by Lewis Sorley
But others encouraged Westmoreland to get into the campaign, including then–Vice President Gerald Ford, California's Governor Ronald Reagan, Senators Strom Thurmond and Charles Percy, and Secretary of Commerce Fred Dent.
"Kitsy pushed for it," said a family friend, William Morrison. "She wanted him to be recognized in every way possible. She thought he was presidential material." There is contrary evidence in a contemporary letter Westmoreland wrote to his World War II commander, Major General Louis Craig. "Kitsy is not overjoyed about the situation," he said, "but, as usual, she will go with me."
A group calling themselves the Draft Westmoreland Committee launched a petition campaign urging Westmoreland to enter the race. Lee Atwater, then a relative unknown but later one of the political superstars of the Republican party, managed that endeavor. Eventually some 20,000 people signed the petition, enough to provide considerable optimism about the outcome of a Westmoreland candidacy.
Westmoreland couldn't seem to make up his mind, though, first about whether to run at all, and then if he did run which party's nomination he would seek. It appeared that he hoped for a brokered nomination, one bestowed by the party leaders, sparing him a primary run, but that was out of reach. Although for many years South Carolina Republicans had handled things that way, this time they decided on their first-ever primary, and of course the Democrats would also be holding a primary. Lieutenant Governor Earle Morris had talked with Westmoreland about these matters. "I told him the day of the silver-platter nomination is over," he said.
In early February 1974 The State, South Carolina's leading newspaper, published the results of a statewide survey assessing the strengths of announced and potential candidates. Westmoreland was still pondering whether to run, but his name was prominent in the results. "Westmoreland had more than a three-to-one margin of support over other GOP possibilities included in the survey," the newspaper revealed. Westmoreland drew 43.0 percent of the votes. Next was Frederick Dent at 12.1 percent, then James Edwards with 6.4 percent. Commenting on these results, the report noted that "Westmoreland drew strong backing from many white voters, but he had little success with blacks."
Finally, after months of temporizing, Westmoreland wrote to Maxwell Taylor to report what he called his "bold decision to throw my hat into the political ring for the Governorship of South Carolina on the Republican side." There were then just four months to go until primary day. The correspondence files show that Westmoreland also wrote to at least three other people that they were "the first to know" of his candidacy.
Some idea of the campaign's likely tone was provided by a publisher's comment on the decision. "Retired General William C. Westmoreland has condescended to permit the people of South Carolina to elect him Governor on the Republican ticket," wrote Fred Sheheen in the Allendale County Citizen. But a political writer, Robert Liming, reported in The State, on the very day of the announcement, that "most observers predict that Westmoreland will easily capture the party's formal nomination."
The next day, his first on the campaign trail, someone handed Westmoreland a three-by-five card with some advice: "If you don't make it for governor—keep running for President—you will be elected. You need campaign experience." Earlier in the year Westmoreland himself had testified to the paucity of his political involvement. "Up to now," he confided, "I've never even voted."
His campaign literature said that "William Westmoreland has vast managerial, administrative, executive and educational experience" and that he had "inbred understanding of people and has committed himself totally to public service," adding that he held decorations from sixteen foreign countries and had received the Silver Buffalo Award from the Boy Scouts of America. He was going to need more than that.
Near the end of the month someone who had apparently known Westmoreland for a long time (she referred to him as "Childs") wrote to a campaign worker with a suggestion for the candidate: "He should not let himself be 'pop' interviewed by the press which catches him completely by surprise and with no answers." That highlighted one of Westmoreland's most basic problems—he did not know the issues, did not know the constituency, and did not know the arcane workings of South Carolina politics. He was, despite being a "native son," an outsider, and he had not done his homework. Later Westmoreland ruefully admitted as much, saying, "[T]here were certain animosities within the South Carolina Republican Party that I was unaware of to which I became a victim."
THE CAMPAIGN WAS very slow getting started. On 21 March 1974 Hal Byrd, a member of the Westmoreland for Governor Steering Committee, wrote to the candidate to say "I hope that you will soon find the right person to be your campaign manager and state finance chairman." Westmoreland had announced his candidacy without having lined up people for those key positions, and they remained unfilled two weeks after the announcement. The following week, on 26 March (his sixtieth birthday), having announced on 12 March that he was running for governor, Westmoreland "officially" announced his candidacy and then—said a press account—"gave generally vague answers to the questions of a handful of reporters."
Getting organized seemed to be a problem even when it came to basic logistics. On 1 April 1974, for example, almost three weeks after entering the race and with only three and a half months to go until the primary, Westmoreland was forced to respond to a supporter in apologetic terms: "You asked for a bumper sticker and two pins. I regret to say that my campaign has not developed to the point where we have those at this time."
Westmoreland eventually recruited Dick Edwards, a television broadcaster, as his campaign manager. Their first joint appearance, a news conference in Columbia six weeks after the candidacy was announced, was a disaster. An account entitled "An Unauspicious Start" told the story. Westmoreland introduced Edwards, "then retired to a seat in the rear, declining to answer questions about his campaign." And: "Westmoreland wouldn't respond and the best Edwards could do was promise the general would answer the questions later." Commented an influential newspaper editorially: "The general had better find his voice soon. Buck-passing may have worked in the Army, but avoidance of the issues doesn't go over too well with the voters. They want to know where a candidate stands."
In the Republican primary Westmoreland was pitted against State Senator James B. Edwards, a popular Charleston native. "Jim Edwards was a very loyal, hardworking man," said Westmoreland's friend William Morrison. "Westy made a lot of mistakes in the things he said." Charlie Montgomery helped Westmoreland out on weekends. "I drove him in his Olds 98," he recalled. "We went to little towns. Two-thirds of the meetings were in colored churches, in their meeting halls. He would give his speech to a whole lot of blacks."
This was all pretty agonizing for Westmoreland. "I've had difficulty breaking the personal barrier on three items," he wrote to a friend, "—shaking hands with everybody, asking people for favors, and talking about myself."
Political correspondent Lee Bandy commented on Westmoreland's campaign trail demeanor. "Westy was not very comfortable as a candidate," he observed. "He was kind of reserved and kind of stiff, as you'd expect from a general. He wasn't used to taking orders, or to having people push him around." But "Kitsy was a real asset. She enjoyed the campaign. She was more of a politician than he was." Bandy was very savvy in the ways of his state and its political mores, and also quick to size Westmoreland up: "Westy thought all he had to do to get the nomination was to declare his candidacy."1
Efforts to gather support seemed at times pathetic and almost desperate. Writing to someone in Carrollton, Georgia, Westmoreland said, "If you are disposed to throw the [Georgia!] Junior Forest Rangers behind me, I am sure it would be most helpful support and I would deeply appreciate it."
A California firm hired by the Westmoreland campaign submitted its plan on 2 May 1974, just ten weeks before the primary, proposing a campaign budget of $300,000 for the primary alone. Campaign records include suggestions from Westmoreland about people (most of them outside South Carolina) who might make contributions and t
hen (in some cases) the amounts contributed. The very first contribution came from Kitsy's mother, a generous $500. Among the other amounts recorded were $50 from Henry Cabot Lodge, $50 from Maxwell Taylor, $100 from Hugh Bullock, $250 from Nelson Rockefeller, and $100 from Bob Hope. Another supporter is shown as contributing a case of Old Crow (valued at $60). Westmoreland himself is down for $1,000. By mid-March the campaign had, reported its treasurer, raised a total of $2,120. Eventually they reduced the goal from $300,000 to $120,000, collected $126,800, and overspent their way into debt.
Meanwhile Westmoreland was working with Senator John Stennis to have a special bill passed in the U.S. Congress that would "protect" him from a provision of the South Carolina constitution relating to loss of his military retired pay should he succeed in being elected governor.
The catalogue of ineptitudes in the campaign is long. A very late start. A bunch of retired military officers trying to help run a political campaign. No in-state financial support of any consequence. No coherent message. The bulk of Westmoreland's campaign speeches in the files are not finished manuscripts but sketchy notes handwritten on five-by-eight cards. He seemed to have gotten very little staff support in shaping or articulating his campaign theme or stands on the issues. And, perhaps in part a result of competing claims on his time and attention (the memoirs, the house), Westmoreland gave almost no leadership to the campaign, a fatal deficiency in what he was attempting to showcase as his primary asset.
WITH TWO WEEKS to go Westmoreland wrote to an old friend: "I am reasonably confident that I can surmount the primary." Yet, in those crucial closing days of the campaign, he lacked the funds for radio and television advertising.
Then, during the final days of the primary campaign, Westmoreland completely lost his voice. "You would have shared my pride in Kitsy in responding to the situation," he wrote to a friend. "She made three stump speeches in my behalf and stole the show. She was poised, warm with a nice sense of humor." Afterward some people said it was too bad Kitsy wasn't the candidate.
The Republican party, historically almost nonexistent in the Democratically solid South, still had no viable slate of candidates at local levels. Voters could cast their ballots in either the Republican primary or the Democratic, but they had to choose. If they voted Republican, they would as a consequence have no influence on the choice of many local officials. The dramatic outcome of this circumstance was illustrated in Union County, which reported 7,842 Democratic votes versus just 43 Republican in the primary. Two statewide surveys published during the primary campaign in The State had depicted Westmoreland as a two-to-one favorite, convincing his supporters that he was a sure winner and they could safely skip the Republican primary and support their local candidates in the Democratic primary. As a result, Westmoreland's fate depended upon a highly unrepresentative tiny sample of state voters.
The primary was held on 16 July 1974. When all the returns were in, James Edwards had tallied 58 percent of the Republican vote, Westmoreland 42 percent. Even so, Westmoreland had received the majority of the votes in five of the six congressional districts. Only in Charleston, where Edwards had a rock-solid home base (not seriously challenged by the arriviste Westmoreland), were the results overwhelmingly lopsided against Westmoreland. There Edwards piled up an 8,500-vote advantage, greater than his statewide margin of victory.
The voter turnout for both parties was extremely low. There were at that time over 958,000 registered South Carolina voters. Just 320,000 voted in the Democratic primary, another 34,950 voting as Republicans.
A friend wrote to Westmoreland: "I am still at a loss to determine what happened to the 20,000 people who signed a petition asking you to run for Governor. I really don't know where they were on election day, but they certainly were not at the polls."
John Courson, who had worked on the campaign, analyzed the results, noting three principal causes of Westmoreland's defeat: Intra-party fighting which, he said, "political novice Westmoreland was unaware of." James Edwards's "strong, personal following among GOP regulars." And the fact that Westmoreland's supporters, believing he would win easily, "voted in the Democratic primary where most local races were decided." Courson also mentioned how poorly the Westmoreland campaign had handled its finances, noting that "an 'expensive and ineffective West Coast consulting firm' was hired and a large and expensive staff of politically inexperienced people was assembled."2
Shortly after the votes were counted Westmoreland headed for Washington, where he checked himself in at the Army's Walter Reed Hospital for treatment of his laryngitis.
During the campaign Westmoreland, apparently viewing his membership in the Council on Foreign Relations as a political liability in South Carolina, tendered his resignation. He later concluded that the ploy had not worked, writing to a friend after the primary defeat that one of the things working against him was "a suspicion of my political orientation because I was a member of the Council on Foreign Relations. The hard core of the conservative wing of the South Carolina Republican Party, dominated by John Birchers, consider the CFR an organization whose objectives are contrary to the best interests of the country." With the campaign behind him, Westmoreland tried to regain his membership. "I shall bring to the attention of the secretary of the Membership Committee your request to be considered for reentry into the Council membership," he was told rather formally by the Council's president. They never took him back.
The commentary of political veterans in the state, and of the press, was fairly homogeneous in laying most of the blame on Westmoreland's inexperience and ineptitude as a candidate. It began with the basics. "He was very, very deficient in his knowledge of South Carolina politics and the issues," observed Raymond Moore, a former University of South Carolina professor. "I must tell you quite frankly I was never comfortable in a capacity so strange to my experience," Westmoreland wrote to a friend in the election's aftermath. "I have proved to myself that I have no appeal as a politician."
IN THE NOVEMBER general election, thanks to some unprecedented circumstances, Republican Jim Edwards was elected governor. The Democratic primary had featured a tight race between Charles "Pug" Ravenel and Congressman William Jennings Bryan Dorn, with Ravenel coming out on top by fewer than a thousand votes out of more than 300,000 cast. In a runoff held two weeks later, Ravenel topped Dorn, this time by a larger margin, to win the nomination.
Then a bizarre twist occurred. Ravenel had spent a number of years on Wall Street, where he amassed a fortune, before returning to South Carolina. Now a lawsuit was filed charging that he was not eligible to become governor because he failed to meet the constitutional requirement of having been a resident of the state for five consecutive years before the election. That challenge was upheld in the state Supreme Court, and the U.S. Supreme Court declined to overrule. Ravenel was disqualified with just over a month remaining until the general election.
The Democrats, understandably in some disarray, caucused and decided to resurrect their runner-up, Congressman Dorn, who of course had to restart his campaign more or less from scratch, and with not very satisfactory results. That allowed Jim Edwards, the Republican, who had all along been running a vigorous campaign, to prevail in November by a margin of some 17,000 votes of over half a million cast. It was an extraordinary accomplishment in an overwhelmingly Democratic state.
Writing to Governor John Rhodes of Ohio, Westmoreland gave his successful opponent a lukewarm endorsement: "Jim Edwards, a dentist, ran a very skillful campaign and he should make an excellent governor but will need a great deal of support." Surely Westmoreland was not unaware that the dentist was also a highly respected and experienced state senator.
WHEN WESTMORELAND'S CAMPAIGN was over there remained bills to pay. He received a number of dunning letters, including one from a woman who said she had been hired by the campaign for telephone work but never been paid. "I regret the delay in paying you," Westmoreland responded. "I have found politics most confusing and raising funds and paying bills has
been most frustrating."
Westmoreland's very close friend from childhood days, Conrad Cleveland, was serving as campaign treasurer, and it was not easy duty. Negotiating a partial payment to one creditor, Cleveland wrote: "We regret that the disastrous end of the campaign so bankrupted us as to make no further settlement possible."
Senator Barry Goldwater came to Columbia for a fund-raising dinner to help retire the campaign debt. Half the proceeds would go to the successful Republican candidate, James Edwards, said a press account, the other half to Westmoreland, "whose loss to Edwards in the July primary stunned outsiders." At least a year and a half after the campaign Cleveland rendered a report on the current status of efforts to raise funds to pay off the remaining debts. "Looks like we are beginning to see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel!" he said with obvious relief. That proved to be premature.
The California political consulting firm had been both expensive and worthless. Cleveland, saying that he and Westmoreland agreed that "their guidance of the campaign was disastrous," described a computerized letter sent by the firm to 50,000 people at a cost of $10,825: "From 50,000 letters, 52 return envelopes were received, 45 of these were empty or negative, and seven contained contributions to a total of $67.00!"
The campaign lagged in paying the consultants, who finally took the matter to court, rejecting proposals to settle for payment of less than the full amount owed. As the case was about to go to trial, the campaign's attorney wrote to Westmoreland and several associates to describe the situation. "We have a problem, from the standpoint of jury appeal," he said, in that our own campaign treasurer will testify that the amount "was justly owed and that the primary reason for the settlement was lack of funds." Thus "I greatly fear" that we will not be able to avoid payment of the amounts claimed "when it is developed that all other debts of the campaign were paid, including money advanced by General Westmoreland."3 Confronted with those realities, Westmoreland and the campaign decided to pay up, to the relief of their attorney. "I think this relieves you Gentlemen of lost time and perhaps some embarrassment from having this case publicized in the newspapers," he said.4 It was January 1977, two and a half years after the primary.