On, Wisconsin

For all that Wisconsin's voters could see of the political world, there were only two Democrats who mattered. For six weeks Minnesota's Hubert Humphrey and Massachusetts' John Kennedy had been waging the battle of their political lives from Superior to Fond du Lac. Kennedy's 70-year-old mother Rose, flanked by a bevy of daughters, left no Kaffeeklatsch unpercolated; Muriel Humphrey passed out thousands of copies of her celebrated recipe for beef soup. Brother Ted Kennedy gamely made the first ski jump of his career for the cause, and Brother Bob, erstwhile counsel of the Senate's Mc-Clellan Committee, told bug-eyed audiences of farmers his hair-raising tales of the sinister labor racketeers.

The Humphreys' Hubert Jr., 17, Rob ert, 16, Dougie, 12, and Nancy, 21, peddled buttons and literature up and down Main streets. Virtually all officialdom from Humphrey's Minnesota, led by Governor Orville Freeman, swept across the border to campaign for their man. The two candidates themselves kept up a grueling, sun-up-to-midnight schedule, attracted increasing swarms of voters wherever they went. This week, as the campaign rocketed toward the April 5 finish line, the fighting was getting rough.

Drumfire. Concentrating on Wisconsin's farmers, Humphrey kept up a steady drumfire aimed at Kennedy's early Senate record of voting against farm supports. "I didn't get this election-day religion," he told a rustic audience at the Dodgeville courthouse. "I've been fighting this farm fight since the first day I went to Congress." There was evidence that the attack was beginning to hurt. "Your man

Kennedy voted for Benson's farm program 27 times," an angry farmer told Kennedy Aide Lem Billings. "It says so right here." And he pointed to a Humphrey brochure. Despite cries of "foul" from Governor Gaylord Nelson and Senator William Proxmire, Humphrey pressed the attack. Crowed he, pushing back from a Humphrey Family Day bean feed in Wausau's Newman High School cafeteria: "I feel like I just swallowed two tons of vitamins."

Kennedy's saturation campaign was a political wonder. Few towns with a population of more than 300 went unvisited by at least one member of Clan Kennedy, and most of them had three or four return visits. Wherever Jack went, the crowds followed him in Pied Piper numbers--and many of the faces were new. A lively turnout of 4,000 flowed into Milwaukee's Schroeder Hotel one afternoon to look the shockheaded Easterner over and to shake his hand. Said an awed politician: "I didn't recognize a fraction of them, and I know most of the Democrats in the district." Added a leading Democrat: "If you were to limit this election to habitual Democrats, Humphrey would probably win. But all the fringe interest has been with Kennedy; the glamour, the hard campaigning by the family, have brought out a whole new crop of voters."

Thunder. Nearly all of the political prognosticators and pollsters gave Kennedy the nod, predicted he would carry a majority of the ten election districts and a plurality of the popular vote--with a good chance to sweep the entire state. At week's end, Kennedy was holding strong in the populous urban areas (Milwaukee's South Side was expected to give him a large enough plurality to carry the statewide popular vote). Wisconsin's Roman Catholics (30% of the electorate) were enthusiastically behind him, and neutral politicos guessed that many Catholic Republicans would cross over in the primary to vote for him--possibly to crimp uncontested Republican Dick Nixon's expected 300,000 G.O.P. votes. Yet there were few signs of Protestant resentment of Kennedy on religious grounds. Said a militant Lutheran minister: "I meet very few Protestants who are concerned about Kennedy becoming President. But if he gets nominated, it could be different."

Moreover, Kennedy had made notable progress in areas that the Humphrey forces had hoped to preempt. Kennedy's own man-killing campaign among the farmers showed some results; farmers who were impressed by Humphrey's fealty to price supports were also impressed by Kennedy's stand against union racketeering--underscored by Teamster Boss Jimmy Hoffa's hate-Kennedy drive in Wisconsin. Top labor leaders were still solidly pro-Humphrey, but the Kennedy drive worked hard on the shop stewards and the rank and file.

Reveling in the primary spotlight as never before, Wisconsin braced itself for a record turnout of 900,000 voters or more.

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