The Third Man

While Taft and Eisenhower dueled on the front pages for headlines and votes, the third man bustled quietly around the country. Tennessee's Democratic Senator Estes Kefauver, coonskin cap a-perk on his head, pretty wife smiling at his side, was convincing thousands at the fork of the crick that he was THE Democratic candidate for the presidency. In the five weeks since carrying the New Hampshire primary, he had proved himself a truly magnificent handshaker, fried chicken eater, baby admirer, Kiwanis hypnotizer and a past master of the big platitude.

Kefauver exuded energy, good will and sincerity. His corn came out cornflakes, full of modern, vitaminized pop, crackle and snap. He was a serious fellow, who seemed only to slap backs and ride kids' bicycles because he is warm and human and not stuck up, and likes people. The Democratic professionals in Washington were horrified. Last week, no longer able to pooh-pooh Kefauver as an amateur and an upstart, they were taking serious steps to stop him at any cost.

The Favorite Sons. Their strategy was simple. Unable at the moment to match him with a worthy competitor, they planned to grab the balance of power by nurturing a long list of favorite sons--among them Averell Harriman in New York, Governor Paul Dever in Massachusetts, Governor G. Mennen ("Soapy") Williams in Michigan, Vice President Alben Barkley in Kentucky--who could be counted on to keep their state delegations on ice, out of Kefauver's reach.

Meanwhile, having raced unopposed through the Illinois primary, Kefauver headed west to campaign, wearing the air of a man who had no doubts at all about his fitness to serve as President. He visited Hollywood studios (and gave Actor George Montgomery a coonskin cap to wear as Daniel Boone in The Pathfinder), shook hands with 1,500 Democrats at a San Francisco box supper, and not only soothed audiences with generalities but stood up and took a stand on some controversial issues.

Despite the fact that California is an oil state, Kefauver declared himself against the Tidelands oil bill. And he said he was in favor of telling the Chinese Communists to put up or shut up about peace in Korea, and of chasing them across the Yalu if they didn't sign on the dotted line after a reasonable period.

No Favors Wanted. When he was asked about the Stop Kefauver drive, Kefauver didn't blink an eye. "I have heard no such report," he said blandly, "and I discount it. The National Committee is supposed to keep a hands-off policy in relation to candidates, and as far as I know, is doing that. I ask no favors . . . and this is as it ought to be."

For all Kefauver's brave words, the thought of one favorite son in particular hung heavy over his head. Illinois' Governor Adlai Stevenson (who handily won renomination last week) was still trying to make up his mind as to whether he would be a presidential candidate. But he had promised to "clarify" his position some time this week. If the clarification meant yes, Stevenson would become the first real roadblock between Kefauver and the Democratic nomination.

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