The Big Decision

The words sizzled over the press wires like electric shock impulses, and the reaction to them was as startled as if the word had come from Mars, not Albany, N.Y. Said the statement of Nelson Aldrich Rockefeller: "I am not, and shall not be, a candidate for nomination for the Presidency." Through the Statehouse in Albany, through the lower levels of the elaborate Rockefeller political headquarters on Manhattan's West 55th Street, in G.O.P. headquarters in Washington, and on out along the political circuit, the first reaction was one of disbelief.

True, the ebullient, fast-moving Governor of New York had reserved the hopeful's right to insist that he had not made up his mind. True, he had said that he would announce his intentions by the first week in January. But for six months Nelson Rockefeller had effectively convinced friends and rivals that he was in the race for the Republican nomination for keeps, and would not be out until, and unless, he was counted out--by the public, in this spring's state primaries or by the delegates to the G.O.P. convention next July 25.

Also, he had traveled thousands of miles from coast to coast, promoting his candidacy for all it was worth. Rockefeller-for-President Clubs had bloomed, with Rocky's beaming blessing, in a dozen states. And only a fortnight before he had swung through the Midwest, Texas, Oklahoma and Florida trying to convince likely Republicans that they should risk their political necks by backing him.

Careful Sidestepping. Yet it was all true. Rocky had decided to call it quits in time to keep his name from being entered in the March New Hampshire primary. And the tone of his statement was as eyebrow raising as his decision to back down. He skirted any pledge of support for his only rival, Vice President Richard Nixon, insisted broadly that the G.O.P. is headed for a closed convention. His campaign trips, said Rockefeller, "have made it clear to me . . . that the great majority of those who will control the Republican convention stand opposed to any contest for the nomination. Therefore any quest of the nomination on my part would entail a massive struggle--in primary elections throughout the nation demanding so greatly of my time and energy that it would make impossible the fulfillment of my obligations as Governor of New York."

At the same time Rockefeller squelched any lingering hopes of a Republican "dream ticket"--Nixon and himself: "Quite obviously. I shall not at any time entertain any thought of accepting nomination to the Vice Presidency, even if the honor were offered . . ." Although sources close to Rockefeller swore that he was friendly to Nixon, Rocky's statement indicated that he was ready to serve as a witness for the prosecution of the Eisenhower Administration. "I am a Republican--seriously concerned about the future vigor and purpose of my party . . . Neither of our great parties can hope to meet the issues and opportunities of the future merely with the devices and programs of the past ... I shall speak with full freedom and vigor on these issues that confront our nation and the world."

Canceled Trip. The Nixon forces, braced for a rugged New Hampshire campaign, were at first disbelieving, then jubilant when they heard the bulletins. Nixon himself was at home preparing to take his children and his 14-year-old nephew, Donald Nixon, to a museum when the news came. He canceled the trip, stuck close to his radio, then went to work on a gracious statement. "Governor Rockefeller," he wrote, "has made an excellent impression in the states he has visited in the past few months. People throughout the nation have recognized him as a leader of national and international stature. Regardless of his decision, he is a man destined for continuing leadership in the Republican Party and the nation in the years ahead." But the Nixonites did a slow burn as they began to study the complete text. "It's a real kick in the stomach," said a pro-Nixon Cabinet member. They stewed most over the charge that the Republican convention was "controlled" on Nixon's behalf, saw Rocky's charge as a major break for the Democrats.

"Command Decision." Stunned Democrats were slow to react. For the first time in Washington memory, Minnesota's Hubert Humphrey was speechless. California's Governor Edmund G. ("Pat") Brown soon weighed in with a statement that "the conservatives are in complete charge." Adlai Stevenson lamented that Rocky's decision had left everything to Vice President Nixon: "Whether he is to be the new Nixon or the old Nixon, he remains the same Nixon." Stevenson praised Rockefeller as a "forward-looking liberal." It was clear that as far as the Democrats were concerned, nothing became Rocky's candidacy like his leaving of it.

Rockefeller himself headed for his wife's family home in a Main Line Philadelphia suburb, grinningly refusing to expand on his "command decision." Why had he done it? One possible reason was that the latest batch of polls from New Hampshire showed him running a dismal 15% to Nixon's 75%, with the rest of the vote scattered over other candidates. Also, he was about to head into a new session with his state legislature, and some upstate Republicans, solid for Nixon, had threatened to give Rockefeller embarrassing trouble at home (adding to the circumstance that Tom Dewey and other Manhattan G.O.P. bigwigs had cold-shouldered him). Insiders reported that Rocky had all but decided to bow out before starting on his Midwestern trip, had even authorized a preliminary draft of his exit lines. Apparently the results of the trip did nothing to change his mind.

Loyal Rockefeller partisans refused to see the withdrawal as a retreat. They dreamed headily that somewhere along the line Dick Nixon might stub his toe, that the Administration's gambles on foreign policy might fall apart and that delegates would call for a Rockefeller draft at the Chicago convention. Beyond that they had another dream: that somehow Nixon might get defeated in 1960. Presumably that would finish Nixon and open up to Rockefeller the vista of 1964.

But such dreams ignored a jarring fact that was plain to all. In the here and now of the 1960 campaign, Rockefeller had left the field before a shot had been fired.

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