Nine Days

by Paul Kendrick

  Kennedy’s staff, though exhausted, were quietly confident by late October 1960. They would concentrate on only nine states, spending two days in each, and visit suburban towns ringing larger cities. Illinois was at the top of the list. Unless he carried Texas and Illinois, Kennedy would not become president. The campaign could rely on LBJ to carry his home state, but Illinois was seen as more of a challenge. Mayor Richard Daley of Chicago promised all would go well on Election Day, but there was a reason this whirlwind through the Chicago area was being conducted under Shriver’s guidance. Daley’s political resourcefulness might not be enough to counter Nixon’s rural downstate strengths, so Shriver’s business connections and local popularity made him a crucial endgame asset.

  The day before King’s transfer to Reidsville, Kennedy had made brief stops in Des Plaines, Libertyville, Barrington, Carpentersville, Dundee, Elgin, St. Charles, Geneva, Batavia, North Aurora, Aurora, Plainfield, Joliet, and Elmhurst. Gallup’s daily poll gave Kennedy a lead of 49 percent to 45 percent, with 6 percent of voters still undecided. Now Kennedy was bound for Michigan. Advance men were waiting for him in Detroit, with rallies planned for Mount Clemens, Warren, Roseville, Hamtramck, and the Detroit Coliseum, after which Kennedy would end the day in New York, past midnight, in another motel suite near LaGuardia Airport. Thirteen days to go.

  Kennedy complained he wasn’t feeling well, with a cold or flu coming on, not that this would affect the day’s grueling schedule in the slightest. JFK had survived a childhood punctuated by so many illnesses that Bobby joked that if a mosquito had bitten him, the bug would have died. He later said his brother spent at least half his days on earth in “intense physical pain.” His litany of ailments—Addison’s and Crohn’s diseases, a disintegrating back (exacerbated by his dragging men to safety through shark-infested waters during World War II)—was a reality his tanned, confident, oft-invoked “vigor” tried to obscure. He received last rites twice, most recently after life-threatening surgery aimed at easing his back pain in 1954. There was no doubt about his physical courage; the question was if he had the moral and political kind.

  Shriver arrived at Kennedy’s suite to join a crowd around the candidate. He felt uneasy at the looks he was receiving, particularly from Ken O’Donnell, the scheduler, a lean and wiry man whom Jackie Kennedy called “the Wolfhound.” Pierre Salinger described the taciturn O’Donnell as a man who loved using one word when others would use five, “and that word was very often a flat ‘no.’” O’Donnell knew there was no need for Shriver to be with them at this stage, so why was he here—what might he be up to?

  Shriver hung back and kept quiet, hoping the advisers would leave. He knew that if he brought up the possibility of a call to Coretta with these advisers around, things would descend into a debate over pros and cons, which Shriver would lose.

  There came an announcement from someone: “The plane leaves at about ten o’clock; we have to pack.” Sorensen went off to polish the next speech; Salinger went to brief the press; that left only the Wolfhound, O’Donnell, in the room. Shriver kept silent as O’Donnell looked at him suspiciously. Reluctantly, O’Donnell left the room to go to the bathroom. Shriver had his brother-in-law alone, but likely not for long.

  After getting into his suit, Kennedy folded his remaining clothes and placed them in his suitcase. Shriver said, “Jack, I have an idea that might help you in the campaign: Mrs. Martin Luther King is sitting down there in Atlanta, and she is terribly worried about what is going to happen to her husband.” Shriver told him about the injustice facing Dr. King and said, “I know you can’t issue a public statement, but Mrs. King is very upset and very pregnant, what about telephoning her?” He went on, “Jack, you just need to convey to Mrs. King that you believe what happened to her husband was wrong and that you will do what you can to see the situation rectified and that in general you stand behind him.”

  JFK had not been paying close attention to Shriver’s plea at the start, but something about it caught his attention. Understanding that his brother-in-law, though far from a sentimental man, could be personally kind, Shriver said, “Negroes don’t expect everything will change tomorrow, no matter who’s elected. But they do want to know whether you care. If you telephone Mrs. King, they will know you understand and will help. You will reach their hearts and give support to a pregnant woman who is afraid her husband will be killed.”

  There was a long pause. Zipping his suitcase, Kennedy turned to him and said, “That’s a good idea; can you get her on the phone?” Shriver whipped the scribbled number out of his jacket and thrust it forward. Kennedy said, “Dial it for me, will you? I’ve got to pack up my papers,” as he placed them in his briefcase. With precious seconds ticking by, Shriver took a seat on the bed and dialed the number.

  Coretta was getting dressed in Atlanta to go with her father-in-law to meet Morris Abram when her phone rang. Daddy King had a practical streak, and he had decided that King needed a white lawyer to get anywhere in the state of Georgia, in spite of Hollowell’s apparent talent.

  When Coretta picked up the phone, she heard Shriver say, “May I speak to Mrs. Martin Luther King, Jr.?” Shriver said, “Mrs. King, this is Sargent Shriver, and I am here with Senator Kennedy. He would like to speak with you; is that okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Just a minute, Mrs. King, for Senator Kennedy.”

  Shriver handed over the receiver to Kennedy. Kennedy said, “I want to express to you my concern about your husband. I know this must be very hard for you. I understand you are expecting a baby, and I just wanted you to know that I was thinking about you and Dr. King.” This was a deft touch; like Coretta’s, his wife Jackie’s due date was fast approaching. “If there is anything I can do to help, please feel free to call me.”

  Coretta said, “I certainly appreciate your concern. I would appreciate anything you could do to help.”

  JFK listened to her brief reply and then said goodbye. The entire call lasted less than a minute and a half, but Shriver was impressed, as he often was, with Jack’s genuine warmth.

  “Thanks, Jack,” said Shriver, relieved that no staff member had barged in during the brief call. “I think that will make a big difference to a lot of people.” Shriver mostly thought it was the right thing to do—it was far from an act of history-changing magnitude—but he was glad they had done it. What Shriver did not know was that Kennedy had already called Vandiver at 6:30 that morning about King and that he had been on the case for some hours by then. Just as Shriver spoke, O’Donnell swept back in, looking quizzically at Kennedy and Shriver standing by the bed, Kennedy putting down the phone. Shriver got out as quickly and unobtrusively as he could before an argument could occur.

  Minutes later, the candidate left to board his short flight to Detroit.

  The staff only began to realize what had transpired under their noses during those last moments near O’Hare, when, on the flight, Kennedy mentioned casually to Salinger what Shriver had asked him to do, a small call of concern, nothing major. Salinger looked at him, sensing possible implications. Walking down the narrow aisle of the Caroline, Salinger told the staff member carrying the heavy case containing the mobile radiophone to get Bobby on the line, now.

  * * *

  In Decatur, a hundred people waited in the courtroom for that day’s hearing. Suddenly sheriff’s deputies burst in, loudly announcing that all of them had to get out. Two anonymous callers said they were “going to blow up the courthouse.” Officials emptied the large courtroom where the previous day’s theatrics had occurred. Judge Mitchell decided the hearing would go on, but with increased security measures and without a public audience. Along with some reporters, Hollowell and the defense attorneys trooped to a smaller nearby courtroom and were searched before entering. Judge Mitchell said at the start, “We all like our Master, but don’t many of us want to hasten our visit.”

  Lonnie King had not been present the day before, catching up on his job, family, and schoolwork, but he came out
to Decatur that day. DeKalb County made him uneasy. When Lonnie’s wife, Alice, and their baby were alone at home one night during the summer, a carload of white men with license plates from DeKalb—off-duty police, they would learn—pulled up in front of their house and shined their flashlights inside. A neighbor eventually approached the car to ask what they were doing, and an armed man replied, “We’re waiting on a fellow to come home. We’re going to lock him up.” The neighbor went to call the Fulton police, but the men drove off. Another night, Alice heard banging at her door around 4:00 a.m. Though his family was unharmed, these experiences reminded Lonnie that he might not survive his participation in the civil rights movement, because “this was an idea that was so powerful … you’re a dangerous person.” His friend Dr. King had been seen as so threatening that DeKalb County sent him off to state prison. Lonnie would not abandon his friend now, and he was there to see if Hollowell could persuade Judge Mitchell to undo that decision. Hollowell was also able to get Dr. Mays, King’s brother, A.D., and Wyatt Tee Walker into the proceedings.

  Hollowell was frustrated, having prepared a writ of habeas corpus to stop King’s transfer to state prison. These documents had to be presented in the county where the prisoner was held, but now Hollowell had a client half a day’s drive away. Hollowell adopted a more personal, raw tone before the court that day. He sought to put Mitchell on the defensive, saying in effect that as a result of his resentment toward King, Mitchell was not grappling with the mistake he made in September, which now invalidated the sentence he was seeking to impose. He kept digging in, stating, “I don’t think the Solicitor could bring in one case, one, our searching hasn’t found one, which shows that there has ever in the history of the State of Georgia, from the time of its inception, been an individual who was sentenced to serve four months on the public works for failing to have a driver’s license. Particularly, particularly, when the man was new in town.” Trying to appeal to Mitchell’s conscience, he said, “Here is an opportunity Your Honor, for you to correct this situation.”

  Solicitor Jack Smith followed, arguing that even if Mitchell got the maximum punishment wrong, what Hollowell was asking for was premature: “At the moment no right of the defendant has been violated. No right of the defendant would be violated until one day after or one minute after six months has elapsed.” Hollowell had earlier criticized his comparison of Dr. King to a kissing bandit, so Smith also clarified that all he had meant to say was that a thief possessing a “nice, courteous and apologetic attitude” was still a criminal.

  Hollowell snapped back, “I can’t think of a more strained and tortuous hypothetical.”

  “Of course I am not considering any hypothetical matters anyway,” Mitchell assured him. “The hearing here is strictly from a point of law.”

  Good, because Hollowell reminded the court that King was not a thief, but a man of the cloth. He made one more try: all for a minor traffic violation, “a man is at the State Prison serving time. I would submit to you that this is too harsh, this is too hard, Your Honor. That this is not in the best of conscience, even though it might have been done with all good intent.”

  Mitchell said, “I am not going to rule on this immediately. I will have to go into the office and do some study on this, and it will be approximately 3 o’clock this afternoon before I sign the order.”

  Of course, King’s legal team had no idea that George Stewart, an emissary from the anxious governor, was waiting to talk with Judge Mitchell. The hearing ended by noon, with another one set for 9:00 the next morning on Hollowell’s bill of exceptions, with the aim of getting King out on bond while an appeal took place.

  Hollowell left the courtroom and told reporters and the assembled television cameras that he had planned to present a writ of habeas corpus that morning when he discovered King’s 4:00 a.m. transfer. Wyatt Tee Walker went out to talk to reporters, too, concluding, “This is a dark day in our State of Georgia, the southland and America. I am fearful of the international implications involved in such an unwise notion by the court of DeKalb County.” He asked every church to pray for a softening of the hearts of those who were allowing this miscarriage of justice to continue.

  * * *

  Waiting to find out from Shriver if Kennedy had indeed called Coretta, an impatient Wofford learned the news from a different source. Picking up his phone, he heard Coretta’s own voice over the line. The lawyer was moved, hearing how appreciative she was of the call from JFK.

  Wofford immediately called Abram, who nearly shouted into the line, “It’s happened, man; it’s happened.”

  “What’s happened?”

  Abram reported that Daddy King had just come to his office, and the old man was nearly in tears at the thought of this sudden new hope. Abram was in awe that Daddy King was so moved: “Kennedy’s done it, he’s touched the heartstrings. Daddy King says if Kennedy has the courage to wipe the tears from Coretta’s eyes, he will vote for him whatever his religion.” Daddy King had told him, “I’ll vote for him, even though I don’t want a Catholic. But I’ll take a Catholic or the Devil himself if he’ll wipe the tears from my daughter-in-law’s eyes.”

  This was a remarkable development. Excited, Wofford asked if Abram could persuade King senior to say this publicly, and perhaps include an endorsement from his son, too. Abram calmed Wofford down, saying King junior was not likely to budge from his commitment to nonpartisanship no matter what Kennedy had done that morning, though they might be able to secure an endorsement from the more impulsively emotional Daddy King.

  Wofford responded, half jokingly, “That’s great, a Martin Luther King is a Martin Luther King: the public will never know the difference.” Abram said he would ask Daddy King to issue a statement. Both were so thrilled that they were momentarily distracted from the reality that King junior was still very much in danger—that a call, no matter how well-intentioned, was just a call.

  The next call to reach Wofford was from The New York Times; the reporter Anthony Lewis was on the line, asking why Kennedy was not doing anything about King’s imprisonment. Wofford knew he could not tell Lewis what had just happened, but hoped the reporter would soon learn more. He guided Lewis toward the story he couldn’t offer, saying that there was action happening in Atlanta, not Washington, and the reporter should be in contact with Coretta King. A few minutes later, Lewis called back to say their Atlanta correspondent had just talked to Mrs. King, but she could not speak further without Harris Wofford’s approval. The onus was now back on Wofford, so he quickly called Coretta to ask if his candidate had told her whether to disclose their conversation.

  She said Kennedy mentioned nothing of that sort. Wofford figured it was fair game, then, to get the news out there; one more nudge should do it. While he imagined the campaign would not be releasing any information about the call, he told her that she was certainly free to say anything about it she wished.

  As he hung up, he and Louis Martin waited to see the results of what they had set in motion. A big story was about to break, yet they had not talked to Shriver since that morning, nor sought guidance from Bobby or anyone else on the campaign. The CRS had been dismissed as idealistic and impractical, but now its leaders were becoming something else entirely: mavericks.

  Louis Martin decided it was time to do something he knew how to do well: utilize his contacts in the Black media. He called the New York Amsterdam News. Its story would detail how it had learned from an “unimpeachable source” that “Kennedy made a series of last ditch efforts to save Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. from going to the chain gang.”

  Not for the last time, Martin and Wofford had ignored the chain of command. The same article explained that its source revealed that Senator Kennedy had spoken with Vandiver about the King case (an assertion likely based on what Martin had heard earlier in the week), and this just as George Stewart was making his delicate ask to Judge Mitchell in DeKalb County. The story would find its way to the national newspapers before the Amsterdam News could break it
in its weekly edition three days later, but for now Martin was using the separation of Black and white media to tell the story he wanted to tell without white voters knowing what was going on.

  * * *

  Back in Atlanta, John Calhoun was still trying to get Nixon to speak out. The RNC’s Val Washington told him, referring to Nixon, “I can’t get to him.” Another operative told Calhoun, “All of this thing is emotional. In three or four days it’s going to die down. Then hit them with whatever you got.”

  Calhoun called the office of Peter Flanigan, national director of Volunteers for Nixon-Lodge, and told an aide who answered, “Look, we have been trying to get Mr. Nixon to do something or say something … just make some kind of statement.” Calhoun reminded the staffer, “[Nixon] knows King. Kennedy doesn’t know [King].” Staying silent would mean that “they are going to kill us.” Calhoun explained that both sides would quickly use whatever they did or did not do for King, either for or against them, so he needed something concrete from Nixon: “I’m going to use it and they are going to do the same thing.”

  The aide said he would get the message to Nixon.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, as the Nixon campaign was traveling across the Midwest, E. Frederic Morrow readied himself for one last effort to get Nixon to act on the King affair. During eight years in Washington, Morrow had largely been ignored, but if he could persuade Nixon to finally move on this one issue, it might be enough to tilt the election. After two months of feeling sidelined, however, he had trouble remaining optimistic.

  All that day, Morrow also kept receiving messages from Black Republicans around the country asking for money to help the campaign, and yet he had nothing to give them—even as Shriver was making a seemingly limitless budget available to Louis Martin for his appeal to Black voters. Nixon’s campaign had resisted spending money on pamphlets for Black voters or doing a telecast for them. And now, with King in the news, the Nixon campaign was receiving more telegrams than ever, including one from Clarence Mitchell, the director of the NAACP’s Washington Bureau, who wrote, “IT CALLS FOR THE STRONGEST CONDEMNATION ON YOUR PART URGE THAT YOU DO SO TODAY.” An NAACP field secretary warned, “AN EXPRESSION FROM YOUR OFFICE IS NECESSARY.”