AS THE DEMOCRATS BEGAN gathering in New York City for their quadrennial convention, they had problems on their hands. The fact that their sitting president was still battling a Democratic challenger at what was supposed to be a show of party unity was symptomatic of the deeper problems plaguing their party. Some columnists were writing openly about the death of the Democratic Party. Judy Bachrach, a columnist for the Washington Star whose prose could make grown men cry, wrote, “About the only thing that makes the Democratic Party bearable is its passion for suicide.”28
All the weeklies and big newspapers were running in-depth articles on Carter, attempting to probe the depths of his psyche and evaluate his presidency. It was revealed that West German chancellor Helmut Schmidt cried bitterly because “Carter did not grasp his true responsibility as leader of the U.S.” The head of Singapore, Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew, told Hugh Sidey of Time that Carter's worldview was “a sorry admission of the limits of America's power.”29 Even members of Carter's own party were quoted speaking critically of the president. In more than three years in office, Carter had never ventured forth to establish a personal power base in the environs of Washington. He was a captive of the White House and his own Georgian culture. He had no friends on Capitol Hill and he resisted socializing with members of Congress. A former aide to Lyndon Johnson lamented, “Carter is alone in this city.”30 LBJ had loved the courting and give-and-take of politics. Carter hated it. Instead of behaving as a politician, Carter comported himself with the self-righteous rectitude of a Baptist minister. Many in his own party despised him for it.
New York had hosted the Democratic National Convention four years earlier, too. Back then, the city went all-out to welcome the Democrats. Streets were cleaned, bums were given the rush and outsourced to other locales, grumpy cabbies turned their frowns upside down, and the weather was remarkably pleasant for the visiting Democrats. But now New Yorkers, suffering through the hot and sticky summer, barely concealed their contemptuous yawns and made only a minimal effort to greet the party and the president who had showered so much largesse on their city. If the Moscow Olympics had a competition for peevishness, New Yorkers would have been gold medalists.
The city would surprisingly be short on the glitterati parties Manhattan was known for, simply because the Carter folks did not engender these affairs. The Georgians asked themselves why anybody would live on an island that did not have good fishing. Besides, it was August, and anybody who was anybody was in the Hamptons or The Vineyard. At one of the few hoity-toity parties held, a man kissed Phyllis George's hand and consequently was kicked in the rear by Carter's mother. “You shouldn't kiss a married lady,” Mizz Lillian said sternly. Pat Caddell was seen escorting Christie Hefner, daughter of Playboy magnate Hugh Hefner, but protested, “We're just good friends.”31
The Democrats also faced a problem of a logistical nature: Madison Square Garden was too small. Fifty-six hundred party officials, including delegates and alternates, had credentials; when divided into the square footage of the floor of the Garden, that left about two square feet per person, according to the Washington Post.32 When the media, security, volunteers, and hangers-on were thrown into the mix, it was shaping up to be one giant can of sweaty sardines. And smoking was allowed on the floor.
All of the White House staff, along with Carter, Vice President Mondale, cabinet officials, and members of Congress, would be on hand in New York. The current joke was, “Who's running the government this week?”33 Special interests abounded on the floor. Feminists (wearing the white dresses of the suffragettes), labor, Hispanics, and gays “seemed to glory in their diversity,” as Haynes Johnson of the Washington Post put it.34 Columnist Mark Shields, a former Democratic consultant who found writing less time-consuming and more profitable, lamented that his party had become dominated by hyphenated Democrats.35
Another small controversy broke out before Carter went to New York. The head of the Moral Majority, Jerry Falwell, had attended an off-the-record session with Carter and other religious leaders. Falwell queried Carter about having “known practicing homosexuals on your senior staff here in the White House.” According to a transcript of a tape Falwell surreptitiously made during the meeting, Carter replied, “Well, I am president of all the American people, and I believe I should represent everyone.” To which Falwell replied, “Why don't you have some murderers and bank robbers and so forth to represent?”36 The White House transcript of the meeting differed vastly from the one released by Falwell, and no one knew who was telling the truth. Regardless, Falwell had provided more grist for the mill among grassroots Christians.
CARTER WENT TO CAMP David to prepare for his acceptance speech. He would not arrive in New York until Wednesday, the day of the vote, as befitting the incumbent. Kennedy, however, arrived in the Big Apple the Sunday before the convention, there to hustle for last-minute votes. To mark his arrival at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, Kennedy's staff selected “Fanfare for the Common Man,” by Aaron Copland, but with so many limousines, security vehicles, and buses in front of the luxury hotel, the scene looked nothing like what a “common man” was used to.37
Kennedy was doing his best to project confidence on the eve of the convention. He called Ronald Reagan to say that if he became the Democratic nominee, he wanted to debate both Reagan and Anderson, unlike Carter, who had already signaled his opposition to any three-way debates. Team Reagan thought it was a hoax, so they asked Kennedy for his private number. Calling back, they found that, indeed, it was Kennedy calling Reagan.38
In truth, Senator Kennedy had no hope of winning the nomination. The Associated Press released a survey of Carter's delegates and found that 87.5 percent intended on sticking with him over the rules-suspension fight, and that 95.5 percent would vote for his renomination.39 In other words, even if the rules were suspended to allow delegates to freely vote their preferences, their preference was still to renominate Carter. It was a myth that Carter's delegates were remorseful about supporting their man over Kennedy. They were just depressed about the general election. Carter was also the preference of Democrats nationwide, 49–38 over Kennedy, according to the newest New York Times / CBS poll. They had previously been tied at 43 percent apiece.40
At the very least, Kennedy and his platform manager, an attractive young activist named Susan Estrich, were intent on making a defense of liberalism through a couple of planks in the platform. Carter and his campaign were delighted to throw Kennedy that consolation prize. What must not have thrilled the president were the attacks that Kennedy continued making on Carter. In reality, all Kennedy could do in New York was damage Carter's chances for November. At this, he did not disappoint. He told a crowd, “We cannot afford to nominate a Democratic candidate who will be quoting Herbert Hoover in the fall.”41 In Democratic circles, comparing someone to Hoover was akin to calling him a child molester.
The rules vote Kennedy had long been jockeying for finally arrived on Monday night. Several of the big states supporting Kennedy passed in the first go-round, and for a moment Carter's men thought Kennedy had something up his sleeve. But like everything else in Kennedy's operation, these states were just disorganized. They were having trouble counting their delegates. Kennedy wandered across the hall to get something to eat.
The result of the vote was never really in doubt. Carter won by 1,936.4 to 1,390.6 (don't ask), finally ending the talk of an open convention. Even in Kennedy's home state of Massachusetts, thirty delegates—more than a quarter of his state's delegation—voted against him, something that never would have happened to Jack or Bobby Kennedy. Conversely, in Carter's Georgia, the president received sixty-two votes while Kennedy got only one.42
Kennedy watched the balloting from his suite with his wife, Joan; his sister-in-law Ethel; his sisters Jean Smith and Pat Lawford; and several campaign retainers, including Bob Shrum. His children—Teddy Jr., Kara, and Patrick—were also there. Even after this definitive setback, some wanted him to stay active as a candidate for the ball
oting Wednesday night. Kennedy made a surprise statement to the media and, in typical Kennedy style, used self-deprecating humor: “I am deeply gratified by the support I received on the rules fight tonight—but not quite as gratified as President Carter.”43
Kennedy briefly considered hanging on until Wednesday, but then abruptly decided to pull the plug on what was left of his campaign. His sisters went through books of quotations to find something appropriate for his remarks but were unable to come up with anything. Teddy no longer wanted to rage against the dying light.
Compounding the frustration and disappointment of the moment was an unexpected reminder of the family's tragic past. Kennedy's sisters, upon their arrival, had accidentally walked into the wrong suite, where a television set was on, airing a special on ABC about the Secret Service. Suddenly the horribly familiar footage from so long ago in Dallas appeared. Eunice Shriver was observed “burying her face in her hands.” Pat Lawford sadly “shook her head.”44 The assassinations of his two brothers also hung over Teddy, and on the trail, with the slam of a door or when photographers' flashbulbs went off, he “winced noticeably.”45
Some wounds would never heal for the Kennedy family. Two thousand miles away in Dallas, the medical examiner tastelessly announced that he would exhume Lee Harvey Oswald's remains to determine whether it was indeed the body of JFK's assailant. A British writer had a book out claiming that the body was actually that of a Secret Service agent.46 It was just another conspiracist the family had to put up with.
JUST BEFORE 10 P.M. Ted Kennedy called Carter to congratulate him on winning their party's nomination. A final indignity came when he couldn't even get Carter on the phone. Kennedy aide Richard Burke placed the call to the White House, and a surly operator told Burke that Carter was “too busy” to talk to Kennedy. Burke finally got to the operator's supervisor, who transferred the call to Camp David.47
A little over an hour later, Kennedy gathered his weary and weeping troops together. The announcement was anticlimactic. “I'm a realist,” he told them. “My name will not be placed in nomination.”48
When he met one last time with his staff, some chanted, “Eighty-four! Eighty-four!” but that was a long way off.49 The supposedly well-oiled Kennedy machine was finally scrapped and the old Kennedy hands would have another four years to get older. Kennedy's 1980 quest was over.
He had spent $15 million over nine months and, according to accounts, traveled in the neighborhood of 300,000 miles in the air.50 He had gotten up early, gone to bed late, eaten on the run, been pelted with eggs, been booed by crowds—only to suffer the humiliation of losing to Jimmy Carter.
Yet Ted Kennedy also gained something. He had lived in the shadows of his brothers his whole life. With this quixotic campaign, he had gained his own distinctiveness, given testament to his liberal beliefs, and though he would never again seek the presidency, he made himself a political and legislative force to be reckoned with. In primary loss after primary loss, he never whimpered, never complained, and exhibited that “grace under pressure” of which his brother John had often spoken. Teddy, before this campaign, had run only in Massachusetts for his brother's old Senate seat. Unlike his brothers, he had not been seen as a serious individual. The odor of playboy privilege clung to him, especially after Chappaquiddick. Everything had been handed to him on a silver platter. Against Carter, however, he had fought tirelessly and until the very end. Though he started out fumbling, he became a crusader who could fire up any crowd.
Teddy's campaign had been fruitless—or worse, as it laid bare the divisions inside the Democratic Party. But this campaign had been everything for Edward Moore Kennedy. Though he lost the nomination, he gained his own self.
CARTER HAD “WHIPPED” KENNEDY'S “ass,” just as he had vowed almost a year earlier, and yet Carter's supporters, with few exceptions, were not exultant, just downright rude.
Roughing up a Kennedy was a touchy matter, as the family had dominated the Democratic Party and much of American politics for years. Personal animosity remained between the two men. Hamilton Jordan conceded as much on the Today show, saying, “Both [Carter] and Senator Kennedy realize that some of the real differences between them cannot be lightly glossed over.”51 Jordan coldly told Adam Clymer of the New York Times, “He doesn't matter so much himself, but his people do.”52 Kennedy took note of the final insult and, as of midweek, still had not formally endorsed Carter for reelection.
Carter now had to pull together his badly fractured party if he hoped to defeat Reagan and fend off the challenge from the left in the form of John Anderson. It would be a monumental task. Carter's emphasis was on “unity,” but Kennedy and his 1,200 delegates had something else in mind.
Carter was due in Wednesday morning. Oddly, he would land not at John F. Kennedy International Airport, as chief executives normally did, but instead at Newark Airport in New Jersey.53 No one knew whether Carter was sending one more signal to Ted Kennedy.
KENNEDY HAD FINALLY DROPPED out of the contest, but he got his opportunity to address the convention. On Tuesday night Madison Square Garden turned into a poignant tribute to the last son of Camelot. The floor of the convention was a sea of supporters waving blue and white “Kennedy '80” signs that included his handsome profile. The noise Kennedy's supporters made was off the scale. The band played an old family favorite, “McNamara's Band.”54
The crowd roared as Kennedy went to the podium at 8 P.M., on time for once. When the din finally died down, the senator opened with a joke: “Things didn't work out the way I wanted them to, but I still love New York.”55 He spoke wistfully of his campaign, saying, “We have learned that it is important to take issues seriously, but never to take ourselves too seriously.”
Kennedy then tore into Ronald Reagan and predicted a “march toward a Democratic victory in 1980.” He offered to “congratulate President Carter,” but still did not actually endorse Carter for reelection. No one missed the nonendorsement.
Seeing that Reagan was trying to cast himself and his party as the agents of the future, Kennedy said, “We must not permit the Republicans to seize and run on the slogans of prosperity. Progress is our heritage, not theirs. What is right for us as Democrats is also the right way for Democrats to win.”56 Kennedy was interrupted numerous times with chants of “We want Ted! We want Ted! We want Ted!”57
He took a populist line, noting that government officials from the president to congressmen to the bureaucrats all had free health insurance, and if they did, why shouldn't the rest of America? He quoted FDR in making the case against Reagan: “Can the Old Guard pass itself off as the New Deal? I think not. We have all seen many marvelous stunts in the circus—but no performing elephant could turn a handspring without falling flat on its back.”
Kennedy thundered that Reagan “has no right to quote Franklin Delano Roosevelt!” This set off a thirty-minute demonstration, despite the efforts of House Speaker Tip O'Neill, serving as convention chairman, to bring the hall under control. Kennedy's address was an indictment of Reagan and the Republicans and a cry for the Democratic Party to return to its liberal roots. The words “justice” and “compassion” were thick through his remarks.
Nearing the end, Kennedy spoke reflectively of his campaign, his party, and his brothers. In true Kennedy fashion, he waxed literary, quoting Tennyson: “I am a part of all that I have met: Tho' much is taken, much abides.… That which we are, we are.… One equal temper of heroic hearts … strong in will. To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.” Thousands of Democrats were reduced to tears.
Kennedy closed with the sort of eloquence his frustrated supporters—and indeed the country—had expected of him from the beginning of his campaign: “For me, a few hours ago, this campaign came to an end, for all those whose cares have been our concern, the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die.”58 With a boyish, almost puckish grin that evoked the eternal youth of his martyred brothers, he waved to the crowd and wa
lked off.
Twenty thousand Democrats exploded.
After another thirty minutes of adoring clamor, they were still chanting, “We want Ted!” O'Neill could not get control of the hall and finally surrendered to reality, signaling the band to play “Happy Days Are Here Again” and “For He's a Jolly Good Fellow.”59 Kennedy had left the podium with his family, but then reappeared halfway into the spontaneous demonstration, to the heightened frenzy of the delegates.
Rendezvous with Destiny: Ronald Reagan and the Campaign that Changed America Page 58