The Man Who Said No

The big surprise of the convention was the man who said no and meant it. California's big, blond, husky Earl Warren could have had the Vice Presidential nomination. Republicans were sure that he--like Tom Dewey--only needed urging. His last-minute refusal put John Bricker on the ticket in his stead, and raised two questions: why had he declined, and why had he waited so long?

For six months, Governor Warren had been consistent in his firm stand against campaigning for the nomination. But he had never finally shut the door against a draft. Not until the very eve of the balloting in Chicago, when Oregon asked to nominate him, did he give a final no.

Bigger Job? The 50 members of Governor Warren's own California delegation, his hand-picked supporters, to the last believed that he might still change his mind. After the second day's session they gathered in Governor Warren's lakefront suite on the 14th floor of Chicago's Stevens Hotel. The Governor, sitting at the green-baize-covered table at the front of the room, read aloud his letter of refusal to the Oregon delegation. There was an awkward silence. Then up rose grey, dignified Byron C. Hanna, lawyer and former president of the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce. He said:

"We will carry California if you are on the ticket. . . . We realize your duties and obligations as Governor of California, but the national interest is more compelling."

Governor Warren listened with eyes lowered. Tall, white-haired Congressman John Phillips added his plea: "We wanted you to stay as Governor, but now we have a bigger job for you." Delegate Ruth Buchanan, a Glendale housewife, spoke of his "duty to the nation." The words became more heated. There were mutterings that Warren was being a traitor to his Party, and cutting his political throat as well. A freshman delegate, burly, forthright Movie Producer David O. Selznick (Gone with the Wind, Rebecca, Since You Went Away), stopped such talk. Said he: "Who are we to question our . . . Governor's decision? He's just as patriotic as any man in this room." At the end, Governor Warren still stood fast. The meeting adjourned.

The Commitments. Californians accepted the finality of his decision. But they questioned its wisdom. The questioning spread--to the floor of the Convention hall and into the newspapers. There were reasons, quickly understood, for Warren's keeping the Governorship. It pays better than the Vice-Presidency ($10,000 plus $15,000 in perquisites, against $15,000 for the Vice-Presidency), and Warren has a family of six children to consider. If the Republicans lost, he would be nowhere; if they won, he would have the dull, gavel-rapping, Throttlebottom job that only a President's death makes important. But to preside over the destinies of California in the next four years will be not only one of the nation's most important jobs, but one of the most exciting.

In that period California will become in many ways the most significant of all the United States. First, its war job, already enormous, will be vastly greater when the German war ends, and it becomes the funnel through which most of the U.S. war effort will be poured. Second, its postwar problems seem likely to dwarf those of the other 47 States, for its main efforts have been in airplane-making and shipbuilding--the two most overexpanded industries, the two which will probably be cut back the deepest when the war ends. If California can keep its millions at work when the war ends their jobs, then the rest of the U.S., watching California's tactics, ought to be able to lick its full employment problem.

The Decision. But why had California's Governor allowed the "draft-Warren" movement to spread so far, so long? Best guess was that if the Republican Party had really needed him, he was willing to be had. His would have been a stronger name on the ticket than John Brickers. But when Bricker showed genuine Presidential strength on the Convention floor (in the delegates' hearts, if not in their ballots), it became good Dewey strategy to give Bricker the second place. Earl Warren, ready but reluctant to serve, stepped aside. In the months and years to come, he might prove to have lost nothing by his decision.

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