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<text id=93HT1083> <title> 68 Election: The One & Future Humphrey </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1968 Election </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> May 3, 1968 THE NATION The Once & Future Humphrey </hdr> <body> The time has come to speak out on behalf of America--not a nation that has lost its way, but a restless people striving to find a better way. On that characteristically upbeat note, Hubert Horatio Humphrey volunteered last week to serve his nation as chief pathfinder. Eight years ago, he was the first to announce for the Democratic presidential nomination and the first to be eliminated, long before the convention. Now he is the third, and probably the last, entry in a far more bitter contest. This time, no one doubts that he has the strength to battle it out to the end next August. The onetime druggist's prescription for his troubled party and nation is conciliation and unity. "We seek an America of one spirit," Humphrey said. "The time has come to express a new American patriotism." Out in the open, running for himself again, he radiated all the old Humphrey solar energy. He will need it. His Own Man. Apart from Robert Kennedy and Eugene McCarthy, Humphrey has history against him: no Vice President has succeeded to the White House by the elective process since Martin Van Buren turned the trick in 1836. Humphrey is undismayed. Despite his relationship with Lyndon Johnson and his manful attempt to avoid the lassitude of his office, Humphrey inevitably found the vice-presidency frustrating and confining. "One of the most awkward offices ever created by the hand of man," he once said. "It is an unnatural role for an active politician." Even before his formal announcement, it was back to nature for Humphrey last week, and his own nature is to dream big dreams, to spin off grand ideas, to talk persuasively in his own behalf. While repeatedly paying homage to Johnson and the "Johnson-Humphrey Administration's record," he is now investing most of his oratorical capital in what lies beyond. He sorely needs to establish a personal identity again. "I am my own man," he told a West Virginia television audience. "I am my own personality with all its limitations." HAPPINESS IS H.H.H. declared the posters at the Marshall University field house, and H.H.H. had reason for happiness in West Virginia. There, where his 1960 candidacy collapsed in an ignominious primary defeat, he was warmly welcomed last week, by politicians and students, and stands to collect most of the state's delegates without going through a primary. Overspoken. In New York City, he sketched briefly a post-Vietnam foreign policy that envisioned "open doors rather than iron curtains," the "building of peaceful bridges," toward Communist China, new efforts toward arms control, multilateral development programs for the hungry nations. To those who accuse the U.S. of "arrogance of power," he replied that America has nothing to apologize for; yet he used none of the hyperbolic terms that have marked some of his foreign policy pronouncements in recent years. Later he even acknowledged that perhaps "we overspoke ourselves" in promising to "go any place, any time" to negotiate with North Vietnam. While he predicted that preliminary talks with the Communists would get started "in a very short time," the delicate diplomatic situation of the moment gave Humphrey a welcome opportunity to concentrate on domestic matters. Plunging into the South, where as recently as four years ago local politicians could entertain Humphrey only at the risk of their careers, he was warmly welcomed at Oxford, Miss., and Jackson, Tenn. More than 2,000 University of Mississippi students turned out at 11 p.m. to greet Hubert and Muriel at the airport. Next morning he presided at a breakfast for 300 white and black Mississippi leaders--politicians, businessmen, Negro leaders, union chiefs. "Can we not be neighbors instead of strangers in this country?" he demanded of his audience. "The same nation that learned how to split the atom ought to learn to split the difference between black and white." On the Ole Miss campus, he told 4,500 listeners: "I'll take my stand, as I always have, on equal opportunity--and that means an integrated delegation [to the National Democratic Convention] from Mississippi." He also offered some understanding of the white South's feeling of persecution: "I know there are a lot of people who would rather point at you than look in the mirror." At both appearances he won loud applause. "Slumism." At Jackson, where Governor Buford Ellington greeted him effusively, Humphrey spoke of his hope to "guarantee every American child an educational minimum wage." This would include preschool training for all, health and nutritional services in areas that need it, year-round schooling where necessary, a high national standard for teachers' salaries. A new attack on "slumism," he told TIME Correspondent Lansing Lamont, was necessary to get rid of "islands of welfarism." The antipoverty program must be refocused on a few high-priority needs, such as jobs. He believes some form of guaranteed annual income is desirable. The artificial divisions between core cities and their suburbs must be ended. Alternatives must be found to the dreary "grey cemeteries" of public housing. "The modern American city must become a cluster of neighborhoods where the fullness of life is available to everyone." New relationships between local and federal governments must be developed. For the moment, Humphrey is short on details: he has months of campaigning in which to elaborate. He promises a restrained campaign, one that will not infringe on his official duties. But what is restrained by Humphrey's lights is manic by most metabolic standards, and the line between politicking and incumbency may prove too fine for the naked eye. As chairman of the President's Council on Youth Opportunity and a promoter of programs to create jobs for Negroes in private enterprise, Humphrey is already busy announcing expanded plans, among them a 30% increase in summer jobs for ghetto youths this year, new factories in Brooklyn and Los Angeles to employ 2,400. [Humphrey's other official assignments, in addition to being President of the Senate and a member of the Cabinet and the National Security Council; liaison man to local governments; chairman of the President's Council on Physical Fitness and Sports, the National Council on Marine Resources and Engineering Development, the Special Task Force on Travel USA; honorary chairman of the National Advisory Council to the Office of Economic Opportunity; regents board member of the Smithsonian Institution; member of the Commission for the Extension of the U.S. Capitol.] "Whatever we do," he declared, "more needs to be done." Air Force One-and-a-Half. His enjoyment of his new, liberated role is palpable, his optimism unbounded. He is starting late and missing the primaries, but he dismisses those as "spring training, the grapefruit league," necessary only for those who need to build a national reputation. He has already visited 600 towns and cities in all 50 states since becoming Vice President. He will be returning to a lot of them, of course, and to speed his way he has chartered an imposingly appointed Boeing 727 that will replace his aging official Convair. The President flies in Air Force One, the Veep in Two; Humphrey aides have been calling his plane Air Force One-and-a-Half for some time. This week he is scheduled to visit Pennsylvania, Ohio and Illinois. He promises to "fight hard" for the nomination. Until recently, it seemed that no Humphrey fight would be hard enough. His early reputation as a sectional, dogmatic, abrasively self-righteous radical evaporated some time ago, to be replaced by an equally detrimental image as the uncritical apologist for an unpopular Administration. Many have denounced him for out-Lyndoning Johnson on the war. Others think that he is really too nice a guy to run a successful national campaign, too soft to fire anyone who needs firing. Even his power base in Minnesota seemed to dissolve. To some it appears that political evolution is fossilizing his once and future promise. In the TV age, he remains a master of the meeting-hall peroration. At a time when personal political networks count for more than the traditional party organization, he has none to speak of. In an era when a fresh face and youthful persona are worth 1,000 platitudes and millions of votes, Humphrey, who will be 57 on May 27, is the old man of the competition, in danger of seeing his many and distinguished accomplishments of 23 years in elective office dissipated by overexposure. Even to some of his friends, he seems the eternal boy next door, fated to be jilted again in favor of any sexy corsair passing through town. Except that this time the rivals--Senators Kennedy and McCarthy--are already in town, assiduously awooing. When Johnson renounced his candidacy on March 31, the tears that welled up in Humphrey's eyes could as well have been for himself as for his chief. Forced Pause. Then came April. In this year when political bettors would be best advised to try the ponies, it was altogether typical that the expected spring showers of support for Kennedy never fell. Most indicators, to be sure, showed Bobby ahead, but his lead is far from decisive. In the Louis Harris Poll among Democrats, Kennedy actually dropped two points after Johnson's renunciation, to 37%, and Humphrey came in second with 24% while his candidacy was still in the open-secret stage. McCarthy trailed with 22%. What was happening--and not happening--among Democratic leaders around the country was more significant than any single poll. Johnson's sudden pull-out, the new possibility of Vietnam peace negotiations, the upsurge in popularity for the Administration, the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. and the violence that followed, all combined to force a political pause. Kennedy and McCarthy, deprived of their most conspicuous personal target, and with their attacks on Vietnam policy at least partially undercut, were not in a position to capitalize on events. But Humphrey was. "The old impetuous Humphrey," he observed, "would have announced from Mexico City" (where he learned of Johnson's non-candidacy on radio). Instead, he bided his time, dropped megahints that he would indeed run, scouted for allies, tested the air, and found strong breezes running his way. Cocker-Spaniel Cut. TIME correspondents around the country also detected growing support for the Vice President. Chicago Bureau Chief Loye Miller reported that out of 14 states surveyed in the first week of April, significant Humphrey strength was apparent only in Kentucky, Minnesota and the Dakotas. Last week's report: "We find that Humphrey's stature and political delegate strength have multiplied almost magically." St. Louis Mayor Alfonso Cervantes explained: "Humphrey has become seasoned now into a middle-of-the-road candidate. Businessmen like myself can accept him, and he has enough imagination and knowledge of social problems to satisfy the liberals." Both in the South and in the Middle West, Humphrey was benefiting from animosity toward Kennedy and the belief that McCarthy, despite his brave performance, was not getting anywhere. Democratic National Committeewoman Maurine Biegert of Nebraska said Kennedy was now inheriting much of the "hard, calculating, hatchet-man image" that Johnson had suffered from. In Kentucky, A.F.L.-C.I.O. Executive Secretary Sam Ezelle expressed the gut reaction of much of organized labor's leadership: "We remember how Bobby abused us before the McClellan Committee. Bobby Kennedy, with his cocker-spaniel haircut, tries to tell us he's now our friend, but we remember." Surprise. An effort to whip Ohio's 215-vote delegation into a solid Kennedy block has so far failed, and that key state, like Michigan and Illinois, remains up for grabs by either Humphrey or Kennedy. In the West, Kennedy is holding his lead in both California and Oregon, where the last two important primaries will take place. Impressive victories in these, and in Indiana and Nebraska, would give Kennedy's campaign a tremendous lift (Humphrey entered the race too late for inclusion on any of the presidential-primary ballots). In most of the smaller Western states, Humphrey seems well ahead in potential delegate strength. Kennedy has been running into problems in the East. Even in his old and new home states of Massachusetts and New York, efforts to chip away at his support will probably deprive him of some votes. The situation in Vermont seems symptomatic of his slowing momentum. After Governor Philip Hoff declared for Kennedy, a pro-Humphrey revolt almost cost the Governor his own seat at the state convention that will select national delegates. "I'm quite surprised," Hoff said, "at the lack of support Kennedy has generated in Vermont and in the nation." In most of the Southern and border states, Humphrey is the man to beat--but neither Kennedy nor McCarthy can do it. The Vice President may come out of that region alone with 600 votes or more, nearly half of the 1,312 required to win in Chicago. Sudden Centrist. The base of his strength is impressively wide, in terms of factions as well as geography. He maintains good relations with farmers and mayors. Organized labor has already begun missionary work on Humphrey's behalf through the A.F.L.-C.I.O.'s Committee on Political Education, and many big businessmen are friendly to the Humphrey cause. For the first time in his political life, it appears that campaign funds will not be a problem. And if Kennedy has captured the imagination and allegiance of many younger, relatively militant Negroes, Humphrey is still warmly regarded by their elders, who remember that his crusade for their cause has been unqualified for a full generation. Though there is really little to choose from among the three candidates on fundamental issues, Humphrey by his tone and his loyalty to the Administration finds himself the sudden centrist, able to seek a Democratic coalition potentially as broad as F.D.R.'s. He is doing so, moreover, without any disavowal of the libertarian lodestar that led him into politics in the first place. "The nation needs to be calmed and unified," he says. "It needs steady social progress with a minimum of disorder. I offer leadership based not just on idealism but on a pragmatic approach to government. I offer the capacity to blend the different factors of American life into a national mosaic." That many Southern Democratic leaders and Northern businessmen should want to become part of Humphrey's design astounds those who remember him as the symbol of ultra-liberal factionalism. But Humphrey has been more accommodated than accommodating. Son of a small-town South Dakota pharmacist who loved politics, people and poetry, he grew up in farm country where the Depression came early and stayed long. Hubert Horatio Sr., the "town rebel," the Democratic Chairman of Republican Spink County who joshed his wife's being "politically unreliable" (she voted for Harding and Coolidge), the kind of father who sat Junior on his knee to hear Wilson's Fourteen Points and who read Bryan's cross-of-gold speech to the family "at least twice a year," did not bring up his son to espouse pliable convictions. Instant Sword. Young Hubert worked in the drugstore from the time he was eight, watched hard times take away the family's home in Doland, was forced to interrupt his political science education at the University of Minnesota for six years because of money problems, yet battled his way into Minneapolis' mayoralty at the age of 34. Thirty years ago, before they went through their first election, Muriel Buck Humphrey thought her young husband just might be President one day. He erupted at the 1948 Democratic Convention. Having already achieved enactment of the country's first municipal fair-employment-practices law, he was determined to commit his party to a strong civil rights plank. He gave one of the best speeches of his career, won the debate, and thereby helped precipitate the Dixiecrat defection. That year he also became the first Minnesota Democrat ever popularly elected to the U.S. Senate. He charged into the Capitol, flailing with an instant sword at all the accumulated evils of mankind. Says Senator Clinton Anderson of New Mexico: "He went too hard in the old days. He was certain that everyone opposed to him was absolutely wrong. Now he's got tolerance." Style v. Substance. But the world has met him more than halfway. The health program he first proposed in 1949 now exists as Medicare. Nearly all of the civil rights legislation he introduced as a very junior Senator went on the books years later under other men's names. (One of the few significant laws bearing his name regulated habit-forming drugs.) He has seen passed into law several other of his ideas that seemed impossible of fulfillment a dozen years ago, notably the Peace Corps and the Job Corps. Certainly Humphrey mellowed as he became more sophisticated and knowledgeable. And with many of his early legislative goals realized, he has more to be mellow about. He has achieved a rapport with the business community, which has itself grown steadily more progressive and public-spirited in the past decade. In the South, with increasing integration and growing numbers of Negro voters, the views that passed as moderate a few years ago are considered conservative today. Louisiana's Hale Boggs, the House majority whip, confided to Humphrey recently: "I think we've changed a lot, and I think you've changed a little." Hubert Humphrey's change regarding the South and racial questions has been one of style, not substance. As an emissary from the national party, Humphrey last year was willing to treat with Georgia's segregationist Governor Lester Maddox, who is oscillating between loyalty to the party and defection to George Wallace. But in Washington, the Vice President advocated a full-scale Administration campaign for the open-housing bill that is now law. And Humphrey believes additional civil rights legislation may be necessary. No Two Camelots. The Kennedy camp has sought to exploit Humphrey's new ties with the South. Ted Sorenson, one of Kennedy's top speechwriters and strategists, charged on a television panel show last week that Humphrey had already offered the vice-presidential nomination on his ticket "to every Southern Governor." When pressed as to his source, Sorenson insisted: "I know he has." Which governors in particular? "Right across the board." The idea of Humphrey putting Lester Maddox or Lurleen Wallace as close to the presidency as the proverbial heartbeat is, of course, bafflegab, and Sorenson himself later backed away a bit from his initial assertion. But even at this early stage, speculative ticket construction is an obsessive pastime. Among Southern Governors who are believed to have vice-presidential aspirations are Louisiana's John McKeithen and Texas' John Connally. After considerable comparative shopping, John Kennedy chose a Southerner in 1960. But why not choose Robert Kennedy? Humphrey might be receptive to the idea for the sake of unity; so might Kennedy, if his campaign is faltering, for the sake of his own future. San Francisco's Mayor Joseph Alioto, who is backing Humphrey, has even proposed a Humphrey-Kennedy ticket for 1968 with the understanding that Humphrey step down after one term and help Kennedy get the nomination in 1972. A Humphrey-Kennedy ticket would have a certain irony. Humphrey Biographer Winthrop Griffith recalls a scene at the Los Angeles convention when John Kennedy was on the brink of victory. Bobby, a finger thrust at Hubert's chest, demanded the immediate delivery of Minnesota's delegates, "or else." Humphrey poked back and said: "Bobby, go to hell!" Humphrey declared for Adlai Stevenson although he knew it was a futile gesture that might cost him influence later. He is not a hater, worked closely with both Kennedys and could easily do so again with Bobby. But he is irked by R.F.K.'s money, modishness and restoration syndrome. "You cannot have two Camelots," he says. "There was only one. Others can only be pretenders." And there is also the grating realization that Kennedy, who has sought to expropriate so much of Humphrey's old ideological turf, was a rather conservative Harvard undergraduate when Humphrey was already an established liberal spokesman. No Bridge Burning. Another possibility is McCarthy for Vice President. The disadvantage of this pairing, of course, is that both he and Humphrey are from Minnesota. The Constitution does not bar two men from one state running together, but it precludes Electoral College votes of that state from being cast for both men. Thus, if a Humphrey-McCarthy ticket carried Minnesota, the ten electors would either have to split their votes between the two or not vote at all for one of the offices. For this reason, and because of the hard-dying desire for geographic balance--even in the era of nationwide TV and jet travel--no major party could lightly risk running a one-state ticket. For the present, all three candidates have far more urgent concerns. For McCarthy, it is a question of survival. One or two primary losses may sink him, while his victories so far have kept him just barely afloat. Kennedy must restore his momentum, as he hopes to do in the primaries. Humphrey can only resort to more tenuous tactics. He must fight for his share of attention, but not campaign so combatively as to belie his banner as the unity candidate. He must also extend an olive branch to attract some of McCarthy's delegates if the opportunity arises. This is a touchy business, and Humphrey has delicately discriminated between his unequal rivals. He says that McCarthy's campaign "has been decent, honest and gentlemanly," but can spare no kind words for Kennedy. Rather, he has begun indirectly to play on Kennedy's vulnerable points. "I intend to act like a Vice President," Humphrey declares, "not like an aggressive, acquisitive, self-seeking, bridge-burning candidate. I don't run any blitzkriegs. I don't indulge in any arm-twisting tactics." And the erstwhile enfant terrible emphasizes his own "maturity" in contrast with the "emotional binges" of the unnamed opposition. Company Man. Humphrey must also construct an efficient organization. His personal staff consists mostly of Minnesotans with little expertise in national politics. He tried to attract Lawrence O'Brien, but lost him to Kennedy; there is no Humphrey cadre of veteran organizers to match Kennedy's. Humphrey himself, although he was a leading architect of Minnesota's Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party in the 1940s, has never been considered a particularly astute tactician on the national level. In 1956, he openly sought the vice-presidential nomination, ran a humiliating third behind Estes Kefauver and John Kennedy. In 1960, Kennedy did not merely beat Humphrey: he exterminated him. What Humphrey has, as does Richard Nixon among the Republicans, is the affection and indebtedness of hundreds of influential party officials around the country--Congressmen, mayors, Governors, state committeemen--for whom he has campaigned, raised funds and opened many doors in Washington. He must now translate these IOUs into meaningful support. Humphrey has few enemies in Washington. It is a company town and, particularly since becoming Senate majority whip in 1961 and then Vice President in 1965, Humphrey has been a company man par excellence. Forsaking some of his old freewheeling ways, he moved closer to the seat of power. As whip, he had had the intense pleasure of leading the successful fight for the 1964 Civil Rights Act, the Limited Nuclear Test-Ban Treaty and other measures he had earlier promoted. The exchange of office finally paid off by giving him his present opportunity to run once more for the presidency. "Weeping Hawk." It was Lyndon Johnson who opened the way in 1964 by selecting him as running mate, and a significant question now is how much Johnson can and will help Humphrey grab the highest rung. No one in Washington doubts that Johnson would welcome Humphrey's accession--if for no other reason than to vindicate his own Administration's record and to confound his chief tormentor, Kennedy. Johnson also owes it to Humphrey. The Vice President has cheerfully taken on every conceivable chore, social, ceremonial and substantive, political and diplomatic, that Johnson has thrown at him. Along with Secretary of State Dean Rusk, Humphrey has been one of the most persistent champions of the Administration's Vietnam policy, even though his advocacy cost Humphrey dearly among his fellow liberals. Humphrey has been accused of being Johnson's "water boy," of playing Robin to the President's Batman, of "betraying the liberal movement," of being more militaristic than the generals. The latest attack came last week from Robert G. Sherrill, who is publishing an acerbic book on Humphrey to follow his acerbic book on Johnson. In a foretaste published in the Nation, Sherrill implies that Humphrey unconsciously doubts his own masculinity, calls him a "weeping hawk," a "pudgy huckster," and impugns his commitment to any abiding convictions. [Humphrey is indeed unusually lachrymose. He publicly wept, among other occasions, when he lost his bid for the vice-presidential nomination in 1956 and when he lost the West Virginia primary in 1960.] Fairer critics concede that Humphrey's position on Vietnam is consistent with the Vice President's longstanding views on Communism and international security. Many liberals remain good friends. Former Senator Paul Douglas insists that Humphrey has suffered "no corruption of his spirit. He is still the essentially progressive nontotalitarian liberal." Douglas also argues that Humphrey has been instrumental in liberalizing Lyndon. "It has not been a one-sided affair," he says. Even Dr. Benjamin Spock, a leading antiwar activist, pronounces Humphrey the best of the three candidates, except on Vietnam, and says that he mistrusts Kennedy's "ambition." "I support what I believe to be in the best interests of my country," says Humphrey. "That is why I support the President. If I felt I could not, I would either keep silent or I would resign." "(The only Vice President who quit was John C. Calhoun, who left the Jackson Administration in 1832 to battle for states' rights in the Senate.) Triple A-Plus. Only on rare occasions has Humphrey let slip the merest hint of differences with the White House. Once in a while, his old logorrheic fervor would earn Johnson's displeasure, as when in 1966 he commented on urban riots: "With rats nibbling on my children's toes, I might lead a pretty good revolt myself." He also called for a "Marshall Plan" for the cities when the White House was playing down big new spending programs. But generally he disagreed with few Administration policies. On Vietnam, Humphrey has pressed for greater social reform, fewer grand search-and-destroy missions. His usual practice has been to keep whatever dissenting views he had for private sessions with the President. Even in meetings of the Cabinet and the National Security Council, Humphrey felt, disagreement would only invite leaks. Johnson has repaid Humphrey with the highest praise both in public and private. "When I look back at what I did when I was Vice President," Johnson told a recent Cabinet meeting, "I'd have to give myself a grade of B or B-minus. But when I think how Hubert Humphrey has performed, I'd have to give him a triple A-plus." The two Populists from the heartland who arrived in the Senate on the same day in 1949 have been personally closer than most President and Vice Presidents. "My political tutor, my friend," says Humphrey. "We are married to each other," says Johnson. That Johnson wants him to be President has become increasingly evident. The President has appointed George Ball--a Humphrey supporter who shares the Vice President's view that the U.S. must pay more attention to European affairs--as U.N. Ambassador. "It's the first appointment of the Humphrey Administration," said one State Department official, anticipating that Ball will succeed Dean Rusk if Humphrey is elected. While a formal presidential endorsement of Humphrey's candidacy at some point would hardly be surprising, Johnson will probably consider it tactically advisable to withhold it for the time being. Humphrey's main task now, in addition to hunting delegates, is to establish his identity as a candidate who happens to be Vice President rather than as a Vice President handpicked for succession and bound to existing policies. If the Johnson Administration prospers in the next few months, Humphrey cannot help benefiting from the success; if it does not, close identification could only hurt. Hubert Humphrey has been yearning for the presidency for far longer than he has been teamed with Lyndon Johnson. Despite his ritual talk about continuity, Humphrey's presidency might be quite unlike Johnson's. A Humphrey regime would probably be frenetic in its scatteration of ideas--and of money, too, if Humphrey's admitted "looking at the stars" is to be reduced to practical programs. It would be a highly carbonated Government, abubble with exhortation and dialogue, far more open, homely and susceptible to public gaffes than any since the reign of Harry Truman (who is honorary chairman of the United Democrats for Humphrey). A Humphrey Administration might lack the grace of John Kennedy's tenure, but it would also eschew the dourly divisive Johnsonian mood. For Humphrey is a believer in "the politics of happiness, the politics of joy." As he promised even before announcing his candidacy: "We may not win, but we'll sure have a heck of a good time trying"--which is one capacity he has demonstrated beyond doubt. </body> </article> </text>