Billy was ready to do some of that work himself. As his concerns mounted, he sought Henry Luce’s advice. Luce suggested that the evangelist write an article for Life setting forth his own candid evaluation of Nixon. Graham had doubts about such an assignment but agreed to do it, in part, he admitted, because he “felt under such obligation to him for all of his references [in Luce publications].” He wrote that the Vice-President did not “have the slightest inkling that I am writing this article and probably would have advised against it,” but asserted that he had a right and responsibility to speak out just as Reinhold Niebuhr and [Union Theological Seminary president and professor] John Bennett had spoken out on behalf of John Kennedy. Noting that this election was “the most crucial our nation has ever confronted” because Americans were in effect choosing “the President of the world,” he observed that it would be inappropriate to choose a candidate simply because he was “more handsome or charming” or to follow “the dubious path of tradition and say, ‘I’ll vote for my party, right or wrong.’” Moreover, he had more faith in the American people than to believe a presidential election could actually be bought by a candidate who happened to be richer, better organized, and more ruthless. If pressed, Graham could claim that these were neutral observations that could apply to any election, but since none of the descriptions other than ruthlessness could possibly fit Nixon, all but the densest readers would construe them as a barely concealed attack on Kennedy.
Turning to an explicit consideration of his own favorite, Graham acknowledged that some regarded Nixon as cold, calculating, politically expedient, and intellectually lightweight but volunteered that “I have found him totally different. Richard Nixon to me is the epitome of warmth, affability, and sincerity. He has qualities that are found in few people. . . . He has sincere concern for the underprivileged people of the world.” In fact, he ventured, Nixon’s outstanding quality was sincerity: “His mind doesn’t seem to reach for political gimmicks. He inspires confidence and commands respect. He has no characteristics of a demagogue. [He has a] deep personal faith in God. . . . Although he doesn’t flaunt his faith publicly, I know him to be a deeply religious man.”
Luce liked the article and scheduled it to run the week before the election. Graham then got cold feet and called several politically astute friends to let them know what he had done. Republican Senator Frank Carlson expressed reservations but basically approved. U.S. News & World Report publisher David Lawrence and radio commentator Paul Harvey absolutely opposed it, even though both supported Nixon. Graham also tried to reach Nixon during that period, but for never-explained reasons, the Vice-President’s staff did not put him through and according to Graham, “seemed terribly indecisive” about the proposed article. “They were not sure whether it would hurt or help [Nixon]. This indecisiveness was a contributing factor to my own dilemma.” Ruth Graham also felt it was a mistake that would jeopardize Graham’s own ministry and destroy any possible chance Nixon had of appealing to Roman Catholics. The anxious couple prayed that if Luce did run the article, God would use it for good, but that if it happened not to meet with divine approval, the Almighty might deploy some small miracle to keep it from appearing. News traveled fast, and the next morning Senator George Smathers, North Carolina governor Luther Hodges, and Frank Clement all called to express concern. Later in the morning, Henry Luce called to say that he had informed Kennedy of the article and the senator had strongly urged that Reinhold Niebuhr be asked to write a balancing article. To give him time to consider that request, Luce had pulled the article temporarily but planned to run it the following week. Taking this as the divine portent he had been seeking, Graham told Luce of his misgivings and asked him not to run the article. In its place he submitted a nonpartisan article on why Christians should vote, and Luce agreed to run it. After that, Graham said, “I had peace, for I found the Lord had intervened in some strange and mysterious way. I may never know why until I stand before him at the judgment.”
After Luce let him off the hook, Graham was quoted as saying he was not going to give a straight endorsement of Nixon. “I have come to the conclusion,” he said, “that my main responsibility is in the spiritual realm and that I shouldn’t become involved in partisan politics.” But two days later, he was back in the fray, albeit behind the scenes. With less than a week before the election, as it became clear that Kennedy stood a good chance of winning, Graham’s advice to Nixon assumed a desperate tone. “There is a great deal of evidence,” he alleged, “to indicate that the Democrats have deliberately printed hate material and spread it in Catholic areas to incite the Catholics against you.” To counter that effort, he suggested that some leading Republican, probably Eisenhower or Rockefeller, should film a rebuttal and the campaign should buy as much time as possible in the key electoral states and show the film over and over until the election. Forget money, he urged: “You should purchase cream time at any cost.” Temporal tactics alone, however, would not suffice. Noting that he had received numerous letters from supporters reporting dismay over Nixon’s failure to emphasize spiritual matters, Graham counseled the Vice-President to emphasize his own convictions about the importance of spiritual guidance. “State frankly,” Graham proposed, “that you are a firm believer, putting the election in God’s hands and saying, ‘Thy will be done.’” He then recommended a course that had worked well for him: “Indicate also that you have little personal ambition in this matter, but that you have represented a cause in which you sincerely believe.” He noted that voters were not the only pertinent observers. “God may be searching your heart,” he cautioned, “to see where you stand before Him. I am convinced that without His help you cannot win this election.” To enhance the likelihood that the much-needed divine assistance would be forthcoming, Graham flew to South Carolina the next day to give the invocation at a Nixon rally and to be photographed at the candidate’s side as they stood under a banner that defiantly challenged complacent Democrats to recognize that Dixie Is No Longer in the Bag.
With or without God’s help, Nixon lost one of the closest elections in American history. When the last returns finally trickled in on the morning after the election and it became clear that John Kennedy would be the next president, Graham sent Nixon a consoling telegram: “BELIEVE YOUR GREAT CAMPAIGN HAS WON MORAL VICTORY. AM CERTAIN GOD WILL USE YOU GREATLY IN THE FUTURE.” Even so, he gave up grudgingly. Ten days after the election, he said, “I understand there is to be a recount of votes in Illinois. Nixon may win there. And they may recount the votes in New Mexico. Those Mississippi electors could still be important. Technically, you know, the President isn’t chosen until December 19th.” Despite such grasping at straws, Graham must have felt in his heart of hearts that his days of first-name intimacy with the White House were over, at least until 1964, when Nixon might try again. Still, he prudently refrained from any action or statements that would alienate Kennedy, and the president-elect responded in kind. Kennedy would never extend to Graham the right hand of fellowship both Eisenhower and Nixon had proffered, but he understood that it would serve no purpose to harden Graham’s resistance to him. Within two weeks Florida Democratic senator George Smathers, whose campaign manager was an old friend of Graham’s, arranged for Graham to have lunch with Kennedy at Key Biscayne. Though pleased to be sought out, Graham hesitated lest he seem to be fickle or unduly opportunistic. When he ultimately accepted the invitation, he called Nixon’s offices to let the Vice-President know that the meeting in no way detracted from his wholehearted support.
The luncheon took place in January, a few days before the inauguration. Both men got what they sought. Graham kept open at least a narrow channel to the White House and had the satisfaction of feeling he might ultimately exert some spiritual influence over the new President. He has often recalled how the dashing young politician suddenly pulled the white Lincoln convertible to the side of the road on the way back from their golf game at Palm Beach, and looking directly at Graham, blurted out, “Billy, do you bel
ieve that Jesus Christ is going to come back again?” Without hesitation, Graham answered, “I do.” Kennedy pondered the matter a moment, then said, “My church teaches it in its creeds, but I don’t hear much about it.” He also inquired, Graham recalled, about the triumph of the kingdom of God and numerous other topics—“He must have asked a hundred separate questions”—but that exchange appears to have been the extent of theological discussion between the two men. Still, it gave Graham two things every preacher needs: hope of success and a good sermon illustration. In return, Graham gave Kennedy an even greater gift. At a press conference that evening, without prior warning to his guest, Kennedy said that Dr. Billy Graham was present and would answer questions about the religious issue that had drawn so much attention during the campaign. Graham recalled that “I was scared to death, but I stood up and tried to walk the middle line as much as I could.” Few men have proved more adroit at walking the middle line, and Billy’s balance and agility did not fail him on this occasion. A New York Times article titled “Dr. Graham Hails Kennedy Victory” reported that “the Reverend Dr. Billy Graham declared tonight that the election of John F. Kennedy, a Roman Catholic, had promoted a better understanding between the Protestant and Catholic churches in the United States. Dr. Graham, the evangelist, said Mr. Kennedy’s victory had proved there was not as much religious prejudice as many had feared, and probably had reduced forever the importance of the religious issue in American elections.” The article went on to note that Dr. Graham “commended Mr. Nixon and his running mate, Henry Cabot Lodge, for not bringing up the religious issue. He also praised Mr. Kennedy for ‘facing’ the issue forth-rightly, thereby easing ‘many fears’ held by some voters about a Catholic in the White House.” Graham said he would not be able to attend the inauguration—though his crusade schedule would have permitted it—but he would watch and pray for the new President. Kennedy’s embrace was similarly restrained. Press Secretary Pierre Salinger approved sending Graham photographs of the two men taken at the press conference but directed aides to make it clear “in writing” that “these pictures are for Mr. Graham’s personal use” and not for reproduction in his magazines or other publications.
Richard Nixon accepted Graham’s decision in the Life episode with rueful grace, calling the unused article “probably the best and most effective statement in my behalf in the entire campaign” but allowing that the decision not to use it had been proper. Still, he was pleased Billy had felt able to say such kind things about him. “I have deeply appreciated the spiritual inspiration and guidance that you have given me,” he wrote, shortly before leaving the capital for California, “but in addition to that, your political advice has been as wise as any I have received from any man I know. I have often told friends that when you went into the ministry, politics lost one of its potentially greatest practitioners!” In an interesting glimpse at the fruitful technique of pretending to greater intimacy than may actually exist, Nixon added a postscript: “Pat joins me in sending our very best wishes to Ruth and to you.” The draft of the letter contained a parenthetical note: “Ck for sure that his wife’s name is ‘Ruth.’”
Nixon may have forgiven, but he had not forgotten. A few months later, ostensibly as part of his research for the book Six Crises, he asked Graham to provide an account of the factors that led to his decision not to publish the article for Life. Graham recounted his version, stressing that he had been wholeheartedly for Nixon and had harbored numerous reservations about Kennedy, but that he had not wanted to solidify the Catholic vote or be branded a bigot. Then, in a gentle dig at Nixon, he said, “The more I listened to Mr. Kennedy, the less fear I had that all would be lost if he were elected. In fact, he began to say some of the things that I had hoped you would say,” mentioning specifically Kennedy’s call for sacrifice and dedication on the part of Americans. When Nixon did not respond immediately, Graham grew anxious and wrote another letter to see if his remarks had somehow offended his friend. After an additional period of awkward silence, Nixon again let Billy off the hook, but he could not entirely conceal his disappointment. “In retrospect,” he said, “the Life article should have been published and would have been a definite plus.”
Graham and Nixon remained in occasional contact. After the former vice-president’s infamous “you-won’t-have-Nixon-to-kick-around-anymore” press conference, following his unsuccessful bid for the California governorship in 1962, Graham sent a warm pastoral letter urging his friend not to become bitter or to withdraw into a shell and exclude those who care for him. “A man’s true character,” he said, “is seen in the midst of disappointment and defeat.” The petulant behavior at the press conference had given “the impression that you were a poor loser and bitter.” To correct that impression, he recommended that Nixon hold a combination press conference and party for reporters at which he should apologize for his behavior at the previous gathering. A show of humility, Graham suggested, would silence his critics and bring a wave of sympathy. “You could turn the entire feeling and comment to a tremendous advantage.” The concerned pastor apparently also thought his counselee needed some internal rehabilitation. “It would be the greatest tragedy I can think of,” he said, “for you to turn to drink or any of these other escapisms. Millions of Americans admire you as no other man of our time.” Rather than let disappointment drag him down, Graham urged Nixon to “start reading the Bible, learning the value, power, and secrets of prayer, and attending church with new faithfulness.” He closed on a note that helped explain the uncommon loyalty he demonstrated to Nixon in later years. “Dick, I have thousands of friends, but very few close, intimate friends. There are few men whom I have loved as I love you. My friendship for you was never because you were Vice-president or an international figure. It was far deeper than that, and I hope we can continue our friendship on a warmer basis than ever before.”
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The Kennedy Years
His main bridge to the White House temporarily washed out, his fight with Fundamentalism all but over, and his position on integration no longer requiring daily defense, Billy Graham spent most of the Kennedy years doing what he did best: holding crusades and broadening his base of support. A decade of marathon campaigns had taken such a toll on his physical stamina that he occasionally told reporters he doubted he would live much longer. To give both body and spirit a rest, he began to trim the length of his crusades, moving gradually toward the eight-day (usually Sunday to Sunday) format used in most of his meetings since the mid-1960s. He spent the first four months of 1961 in Florida holding a three-week crusade in Miami and a series of one- and two-day meetings in a dozen other cities. He also spent a fair amount of time on the beach and the golf course, basking in the warm sunshine he had come to love during his days at the Bible institute. He followed the Florida campaign with a less-than-brilliant three-week crusade in Manchester, England, and wound up the season with good outings in Minneapolis and Philadelphia.
In 1962 Graham added another continent to his list by making two month-long forays into South America. Shortly before the first of these, he met with President Kennedy, who was also about to visit South America. In a conversation Graham recounted with obvious pleasure, the President told the preacher, “I’ll be your John the Baptist,” graciously implying that he would prepare the way for one who would follow with a greater message. According to Graham aides, Kennedy felt Graham’s visit to South America would strengthen goodwill between the United States and its neighbors unless he became the target of anti-Protestant hostility. He apparently asked what kind of treatment Graham expected from Catholics, an indication he recognized that his coreligionists could be highly resistant to Protestant incursions on what they regarded as their rightful turf, particularly when the intruders were Americans. These apprehensions were not unfounded. In Colombia the mayor of Barranquilla, apparently acting under pressure from Catholic clergy, denied Graham permission to speak at that city’s largest baseball stadium, forcing a move to the grounds of an American
Presbyterian school. In Maracaibo, protesters tore down crusade placards, replacing them with leaflets warning citizens not to attend the meetings. And while Graham spoke at a government building, they pounded on the doors, fired guns into the air, and brandished signs that read, Yankee No, Down with Kennedy, and Castro Si, forcing the evangelist and his team to beat a hasty retreat through a back door. (Team photographer Russ Busby recalled with amusement his own unwillingness to follow Graham’s suggestion that he “stick around and try to get some pictures. This could be real interesting.”) This incident, which occurred on the fourth anniversary of a Communist defeat in Venezuela, seems to have been more political than religious in nature, fixing on Graham because he was a prominent American rather than because he was a Protestant, and he subsequently preached unmolested to a crowd of 4,000 at a baseball park. The reception in Cali, Colombia, was friendlier, and in the Venezuelan capital of Caracas, a city with only 5,000 Protestants, 32,000 people crowded into a bullfight arena to hear him.
Response to Graham’s visit to Paraguay was both intense and unambiguously Catholic in origin. The archbishop, whom one Graham aide described as “a well-known flagrant homosexual who had corrupted the lives of hundreds of young men,” led the opposition, directing local priests to warn their parishioners not to attend Graham’s meetings. In addition, church leaders organized a protest parade through the streets of Asuncion on the afternoon before the opening service of the crusade in the city. With the unmistakable implication that more than coincidence had been at work, a team member who witnessed the parade recalled a great storm that suddenly blew up while the parade was in progress. “The wind blew trees down, and flipped DC-3s over at the airport,” he remembered. “It blew the Virgin they were carrying around off her pedestal and broke her arm. The rain was incredible. It was a complete disaster. Then, about an hour before the crusade, the weather changed. The stars came out and we had a lovely, cool evening. It was just a fantastic thing.” Even so, crowds were modest, though not embarrassingly small, in both Asuncion and Montevideo, Uruguay.
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