by Ben Shapiro
If Pierce fit this description, it is a wonder that God did not choose him rather than Moses to receive biblical revelation.
Pierce was the predecessor to the TV candidate. He was young; at a time when the Democratic Party was split between sixty-something “Old Fogey” candidates and youngsters like thirty-eight-year-old Stephen Douglas, he seemed the reasonable choice.51 He was pretty. As a New Hampshire man, he fit a particular electoral need. He was also a relative nobody, which is why it took the Democrats forty-nine ballots to nominate him for the presidency of the United States.When his wife heard about the nomination, she fainted.52
Pierce’s Whig opponent was his former Mexican War superior officer, Winfield Scott. Scott, fondly known as “Old Fuss and Feathers,” was already sixty-six years old by the time of the 1852 election. His campaign biographer, Edward Deering Mansfield, attempted the same Washington/Harrison “gray and blind in service of country” routine. He wrote:
The old general, who has fought many battles and never known defeat, who has endured the hardships and toils of two wars, has been drawn from his retirement by the call of his fellow-citizens, and now appears on the political field to gather new laurels, and make a final dedication of all that remains of life to service of his country . . .May the genius of freedom, inspired by patriotism, throw her protecting mantle over the old soldier, and carry him in safety through this his last trial; may the tongue of slander for once be paralyzed; may party spirit stand rebuked before the illustrious soldier, now about to receive from the people their choicest meed of approbation.53
This is rather florid stuff. It reads more like a eulogy than a stump speech. Mansfield made it sound as though Americans owed the presidency to Scott as a sort of parting gift before Scott’s imminent demise.Whereas Harrison gracefully combined the positives of age with a fiery campaign proving his vitality, Scott campaigned on his experience but never proved his vim. He campaigned ceaselessly on his past accomplishments, but rarely spoke of the future.54 He lacked the common touch.
He even had an Edmund Muskie moment. At one campaign stop, Scott was greeted with a 21-gun salute. Unfortunately, one of the gunners overloaded his cannon; it blew up in his face, killing him. Scott was kept in the dark about the incident until a banquet for him that night.When he heard about the death, he broke down crying and had to be led from the room “like a child.” “It is one thing to lose an arm in battle,” he wept, “but, by God, no office in this world is worth a limb, let alone a life!”55
Franklin Pierce won the presidency, largely because of party divides, but at least in part because he was the most attractive candidate. He was not, however, a good president. Harry Truman summed it up well. “Pierce was a nincompoop,” Truman stated. “He’s got the best picture in the White House . . . but being president involves a little bit more than just winning a beauty contest, and he was another one that was a complete fizzle . . . Pierce didn’t know what was going on, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have known what to do about it.”56
THERE HAVE BEEN MANY GREAT presidential nicknames. Lincoln was “Honest Abe.” Reagan was “The Great Communicator” and “The Gipper.” Jackson was “Old Hickory.” Zachary Taylor was “Old Rough and Ready.” TR, FDR, JFK, and LBJ needed only initials.
Then there was William Jennings Bryan. “The Boy Orator of the Platte.”
It would be difficult to come up with a worse nickname for a presidential candidate. The nickname itself connotes immaturity and slickness. It says you’re a big mouth. Better to be “Silent Cal,” like Coolidge, than the “Boy Orator.”
But the nickname fit.
William Jennings Bryan of Nebraska was the youngest presidential candidate in the history of American politics.During his knockdown, drag-out 1896 campaign fight against Republican nominee William McKinley, Bryan turned thirty-six. He was famous for his oratorical skill and his booming voice; he was a rabble-rouser, a class warrior, a direct predecessor to Louisiana’s dictator-governor-senator Huey P. Long. He campaigned on a free silver platform—he wished for silver to join gold as the basis of the American monetary system, a development that likely would have created tremendous inflationary pressure and done great harm to the economy generally.
Most of all, Bryan was known for his youth. Early on, established Democrats snorted at the idea of a thirty-six-year-old presidential candidate. “Here was a young man barely thirty-six,” wrote Senator C. S. Thomas of Colorado, “living in a comparatively unimportant Republican state west of the Mississippi River, audaciously announcing his probable candidacy for the presidential nomination. The very seriousness of the suggestion emphasized its absurdity.”57
But Bryan refused to allow the age issue to hold him back. In seeking the nomination, Bryan relied on his legendary oratorical abilities. The free silver issue provided Bryan with fodder for one of the greatest campaign speeches of all time: the “Cross of Gold” speech, delivered at the Democratic National Convention. During the convention, Democrats debated whether to add a free silver plank to the party platform. Bryan represented the pro-free silver constituency.
“Cheer after cheer went up as Bryan of Nebraska, tall, smooth faced, youthful looking, leaped up the platform steps, two at a time,” the New York Tribune reported. And Bryan didn’t let down his audience. “Having behind us the producing masses of this nation and the world,” Bryan thundered, “supported by the commercial interests, the laboring interests, and the toilers everywhere, we will answer their demand for a gold standard by saying to them: You shall not press down upon the brow of labor this crown of thorns, you shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold.”58 Bryan won the nomination on the fifth ballot.59
Now Bryan would have to sell himself to the general public. In doing so, Bryan embraced his age, making it a selling point. In a speech in Washington, D.C., Bryan stated that the young had the most stake in good government: “I see before me the faces of a great many who are young men, and I am glad to speak to the young, because we who are young, and who in the course of nature must live under our Government for many years, are especially interested in making that government good enough to live under.”60 At Yale: “If the syndicates and corporations rule this country, then no young man has a fair show unless he is the favorite of a corporation.”61
Bryan wasn’t the only one capitalizing on his youth. His opponents used his age to characterize him as a loudmouth radical, all style and no substance. “The Boy Orator makes only one speech—but he makes it twice a day,” scoffed John Hay. “There is no fun in it. He simply reiterates the unquestioned truths that every man who has a clean shirt is a thief and ought to be hanged; that there is no goodness or wisdom except among the illiterate and criminal classes; that gold is vile; that silver is lovely and holy . . . he has succeeded in scaring the Goldbugs out of their wits.”62 The “Boy Orator of the Platte” was aptly named, remarked Republican senator Joseph Foraker. The Platte River in Nebraska, like Bryan, was “six inches deep and six miles wide at the mouth.”63
The Louisville Courier Journal agreed. “He is a boy orator,” the Journal editorialized. “He is a dishonest dodger. He is a daring adventurer. He is a political fakir. He is not of the material of which the people of the United States have ever made a President, nor is he even of the material of which any party has ever before made a candidate.”64
Harper’s Weekly routinely depicted Bryan as a child who knew not what he did. One cover cartoon was entitled “The Deadly Parallel.” The cartoon was composed of two frames, side by side. The first frame depicted a young William McKinley in Union uniform. The caption read, “In 1861,William McKinley was upholding his country’s honor,—and he’s doing it yet!” That cartoon sat side by side with an illustration of Bryan as a baby shaking a rattle while sitting in a crib. The caption read, “In 1861, this is what William J. Bryan was doing,—and he’s doing it yet!”65
Bryan lost the election. After the election, the New York Tribune published one of the most vitriolic indictments of a
presidential candidate ever written:
[The free silver cause] was conceived in iniquity and was brought forth in sin. It had its origin in a malicious conspiracy against the honor and integrity of the nation . . . It has been defeated and destroyed because right is right and God is God. Its nominal head was worthy of the cause. Nominal, because the wretched, rattle-pated boy, posing in vapid vanity and mouthing resounding rottenness, was not the real leader of that league of hell. He was only a puppet in the blood-imbued hands of Altgeld, the anarchist, and Debs, the revolutionist, and other desperadoes of that stripe.
But he was a willing puppet, Bryan was, willing and eager. Not one of his masters was more apt than he at lies and forgeries and blasphemies and all the nameless iniquities of that campaign against the Ten Commandments. He had less provocation than Benedict Arnold, less intellectual force than Aaron Burr, less manliness and courage than Jefferson Davis. He was the rival of them all in wickedness and treason to the Republic. His name belongs with theirs, neither the most brilliant nor the most hateful in the list.66
Bryan would run again in 1900, and lose again. He would run again in 1908, and lose again. But he would never shed his image as the Boy Orator; he remained a controversial figure for the rest of his life. His critics saw him as a perennial adolescent. Upon his death, H. L. Mencken caustically wrote, “He was born with a roaring voice, and it had the trick of inflaming half-wits. His whole career was devoted to raising those half-wits against their betters, that he himself might shine . . . He came into life a hero, a Galahad, in bright and shining armor. He [left it as] a poor mountebank.”67
AT SIXTY-TWO, DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER looked nothing like John Adams. Eisenhower gave the impression of strength. He was determined looking but also genial looking; his eyes contained a stern hardness, but his smile was warm and friendly. Gerald Gardner wrote, “Ike’s face was the most famous one of his day. His grin and his scowl became as much a part of the fifties as Roosevelt’s cocky cigarette holder was part of the thirties.”68
Eisenhower’s good looks made up for his rather ambiguous politics; a journalist stated that “[when he] utters the most obvious platitude, [people] look at that serious face as if they had heard something that ought to be graven on stone and passed on to the third and fourth generation.”69 A Broadway musical capitalized on Eisenhower’s famous good looks. In one scene, a violinist inspected the photographs on a conductor’s piano:
MUSICIAN: Ah—Moiseiwitsch . . .Milsten . . . Piantigorsky . . . Solomon . . . (He picks up photograph and stares at it curiously.) And who is this?
CONDUCTOR: That’s President Eisenhower.
MUSICIAN: Oh. Fine-looking man.70
Like Reagan, Eisenhower embodied the national ideal of politician-as-father-figure. And, like Reagan, Eisenhower was terrific on television. Campaign advertising historian Kathleen Hall Jamieson explained, “Eisenhower’s televised appearances communicated that his image in World War II had been that of the ‘GI General’—understanding, knowledgeable, sympathetic; in short, a wise father. Those who both saw Ike on television and voted for him would later claim that he was ‘good-natured, sincere, honest, cheerful, and clear-headed.’ ”71 But Eisenhower was careful not to come off as too paternal—he refused to wear glasses on television, necessitating the use of gigantic handheld cue cards.72
Eisenhower’s opponent, Illinois governor Adlai Stevenson, was a decade younger than the general. Unfortunately for him, his nondescript appearance contrasted poorly with Ike’s striking looks. “Let’s face it,” one of his aides said to a reporter, “people aren’t thrilled when Adlai mounts a platform. He’s too damn medium. He’s medium height, has medium brown hair and not much of it, medium blue eyes . . . He could rob a bank. Nobody would be able to describe him.”73
Claire Boothe Luce summed up the difference between the candidates nicely. Eisenhower, she said, was the universal candidate—“to older women, he was like a son; to middle-aged women, a husband; to young women, a father.” Stevenson, by contrast, “seemed like a brother-in-law.”74
The political brother-in-law loses to the father figure every time. Eisenhower swept the 1952 election.
By 1956, however, Stevenson’s prospects looked less bleak. Ike was, after all, sixty-six years old; if he were to be elected again, he would serve as the oldest president in American history. And in 1955, Ike had a heart attack. He followed that with a bout of ileitis in 1956.
Stevenson’s campaign seized on the age issue. But to exploit the issue, they would have to avoid looking mean-spirited. As the New York Times put it, “[M]any Democrats think the medical facts make the President’s health a perfectly fair political issue—and their best hope for victory this year—but . . . have no idea how to use it without causing a backfire of sympathy for him.”75 Finally, they decided to run a print ad—an open letter signed by several political notables, urging Stevenson to make Ike’s health and age issues in the campaign.
“Shall Vice-President Nixon assume presidential powers?” the ad queried. “Most men with heart trouble are not insurable,” the ad warned. “Most healthy men over 65 retire from full-time work,” the ad observed. “Most major corporations retire executives at age 65,” the ad helpfully pointed out. “The army will not commission men with heart trouble or ileitis,” stated the ad.76
The age issue had some traction. Polls showed that the public thought that men above sixty-five were too old for the presidency;77 in October 1955, 62 percent of Americans thought Ike would not run again.78 Fully 55 percent thought Ike shouldn’t run again. Still, 56 percent said they would vote for Ike if he chose to run again.79
Ike countered the age issue by taking a page from William Henry Harrison’s playbook—and writing a new page Ronald Reagan would utilize twenty-four years later. First, Ike actively campaigned to demonstrate his health and vigor. He utilized television, as he had four years earlier. But he went further. “The ruddy glow that is so characteristic of Ike simply did not come across in black and white,” opined Allen Drury of the New York Times. “The only sure answer to this was fewer sermons from the White House and more face-to-face contact with the voters.” Ike embraced the strategy with alacrity.80
Second, Ike embraced his age by hosting a nationally televised sixty-sixth birthday bash. Celebrities like Jimmy Stewart, Helen Hayes, and Irene Dunne showed up to honor Ike. The audience was given a guided tour of Eisenhower’s life. As Jamieson described, “The audience was explicitly invited to see itself as part of Ike’s extended family, particularly when the president’s granddaughter introduces a cherubic little boy who carries a large piece of cake to the president. Hollywood stars sang the president’s favorite songs and cut the cake, baked from Mamie’s favorite recipe.”81
The public was convinced. Once again, Eisenhower didn’t need his glasses to see his gigantic victory margin.
AMERICA QUICKLY TRANSFERRED its affections from the oldest serving president to the youngest elected president. At forty-three, John F. Kennedy had already served six years in the House and eight years in the Senate; he had narrowly missed the vice presidential nomination in 1956. Loaded with charm, Kennedy was a media darling. “Kennedy’s candidacy for the nomination . . . will prove a fascinating test . . . of the charm-school theory of high politics,” observed Eric Sevareid of CBS News in 1959. “I do not mean to say that Senator Kennedy has no other qualities; but it remains quite true that his actual works, his practical experience, or his noteworthy utterances total, today, nothing like those of a Stevenson or a Nixon or a Symington or a Johnson or a Humphrey, or, for that matter, a Rockefeller.” Kennedy’s charm, posited Sevareid, “is inextricably connected with his youth . . .”82
Yet, as author Fletcher Knebel simultaneously noted, Kennedy’s age might also act as a damper on his electoral hopes: “The very qualities, characteristics, and circumstances that attract national attention, and thus must be regarded as assets, are at the same time liabilities. People like his youth, freshness, and good looks, but a
re not sure they want that much youth, freshness, and good looks in the White House.”83
Former president Harry Truman publicly and directly questioned Kennedy about his qualifications, stating at a press conference in July 1960, “I am deeply concerned and troubled about the situation we are up against in the world now and in the immediate future. That is why I would hope that someone with the greatest possible maturity and experience would be available at this time. May I urge you to be patient?”84
Kennedy responded by comparing himself to TR,William Pitt, Napoleon, and Alexander the Great.85 He did not, however, compare himself to William Jennings Bryan or Thomas Dewey. Between them, Bryan and Dewey had lost a combined five presidential elections. Youth was no predictor of success.
But Kennedy had two advantages over Bryan and Dewey: television and Richard Nixon. “Kennedy’s young looks are a big barrier to his path to the White House,” wrote reporter Joe McCarthy. “Close up, he appears to be forty-three years old, but seen from a distance on the stage of an auditorium, his slim, boyish figure and his collegiate haircut make him seem like a lad of twenty-eight.”86 Fortunately, television was a close-up medium. Kennedy’s television ads often featured extreme close-ups, focusing on his few wrinkles.
One of his ads explicitly touted his age. The ad quick-cut images of signs reading “Kennedy” with pictures of pro-Kennedy crowds as well as close-ups of the candidate. The soundtrack played a catchy song:
Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy,
Kennedy for me! (Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy)
Do you want a man for president who’s seasoned through and through,
But not so doggoned seasoned that he won’t try something new?
A man who’s old enough to know, and young enough to do?
Well, it’s up to you, it’s up to you, it’s strictly up to you!