Sarge: The Life and Times of Sargent Shriver

by Scott Stossel

  More than any previous ambassador, Shriver traveled around the country to meet with the French people—not just with government officials or celebrities or top business executives but with fishermen and coal miners and factory workers and students. And he didn’t meet them in an arid, press-conference environment but in their milieu. He washed tuna with the fishermen, got his face blackened by soot with the coal miners, sat alongside the barricades with the students. Indeed, it wasn’t what he did so much as how he did it—lending US diplomacy “a rare and welcome panache,” according to Time—that made such a powerful impression. Over the summer of 1968, Shriver traveled around the country and made speeches commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of various World War I battles. At Verdun, for instance, Shriver celebrated the anniversary of a successful American offensive there and gently reminded the French officials in the audience that European security still depended on the forceful presence of the United States. To the surprise of embassy staff members, who had seen similar speeches by Chip Bohlen greeted with a chilly hauteur, Shriver’s remarks were followed by enthusiastic cries of “Vive l’Amérique!”

  By the fall of 1968, American newspaper columnists were reporting that “everybody had noticed the bouncy cheer at the American Embassy these days after all those years when the diplomatic barometer read nothing but ‘glum.’ ” Shriver’s “drastic change in style” had helped bring about a “verbal bombing halt” by the French against the Americans. “It is going to be much more fun being nice to Americans now that Ambassador Shriver is here,” declared Prime Minister Georges Pompidou in August.

  The French people came to love him as one of their own—“Sarjean Shreevair,” as they called him—in a way that President de Gaulle could not fail to notice. It would soon become the consensus view in the State Department and among experts on Franco-American relations that Shriver was the most effective US ambassador to France in fifty years. There was no small irony in this. Several of LBJ’s foreign policy aides had strongly advised the president that it was essential to appoint an experienced diplomat who was fluent in French, given the high diplomatic stakes. And now Shriver, with his high-school French and lack of any formal diplomatic training, was doing more to put Franco-American relations on a good footing than his more experienced predecessors. “It’s a different ball game now,” Shriver said, when a reporter from the Washington Star asked him about Franco-American relations. “De Gaulle says things to me he hasn’t discussed in years.”

  Shriver cut a dashing, if sometimes eccentric, figure around the country. He and his family would bicycle together around Paris. On a brief trip to the Riviera, he startled guests at a garden party by showing up in swimming trunks and bathrobe. He played tennis in Monaco with Prince Rainier. In June he was the first American ever to play in the French tennis championships (later to become the French Open). In early July he crossed the English Channel to play in the “gentleman’s veterans” doubles draw at Wimbledon, the first American of high diplomatic rank ever to play there—and he even won a match. French newspapers and magazines covered his family as if they were movie stars. French television devoted whole half-hour programs to “un Kennedy à Paris.” Paris Match, a popular national magazine, listed Shriver as one of the five most popular people in France.

  The American ambassador’s residence became one of the most exciting social destinations in Paris. As they had in Chicago and at Timberlawn, the Shrivers held regular salons on various topics, where fifty or more people—a mixture of students, diplomats, French officials, and international celebrities—would crowd into their living room for lively discussions. The tennis star Arthur Ashe was a regular guest, as were Donald Dell and America’s Davis Cup tennis team. So too were the Aga Khan, Warren Beatty, Harry Belafonte, Yul Brynner, Maurice Chevalier, Julie Christie, Rose Kennedy, Vanessa Redgrave, and Peter Ustinov.

  The New Frontier had come to Paris.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The 1968 Election

  For all the success Shriver was enjoying in France, a significant part of his attention remained tightly fixed on politics in the United States. The death of Robert Kennedy had dramatically altered the complexion of the 1968 election campaign.

  As soon as Humphrey first mentioned him as a possible running mate on June 21, a Shriver-for-VP boomlet began to blossom. Several days later, Warren Hoge, the Washington correspondent for the New York Post, wrote that Humphrey was “enthusiastic” about Shriver as a running mate and “eager to pursue him.” Hoge observed that it was “a graceful way out of a situation that has grown increasingly more awkward with each suggestion that the slain Senator’s brother, Edward, run with Humphrey in 1968.” Shriver, Hoge wrote, “spares Humphrey the embarrassment of making an appeal for Kennedy support as obvious as a direct bid to Ted Kennedy. And Shriver spares Kennedy the political discomfort of having to reject such a bid—which he doesn’t want—when polls are showing that with him or some other Kennedy representative on the ticket the Democrats are assured of victory in November.” Hoge added that although Shriver had not been formally approached by LBJ’s vice president, he was reportedly “receptive” to the idea of joining the Humphrey ticket.

  This was true. As much as Shriver enjoyed his work as ambassador, he coveted the idea of winning elected office. Every time over the last nine years that he had seriously contemplated running for office, his sense of duty to someone or something had thwarted him: Joe Kennedy in 1960, the Peace Corps in 1962, the OEO in 1966, and Bobby Kennedy’s circle in 1964. Like the Kennedy family, Shriver conceived of public service as almost a religious calling; winning election to high office seemed to him the best way to serve his country. “It has never really fascinated me to have a title like governor, ambassador, or senator,” he told a reporter in 1970. “But I have always felt the greatest public service a man can give is through elective office.”

  Many of the people Shriver had worked with over the years believed that he would be a good president of the United States. Some of them had angled for years to put him in a position where he might someday have a chance to make a credible run for the presidency. Now, with Bobby Kennedy gone, Ted Kennedy reticent, and Hubert Humphrey in need of a running mate, they saw an opportunity. “A number of us who had worked with Sargent Shriver in the Peace Corps or the War on Poverty thought a Humphrey-Shriver ticket would be a good and winning combination,” Harris Wofford recalled. As Shriver was in Paris, “several of us decided to go to [the Democratic convention in] Chicago to uphold his interests—and our interest in his nomination.”

  Weeks before the convention, however, it was clear that the road to a Shriver nomination would be politically tricky, for two main reasons. First, there was no guarantee that Humphrey would win the Democratic presidential nomination. McCarthy was still stalking him through the later primaries. Many still hoped Ted Kennedy would allow himself to be drafted. And there were suspicions that, with Bobby out of the race, Lyndon Johnson would go back on his word and make himself available at the convention.

  Second, of course, was the Kennedy family. No one knew exactly what “the family” wanted. Actually, it was now becoming increasingly clear that there was no longer a monolithic Kennedy family—if in fact there ever had been since Joe Kennedy’s incapacitation by stroke in 1961. Polls showed that the American people, especially Democrats, craved a Kennedy on the 1968 ticket. But whereas in the past the order of succession had been clear (Joe Jr. to Jack to Bobby to Ted)—and whereas in the past Joe Sr. had been around to make decisions any time the order of succession was not clear—that wasn’t true anymore, especially if Ted were not going to step forward. That left a myriad of sometimes competing, sometimes overlapping groups. There were the former aides to Jack Kennedy (Fred Dutton, Ralph Dungan); the Bobby loyalists, some of whom had been first-generation aides to Jack (Arthur Schlesinger, Ted Sorensen, Kenny O’Donnell, and Steve Smith) and some of whom had not (Adam Walinsky, Peter Edelman); and the JFK people who had, against Bobby’s wishes, stayed on
under Johnson (Larry O’Brien, Robert McNamara, McGeorge Bundy, and Shriver). The group most antagonistic toward Shriver tended to be Bobby’s supporters, but even within this crowd were individuals (Donald Dell, Frank Mankiewicz, Mike Feldman) who felt as loyal to Sarge, or nearly so, as they did to Bobby. Then there was the family proper. The politically inclined in-laws, Shriver and Steve Smith, “circled each other like boxers,” as someone who was friendly to both recalled.

  Although too much can be made of these divisions, Shriver could not simply ignore them. Actually, the early signs were favorable. Bill Moyers, who had left the Johnson administration in 1966 and was now the publisher of Newsday, wrote to Shriver on the day Warren Hoge’s article appeared. “I had a long and private meeting Tuesday with Fred Dutton and asked him how the hardcore Kennedy people would react to you as vice president,” Moyers wrote. “I went over the reasons why your selection would be good for Humphrey and the country, hitting hard on the symbolic meaning it would have for the young, the poor, and the black. He thought this made sense, and expressed the belief that the idea would be accepted by most of the people around [Bobby] Kennedy, himself (Dutton) included.” For the time being, though, Moyers advised Shriver to lie low, since appearing to campaign for the vice presidency might antagonize them. “I would advise you, if asked by reporters about the V.P. thing, to say nothing—public or private,” Moyers wrote. “That goes for what you say to your acquaintances as well, publicly and privately. Discretion is the first virtue for the moment.”

  Bill Josephson, the former general counsel of the Peace Corps, had been in contact with Shriver about these issues for several months. In early July, Josephson met secretly with Max Kampelman, a close adviser to Hubert Humphrey, to discuss the Shriver situation. As Josephson later reported to Shriver, Kampelman “had talked briefly with HHH about you and HHH enthusiastically wants you around but felt that he could not, in terms of his relationship with the President, ask you to drop the new assignment [in Paris].” When Josephson told Kampelman that Shriver and LBJ had agreed that Shriver would stay in Paris only until some better opportunity opened up in the United States, Kampelman replied that “HHH definitely wanted you in the new Administration and then brought up the subject of the Vice Presidency.” Kampelman asked if someone would prepare a memo, outlining Shriver’s qualifications for vice president and describing what he would bring to the Humphrey ticket. Kampelman also implied that before Humphrey made any official move toward bringing Shriver onto the ticket, Ted Kennedy would have to provide his blessing.

  Thus began the period of Waiting for Ted. Kennedy supporters all across the country were waiting for Ted to say he would accept the Democratic presidential nomination. Humphrey and company were waiting to see if Ted would be available for the vice presidency. Shriver and company were waiting to see whether Ted would support Shriver for the vice presidency. But, for the moment, Ted wasn’t saying anything.

  When Shriver had lunch with Cy Sulzberger, the Times foreign affairs columnist, on July 10, Shriver said he would like Humphrey to ask him to run for the vice presidency, but he “thought … Ted Kennedy was the obvious choice, provided he was asked and that he had surmounted the psychological shock of Bobby’s death.”

  On July 17 Don Petrie, the business executive who had been close to Shriver since his days at the Merchandise Mart, reported that the Shriver-for-VP trial balloons the Humphrey camp had sent up via leaks to the press had produced “generally favorable comment, generally along the lines of ‘that makes a lot of sense.’ ” Petrie also recounted to Shriver a conversation that a colleague had had with Steve Smith about the Democratic ticket. According to Petrie, Smith had said that while it was obvious that Kennedy could win the nomination, he didn’t want it. Nor did he want to be Humphrey’s running mate. So, Smith was asked, who would Humphrey pick? “It looks like Sarge,” Smith responded. “But the family resents it.”

  But what, exactly, constituted “the family”? “The Kennedy organization from New York to California is largely in disarray and acts sort of punch-drunk,” Petrie wrote. “They are making moves to preserve some semblance of influence and power but they are the instinctive moves of a fighter who took a long count in the previous round. If, as individuals, they weren’t so very able it would be apparent to everyone what bad shape they are in. But they’re pros. So far no external bickering. That will come when Teddy announces he won’t run.”

  In late July, Ted finally announced that he wouldn’t run for president. Richard Daley, breaking with his longtime practice of doing his candidate work entirely behind closed doors, publicly proposed to draft Kennedy for the vice presidency. Kennedy declined that, as well. Newspapers began handicapping the alternate choices, with Shriver usually being one of the top two names on the list. Clayton Fritchey wrote in the Washington Star, “Sen. Edward Kennedy’s withdrawal has complicated [Humphrey’s] problem, for where else can he find what he was looking for in Ted, that is, someone who is young, liberal, dovish, urban-minded, already famous, and, above all a magnet for the Kennedy legions? The able Sargent Shriver is married to a Kennedy, but he is not a hero to the followers of JFK and RFK. Nor does he have a record of peace on Vietnam.”

  In the first week in August, the Republican convention in Miami nominated Richard Nixon as its presidential candidate. Maryland governor Spiro Agnew was nominated as his running mate. This opened another potential opportunity: If Nixon-Agnew won in 1968, Maryland would need a replacement governor. Why not Shriver? Josephson and Richard Schifter, who was head of the Democratic Party in Montgomery County, Maryland, began exploring this possibility on Shriver’s behalf. On the vice presidency, Shriver himself continued to lie low through early August, as his network of influential supporters quietly grew: Coretta Scott King, newspaper columnist Charlie Bartlett, civil rights leader Bayard Rustin, Democratic National Committee vice chair Louis Martin. On August 9, the Senate majority leader, Mike Mansfield, secretly visited Shriver in Paris, to help him strategize. So, too, several days later, did Bill Josephson and Bill Moyers. When newspaper reporters caught wind of Moyers’s visit, they speculated that he was delivering an invitation to the ticket from Humphrey. Moyers denied this.

  On August 9 Josephson again met with Max Kampelman, who got right to the point: “Let’s talk turkey about Shriver.” Kampelman told Josephson that for Humphrey to select Shriver, three arguments against his nomination would have to be addressed. First, “selection of Shriver would saddle Humphrey with an easy target for Nixon. Humphrey is trying to run not on the Johnson Administration’s record but on the Humphrey Administration’s future. With Shriver as a running mate, Humphrey could be more easily tagged with responsibility for ‘OEO’s failures,’ for the OEO programs that set in motion … the riots and so forth.”

  Second, Kampelman told Josephson, the selection of Shriver “would alienate the Kennedy family and their surrounding politicos.” Josephson countered that Humphrey needed to identify someone “who speaks authoritatively for the Kennedy family” and to get “a reliable report of what he or she says.” Josephson told Kampelman that “if, for example, Rose Kennedy, Eunice Kennedy or Ethel Kennedy were asked,” he was “reasonably sure that they would be strongly positive about Sarge’s candidacy.” However, “if Steve Smith were asked, he would be negative.” But why, Josephson asked, should Smith’s views be taken as authoritative?

  At this, as Josephson recorded in his notes immediately following the meeting, “Max’s eyebrows shot up.” Kampelman said that “Steve was negative toward Sarge” and that “Steve and the Vice President had dined together recently.” Kenny O’Donnell was “also knocking Sarge.” Humphrey was influenced by these opinions, Kampelman said, because of “the importance to the Vice President of not losing the enthusiasm and competence of the Kennedy supporters nationwide.”

  Josephson responded by suggesting that “probably Ted Kennedy was the only person who could and would speak authoritatively for the family.” Kampelman agreed that Ted’s views would
carry great weight, not only with Humphrey but also with party leaders like Dick Daley, who refused to give up on the idea of Ted for vice president. The challenge was getting Humphrey and Kennedy together for a chat; Ted was still being elusive.

  When Kampelman brought up the third argument being made against Shriver, Josephson’s “jaw dropped.” Shriver, some people were saying, was a “wonderful man,” a “great human being”—but “intellectually unqualified to be president.” Josephson was aghast. That’s incredible, he told Max. Shriver was one of the smartest people he had ever known. “Max repeated soberly that the argument was being made. I asked for an example of who was saying this. Max declined to give one.”

  In retrospect, it seems quite likely that it was Smith and O’Donnell, along with possible others such as Schlesinger and Sorensen, who were leveling the “intellectually unqualified” charge. Josephson was moved to write to Kampelman, extolling Shriver’s intellect.

  I … have worked for and known Sarge well for seven years, roughly half of my adult life. I am considered to be a bright guy and an intellectual. Yet, I have always had to run to catch up with Sarge. I have handed him large and small issues, complicated and simple, well staffed out and badly staffed out, and he has rarely handled them other than superbly. Sarge has a way, even in the most complicated of situations, of reaching out and picking up the three or four most salient factors pro and con, measuring them against one another and reaching a result. This may well strike some people as unsophisticated, but it gets the issues resolved well and quickly. Sarge’s personality is more receptive to information than any I have ever seen. He will read anything quickly, carefully and understandingly. He is always alert, curious, and questing. Another strength is his ability to participate in the give-and-take that moves ideas down the road to action.