Harry's Bitter Week

The emotional impact of Harry Truman's hurrah for Harriman had worn off, and it was time for the doughty old man to get down to the hard, cold business of politicking. His first serious move was to invite House Speaker Sam Rayburn and Senate Majority Leader Lyndon Johnson to dinner in his Sheraton-Blackstone Hotel suite to enlist their aid for Ave. With high hopes that a convivial evening and some earnest talk would do the job, Truman produced a bottle of bourbon and, in the long-established spirit of Capitol Hill, proposed that the three "strike a blow for liberty."* But the food was an unfortunately long time in arriving and, although the evening was mighty convivial, a top Truman aide confessed later: "They just never did get down to any kind of conclusive talk." It was only the first of many inconclusive, frustrating experiences in Harry Truman's bitter week.

Truman bought quite a bill of goods from the old cronies who had flocked to Harriman. As soon as Truman arrived in Chicago, such worthies as Indiana's Frank McKinney and New York's Judge Samuel Rosenman assured him that Ave had lined up 450 or more first-ballot votes. They reasoned that such favorite sons as Ohio's Frank Lausche, Michigan's G. Mennen Williams and New Jersey's Robert Meyner would hold their delegations for themselves, at the first sign of firm opposition to Stevenson. They reported that Stevenson's following was lukewarm ("Did you ever see an enthusiastic Stevenson man except for some of those right around him?") and that it would, if Harry said the word, switch from Adlai to Ave.

A Vicious Turn. Disillusionment was swift and savage. In a full day of talking to "customers" in his suite, Harry Truman got only two half-vote delegates to switch. With the Democrats who really counted, Truman got nowhere. Even as he was going up to Truman's suite, New Jersey's Bob Meyner announced that he would have no part of a favorite-son candidacy. And Frank Lausche (who refused to campaign for Truman in 1948) did not visit Harry until after he had promised Stevenson's managers that he would throw his Ohio support to Adlai.

When nobody would hop when he said frog, Harry Truman turned viciously on Stevenson. Interviewed by Publisher William Randolph Hearst Jr., Truman said Stevenson "should have been taken off the platform" when, in his 1952 acceptance speech, he mentioned the possibility of a Democratic defeat. "In politics," snapped Harry Truman, "the other fellow's wrong and you're right. You cannot have a defeatist attitude." Later that day, dictating a statement to newsmen, Truman said he was convinced Stevenson "could not carry a single state in addition to what he did carry" in 1952.* At a press conference next morning, Truman went all the way. Adlai Stevenson, he said, lacked fighting spirit and stood for a policy that was "a surrender of the basic principles of the Democratic Party." He accused Stevenson of aligning himself with "a conservative minority that would be content to act as caretakers under a Republican Administration."

A Clear Surrender. Increasingly, Truman leaned toward the long-predicted Harriman campaign strategy of starting a party-splitting fight on the civil-rights issue as a way to hurt Stevenson (TIME, July 16). Sam Rayburn, already furious at Truman's personal attacks on Stevenson, heard about Truman's civil-rights plans, and began writing out a statement blasting Harry as a Democratic renegade. Then Compromiser Lyndon Johnson moved in, put in an emergency call to Truman's Donald Dawson, told him that Harry had better come over pronto to Mr. Sam's suite on the Hilton's 23rd floor. Truman did.

Sam Rayburn found his fears justified: Harry Truman was all ready to push the panic button on civil rights. Over more bourbon and branch water, sulphurous Sam Rayburn told Truman what he thought of the scheme to blow up the convention -and Harry Truman gave in. "All right, gentlemen," he said. "I'll do whatever my old friend John McCormack wants me to do." Since John McCormack was the chairman of the platform committee that had written the civil-rights plank (see below), Truman's move (skillfully kept from the press) was a clear surrender. That night, sputtering and stuttering from his box in the International Amphitheater, Truman did as he had been told, calling the 1956 civil-rights plank "the best we ever had."

Down the Ramp. Thus Harry S. Truman helped remove the last roadblock from the nomination of Adlai Stevenson, for whom he had clearly shown his contempt. When the roll was finally called for the presidential nomination, Truman sat in his seat and turned on a stage grin while Stevenson's total moved past the magic 686 1/2. "I started for my man too late," he said. When newsmen pressured him for statements, he replied defiantly: "You just want to see if I'm gonna cry or not." Would he campaign for Stevenson this fall? Truman hesitated, his face hardening. "If he asks me," said Truman. "He thought I was a detriment last time. Now I'll find out."

On the convention's final night, Harry Truman walked down the ramp to the platform, faced the delegates -and ate crow as though it were squab. Adlai Stevenson, he said to tumultuous applause, was indeed a fighter, because "he's given some of us here a pretty good licking."

Then he turned to the Republicans and began giving 'em hell, calling the G.O.P. a "bunch of racketeers." When he sat down to hear the acceptance speeches of the younger men who have taken over his party, he wore the fixed smile and the faraway look of an old man, once the most powerful of Democrats, now able to influence only a handful of half-vote delegates.

* A phrase popularized in the capital and still used (in retirement at Uvalde, Tex.) by F.D.R's first Vice President, "Cactus Jack" Garner.

-Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Kentucky and West Virginia, with a total of 89 electoral votes.

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