Problem Child

What happened to Arthur Vandenberg? Only two days before the delegates streamed into Philadelphia, a poll of 815 U.S. editors had shown him as a lengths-ahead favorite for the nomination. Why did his boom collapse?

The clear, cold fact was that Arthur Vandenberg could not make up his mind. He was "available" for the nomination --on his own terms--but discouraged his followers by refusing to give them any help. He had allowed his candidacy to be stated, but he had declared that no candidate was ever chosen without "conniving," and he seemed determined not to connive.

"Nothing to Say." When he arrived with his wife at a secluded hideaway at 250 South 18th Street, he told newsmen: "My personal attitude toward the nomination remains the same as always. I shall have nothing further to say upon the subject."

His followers were encouraged when he appeared at Convention Hall on opening night, strode to the end of the platform and waved to the crowd. They thought--and hoped--that it would set off the first of many public demonstrations which would set in motion an irresistible Vandenberg boom--a la Willkie in 1940. The demonstration was a dismal flop.

After that, Van locked himself up in his apartment, emerged briefly for a session of picture-taking with Mrs. Vandenberg in nearby Rittenhouse Square (see cut). Swiftly his campaign came to a stop, despite the devoted, if amateurish, efforts of son Arthur Jr., Michigan's National Committeeman Arthur Summerfield and Governor Kim Sigler. Without some help, there was nothing more they could do. Admitted Sigler glumly: "Senator Vandenberg refuses even to talk with candidates and delegates. The only thing he will talk about is the platform."

The result was a rumble of disgruntled protests from the very men who had been counted on to put Vandenberg over. New Jersey's Governor Alfred Driscoll was brusquely rebuffed when he tried to talk with Van about delegate strength. He hinted that he could not keep chasing a will o' the wisp forever. Connecticut's Senator Raymond Baldwin grew increasingly restless. Pennsylvania's Governor Jim Duff could no longer hold a majority of his faction-torn delegation.

Mrs. Vandenberg did not help matters when she admitted at a press conference that "I have said forty-eleven times that I do not want him nominated." On his first and only appearance at Michigan headquarters, Arthur Vandenberg said: "I know I am a problem child for you but I set my course a year ago and must steer it to the finish."

No Choice. Then he switched his course again at the last minute, and permitted Governor Sigler to present his name formally to the convention. But by that time it was too late. New Jersey had already swung to Dewey. Senator Leverett Saltonstall had stolen the bulk of Massachusetts' delegates from under Henry Cabot Lodge's nose. Connecticut was looking for a bandwagon. The rush to Dewey was on.

Arthur Vandenberg had deliberately frittered away his chances. Why? The Presidency is an honor few men would willingly forgo. It was an honor Vandenberg himself had hoped for in 1936 and in 1940, when his chances of winning the election were considerably less. But his own position in history was now secure, his age (64) and his health (a "slow heart") might be severely tried by the burdens of the White House. It was a choice he could not bring himself to make.

No Regrets. On the final night, as he sat before a television screen with his family and the New York Times's James Reston, he said: "I don't suppose anybody will believe me now, but the truth is I'm pleased and relieved. Right now I'm drawing my first really relaxed breath in a year."

The decision which he would not make himself had been taken out of his hands. Said he reflectively: "Before I go, let's look at my assets. I'm happy and I've made a little dough." Then, with a grin, he added: "Four years ago in Chicago, George Allen [Harry Truman's ex-White House jester] bet me $100 I'd be nominated. Six months ago [the New York Times's Arthur Krock bet me $10 I'd be nominated and accept the nomination. Don't let me forget to collect on those guys."

Later that night, cool and resplendent in a crisp straw hat and double-breasted suit, big, grey Arthur Vandenberg ambled contentedly over to the Bellevue-Stratford to congratulate Tom Dewey.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.