey Clark, former attorney general under Lyndon Johnson, arrived in North Vietnam just after Fonda left. He noted, "The people of this country believe their cause is just. Every person I have seen has shown by his acts and his words his total commitment." American intelligence agents had been offering similar reports for years.

It could inspire a dewy-eyed romanticism among Americans of a certain temper, as if these North Vietnamese were some higher species of being. Fonda's last full day in the country, she was taken to see an antiaircraft installation. To her hosts these sites were like the Alamo: the seat of a n.o.ble, patriotic resistance. Soldiers sang a hymn to North Vietnamese independence ("All men are created equal / They are given certain rights..."). Fonda, smiling dumbly, felt warm with agape. An air-raid helmet was perched upon her head. Before she knew what was happening, she said in her memoirs, she was led to sit down on the seat of an antiaircraft gun.

The cameras clicked; they weren't some higher, n.o.bler species of human. They were warriors, in the middle of a war, and they had a priceless propaganda shot-a smiling American celebrity, appearing to be doing what Vietnamese patriots did: shooting down American planes. The North Vietnamese news agency also misrepresented her radio broadcasts to claim, as the caption of the photo of Fonda on the antiaircraft gun that went out over the AP wires read, "Miss Fonda made a speech last week from Hanoi urging American soldiers to defect."

Fonda arrived in Paris and called a press conference. She brought film of the bombed dikes. "I believe in my heart, profoundly, that the dikes are being bombed on purpose," she said, "hydraulic systems, sluice gates, pumping stations, and dams as well." She pointed out that a n.a.z.i commander had once been executed by the Allies for bombing dikes in the Netherlands.

The Pentagon claimed the Communists placed key roads, antiaircraft emplacements, and military installations astride the dikes. She answered by pointing to the screen: "You see fields and fields of paddy and then just at that one strategic point you see the bomb crater."

She pointed to the screen again: two healthy-looking American POWs. "Without exception," she said, "they expressed shame at what they had done." She said they asked her to tell their families to work for McGovern: "They fear if Nixon stays in office, they will be prisoners forever."

The same day, the State Department promised they would disprove Fonda's a.s.sertions with photographic evidence. a.s.sistants carted easels into the pressroom at Foggy Bottom. Then, suddenly, the briefing was canceled. "The administration realized," the New York Times New York Times reported sardonically, "that Hanoi also could produce photographs." Ron Ziegler spoke from the White House pressroom: "North Vietnam is having some success with their campaign to get the world to believe that American planes were bombing dikes." State's spokesman contradicted that the next day: yes, American planes were bombing dikes, but as "a result of legitimate attacks on military installations such as antiaircraft sites." Then the State Department released an intelligence report on the dike system: it admitted damage to twelve locations, all accidental. Which unfortunately cut across the State Department's other habitual a.s.surance: that America's laser-guided bombing systems were the most accurate in the history of warfare. reported sardonically, "that Hanoi also could produce photographs." Ron Ziegler spoke from the White House pressroom: "North Vietnam is having some success with their campaign to get the world to believe that American planes were bombing dikes." State's spokesman contradicted that the next day: yes, American planes were bombing dikes, but as "a result of legitimate attacks on military installations such as antiaircraft sites." Then the State Department released an intelligence report on the dike system: it admitted damage to twelve locations, all accidental. Which unfortunately cut across the State Department's other habitual a.s.surance: that America's laser-guided bombing systems were the most accurate in the history of warfare.

The sci-fi s.e.x kitten from Barbarella Barbarella had the White House sweating bullets. had the White House sweating bullets.

Then the s.e.x kitten was joined by the secretary-general of the United Nations: "I cannot tell you whether the bombing is accidental or not," Kurt Waldheim said. The results were the same; the problem was the war. "The United Nations can no longer remain a mute spectator of the horror of the war and of the peril which it increasingly poses to international peace."

Of a sudden, on July 27, the president invited the White House press corps for a rare Oval Office briefing, where he offered a denial in the form of a boast: "If it were the policy of the United States to bomb the dikes, we could take them out, the significant part of them, in a week." Then he confused the matter further by dilating on the moral question. Some were listening to "well-intentioned and naive people," but as Eisenhower had said about the firebombing of Dresden (in which the intentional incineration of civilians was undeniable): "The height of immorality would be to allow Hitler to rule Europe."

Then Nixon sent his UN amba.s.sador, the failed Senate candidate George Herbert Walker Bush, to advise Kurt Waldheim to stop repeating propagandistic falsehoods. The meeting, however, was brief. Bush, a fighter pilot in World War II, emerged looking sh.e.l.l-shocked, suddenly unwilling to press his a.s.signed case that the dikes had been spared. He told reporters, "I think that the best thing I can do on the subject is shut up."

The Washington Post Washington Post never reported George Bush's climbdown. They did report that "Fonda, wearing Vietnamese peasant garb, called President Nixon a 'serious traitor'"; and a joke of Mark Russell's, the political humorist, that "if McGovern wins, he'll replace Henry Kissinger with Jane Fonda"; and Senator Hugh Scott on the debate to defund the war: "The right to negotiate the peace should not be taken away from the president and put in the hands of Jane Fonda." The never reported George Bush's climbdown. They did report that "Fonda, wearing Vietnamese peasant garb, called President Nixon a 'serious traitor'"; and a joke of Mark Russell's, the political humorist, that "if McGovern wins, he'll replace Henry Kissinger with Jane Fonda"; and Senator Hugh Scott on the debate to defund the war: "The right to negotiate the peace should not be taken away from the president and put in the hands of Jane Fonda." The Post Post also reported the attempts of the Georgia congressman fighting a Senate primary to put Fonda on trial ("Declared war or undeclared war, this is treason"), and the chairman of the Manhattan Republican Party's call to boycott her movies. Also, the paper printed a letter to the editor from an M. J. Smith of Washington: "It is no wonder that peace has not been established in Vietnam when the Communists can obtain the help of American citizens to help destroy the morale of our men." also reported the attempts of the Georgia congressman fighting a Senate primary to put Fonda on trial ("Declared war or undeclared war, this is treason"), and the chairman of the Manhattan Republican Party's call to boycott her movies. Also, the paper printed a letter to the editor from an M. J. Smith of Washington: "It is no wonder that peace has not been established in Vietnam when the Communists can obtain the help of American citizens to help destroy the morale of our men."

The actress's trip marked the emergence of a new narrative about Vietnam: that people like Lyndon Johnson and Richard Nixon weren't responsible for the disaster, but people like Fonda, stabbing America's soldiers and South Vietnamese allies in the back, were. It was the most convenient possible development for Richard Nixon-who was, exactly then, planning to stab America's soldiers and South Vietnamese allies in the back.

The ostensible aim of the war was to preserve an anticommunist government in Saigon absent the United States propping it up. Nixon had privately been maintaining since 1966 that this was impossible, and that the only question was the garb in which America would eventually cloak its withdrawal. Sometimes he imagined a politically satisfactory denouement might come of a knockout blow-as in his scuttled plans for Operation Duck Hook in 1969, or Operation Linebacker that spring. Other times he counted on his "madman" theory, with its threat of nuclear annihilation. Either way the point was to scare the enemy to sufficient concessions at the bargaining table that it would look as if the enemy the enemy had capitulated. Secret and intentional bombing of North Vietnamese dams and earthworks, if it was happening-and the president's "madman" signal on July 27 that if he wanted to decimate North Vietnamese agriculture he could do it in a week-was consistent with this logic. Ma.s.sive bombing, enough to keep the Communists from overrunning Saigon until after his reelection, was the only way to preserve what he had started calling, stealing a phrase from the Democratic platform of 1952, "peace with honor." had capitulated. Secret and intentional bombing of North Vietnamese dams and earthworks, if it was happening-and the president's "madman" signal on July 27 that if he wanted to decimate North Vietnamese agriculture he could do it in a week-was consistent with this logic. Ma.s.sive bombing, enough to keep the Communists from overrunning Saigon until after his reelection, was the only way to preserve what he had started calling, stealing a phrase from the Democratic platform of 1952, "peace with honor."

But what he was working on now was neither honorable nor peace. His main concern was political timing. As the president put it to Kissinger on August 3, as the battered and bruised McGovern cast about desperately for a new running mate, "I look at the tide of history out there, South Vietnam probably can never even survive anyway. I'm just being perfectly candid." The problem, he went on, was the presidential election: "It's terribly important this year."

Kissinger put two and two together. He and Nixon had been reading each other's mind for some time now. Kissinger noted, "If a year or two years from now North Vietnam gobbles up South Vietnam, we can have a viable foreign policy if it looks as if it's the result of South Vietnamese incompetence." They could come up with peace agreement language-could "sell it in such a way," some transcribed Kissinger's words; others rendered it, just as pregnantly, "sell out out in such a way"-that convinced South Vietnamese president Nguyen Van Thieu that America would stick with him until the end and get it agreed to in time for November. After which they could regrettably let "South Vietnam" evaporate and move on to other foreign policy problems. in such a way"-that convinced South Vietnamese president Nguyen Van Thieu that America would stick with him until the end and get it agreed to in time for November. After which they could regrettably let "South Vietnam" evaporate and move on to other foreign policy problems.

For now they had to keep up military pressure, mining harbors, intimating wholesale dike-bombing, whatever it took to hold back the deluge during what diplomatic historians would later call a "decent interval": to "find some formula that holds the thing together a year or two, after which-after a year, Mr. President-Vietnam will be a backwater." Then they could announce peace with honor. Only they would know they'd just stabbed South Vietnam in the back. "If we settle it, say, this October, by January '74 no one will give a d.a.m.n."

But they couldn't settle it before before October. They needed the war to keep going through the election. That way they could blame the continuation of war on the Democrats: their line could be, Haldeman wrote in a memo, that the sustained fighting proved the Communists were "absolutely at the end of their rope," their only chance of victory "to stagger through to November hoping that President Nixon will lose and they can get a good deal from the next administration." October. They needed the war to keep going through the election. That way they could blame the continuation of war on the Democrats: their line could be, Haldeman wrote in a memo, that the sustained fighting proved the Communists were "absolutely at the end of their rope," their only chance of victory "to stagger through to November hoping that President Nixon will lose and they can get a good deal from the next administration."

Back in February, Nixon had said antiwar Democrats "might give the enemy an incentive to prolong the war until after the election." Actually, that was what he he was doing, just as he had in 1968. Twenty years later, a superannuated Richard Nixon met with a group of young reporters just before the 1992 New Hampshire primary and copped to it. He explained that the inc.u.mbent Republican president would have been able to guarantee his reelection, but that it was too late: he ended the Iraq war when he should have kept it going at least until the election. "We had a lot of success with that in 1972," he told the a.s.sembled scribes. was doing, just as he had in 1968. Twenty years later, a superannuated Richard Nixon met with a group of young reporters just before the 1992 New Hampshire primary and copped to it. He explained that the inc.u.mbent Republican president would have been able to guarantee his reelection, but that it was too late: he ended the Iraq war when he should have kept it going at least until the election. "We had a lot of success with that in 1972," he told the a.s.sembled scribes.

But it was George S. McGovern's campaign that was "Mafia-like." Time Time magazine had said so. magazine had said so.