The New Rules of Play

(See Cover)

For George Romney it was the final indignity: never in his lurching pursuit of the presidential nomination had he created the impact wrought in the five minutes he took to end the quest. Seldom, in fact, has any political announcement detonated such shock waves or so rapidly reversed the positions of two men--in this case, Romney and Nelson Rockefeller. But the result for the Republican Party last week was clarification rather than confusion. Now, at last, the G.O.P. can focus on a choice between its two strongest alternatives: New Yorkers Rockefeller and Richard Nixon.

Within hours of Romney's rocketing exit, Nixon and Rockefeller were adjusting to the new rules of play. Nixon, the sole surviving announced candidate of stature, had been cruelly deprived of an easy victim in at least three primaries: New Hampshire, Wisconsin and Nebraska. He had to find someone--or something--to run against and prove his ballot-box muscle. But Nixon's status was clear, his rhetoric free of cloying coyness, his organization smoothly functioning. For Rockefeller, the adjustment was far more complex.

Quasi Candidacy. After a brief but foredoomed effort to linger in noncandidacy, Rockefeller announced: "I am not going to create dissension within the Republican Party by contending for the nomination, but I am ready and willing to serve the American people if called." He then held a press conference in which he attempted to define the limits of what might be termed quasi candidacy. He insisted that he would not enter any primaries because to do so would promote dissension, but said he would not discourage write-in campaigns. He will not build up a "large organization," but "if some group wants to go out and organize, that's part of a draft effort. With me, that's O.K."

On what basis might the party draft him? "I would expect now to speak out on matters of importance to the American people"--including Viet Nam--"at the proper time." As recently as Oct. 17, Rockefeller had declared: "I don't want to be President." Had the old yen returned? "If that is what the party would like and they feel I can do the job, yes." Why this new availability? "I felt I had to make some response to the action taken by Romney. But I am not the type of person who acts instantly. Things evolve with me."

Premature Exposure. It may have been the fastest evolution in political history. Since he won his third term as Governor in 1966, Rockefeller and his closest advisers have believed that any overt move for the G.O.P. presidential nomination would 1) foreclose any hope of his winning it, and 2) seriously damage any other moderate candidate's chance. During a 1966 post-election vacation at Dorado Beach, Puerto Rico, Rockefeller outlined a plan to fuse factions in the national party from the center leftward in a "consensus" that would provide "practical alternatives to the present Administration" in both policies and a candidate. The 25 Republican Governors (now 26) were to be the spearhead of the movement, and Rockefeller soon settled on Romney as its beneficiary. Rockefeller believed himself incapable of filling that function.

While the Dorado Beach strategy did not take the mainland by storm, it was a viable working plan as long as Romney remained afloat. But premature and excessive exposure, clumsy articulation of ideas and downright ineptness, especially the "brainwashing" blooper, dissipated his early popularity. After his withdrawal, Romney volunteered that he had entered the competition before fully developing his positions.

Futile Flapping. While Romney's prospects deteriorated, Nixon's expanded. Rockefeller reacted by inching away gradually from pledges not to run. He expected Romney to stick it out through the New Hampshire primary next Tuesday, and Wisconsin's on April 2. The miscalculation was enormous. Romney was heading not merely for defeat in New Hampshire but for annihilation. His staff was making thousands of phone calls and sending out thousands of letters to assemble audiences of 200. The "home headquarters" approach that seemed so folksy at first turned into a trap for the candidate, consuming his time and energy with little return. Starting out far behind Nixon in the early polls, Romney relied heavily on handshaking and crowd pleasing to recoup. Said his state campaign manager, William Johnson: "We flapped our wings and stood on our heads. Nothing helped."

By the beginning of last week, the Michigander's own opinion sampling and other polls showed Romney trailing by 6 and 7 to 1 (see box overleaf). The aroma of failure would make delegate-foraging in non-primary states difficult. Romney's campaign had already cost $1,000,000 by the estimate of National Campaign Manager Leonard Hall, and would have required $2,000,000 more by the August convention; yet contributions were becoming scarce. Johnson, Hall and other Romney advisers decided that withdrawal was the only feasible course; no recovery seemed possible in Wisconsin, Nebraska or Oregon. They relayed their prognosis to the candidate in a late-night meeting at Boston's Ramada Inn. Romney slept on it, and by the time he finished breakfast next morning his mind was made up to quit.

Twin Double Cross? Word of the decision trickled out by early afternoon as the National Governors' Conference was gathering in Washington. Romney made it official by reading a 387-word statement to reporters when he arrived in the capital. Perhaps because of the relief he felt after a long ordeal, he performed more gracefully than he had on most occasions during his 102 days of declared candidacy and during the earlier buildup. He candidly admitted failure to attract the support he needed, blamed no one for his troubles. He timed his announcement when he did, he said, because the Republican Governors were not scheduled to meet again until June and "it is desirable that they be able to act now or make plans to do so" on the question of a candidate. He singled out Rockefeller for special praise ("He has asked nothing of me and has given more than I have asked") but withheld an endorsement.

The announcement loosed a flood of excitement. Conspiracy theories took wing like a fallout of finches. Barry Goldwater I-told-you-so-ed: "Romney was nothing more than a stalking-horse for Rockefeller." Some seers deduced that Rockefeller had stabbed Romney the previous week by admitting that he would accept a draft. Others whispered that it was a twin double cross: Romney quitting early enough to wreck Rockefeller's timetable in retaliation for Rockefeller's supposed duplicity. No one, of course, could substantiate anything, and the speculation was subsiding as the shock wore off.

What did not subside was the suddenly overwhelming pressure on Rockefeller. Upon landing in Washington minutes after the Romney announcement, Rocky was engulfed in a fog bank of conflicting advice from fellow Republicans. Those already sympathetic to him--Senators Jacob Javits, Hugh Scott, Edward Brooke and a chorus of others --counseled action. The general feeling was that Romney's departure had removed the last shred of justification for Rockefeller's judicious isolation. Senator Mark Hatfield of Oregon spoke for most of them: "He can't play coy. If he's going anywhere, he should get out on the track now."

Votes & Headlines. But which track? It was still early enough for Rockefeller to enter the Wisconsin, Indiana and Nebraska primaries. To do so would take enormous energy and bravery--some said foolhardiness--because he would be exposing himself to conservative animosity, with virtually no chance of victory. Midwestern Republican leaders questioned by TIME supported this view. The Midwest is essentially Nixon country, and although it contains pockets of Rockefeller sentiment, the leaders agreed that the risks would be far too large. Oregon Governor Tom McCall, who had earlier announced a write-in campaign for Rockefeller in his state, invited the New Yorker to challenge Nixon in his bailiwick, where Rockefeller beat Goldwater in 1964 and where Nixon is now vulnerable. Rockefeller and Nixon, said McCall, "are the best. If we had them, it would be a primary at its very best in a state that is a microcosm of the national election."

Not to compete could also be dangerous. There are delegate votes to be wooed and headlines to be won. In Rockefeller's case, total abstention from primaries, or even holding out for a relatively easy run in Oregon, has special risks. Those who accuse him of not being a "regular" Republican would count it as further evidence of his disdain for the party apparatus and for traditional procedures. Besides, Nixon can hardly be counted on to stand still for the next couple of months.

Lacerated Brow. Yet Rockefeller's initial reaction was to maintain his aloof stance. Soon after arriving in Washington, he went to his 35-acre estate on Foxhall Road for a conference with his brother, Governor Winthrop Rockefeller of Arkansas, and Governor Spiro Agnew of Maryland. Agnew was eager to line up specific commitments from as many of the Republican Governors as possible, to create a draft, in effect, from that powerful group. Rockefeller and George Hinman, his chief political aide, froze the idea at once. Agnew, who had come to Washington saying it was time to stand up and be counted, then passed the word that the Governors must have the opportunity to "sort out their thinking before taking positions on any candidate."

Rockefeller still felt that he could keep his hand from being forced. And while a majority--perhaps 18--of his 25 fellow Governors are generally counted as pro-Rockefeller in varying degrees, few of them are now prepared to make an official commitment. Sev eral of the Governors in fact plan to go to Miami as favorite-son nominees.

Next stop was the opening reception of the Governors' Conference. Rockefeller and Wife Happy made a suitably late entrance at 8 p.m. and immediately dominated the scene. Newsmen and politicians alike scrambled toward the couple as if Rockefeller had not only announced but won. Connecticut Governor John Dempsey got lacerated by a wild camera. Rockefeller gallantly dabbed the blood from Democrat Dempsey's brow with his handkerchief.

Over the Fish. Grinning his winningest, winking his twinklingest, Rockefeller took it all in with obvious satisfaction. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Terrific!" Then down to business, still smiling: "My position has not changed. We want to win. The party needs unity. I'm exactly where I was before. I'm not making any move." Wink. "You're winking at me, Governor," said a reporter. "I'm not winking at anybody," said the Governor.

Still later that Ash Wednesday night, Rockefeller was host at a private dinner for New York Republican legislators. Over fish and French white wine, he heard more warnings about the dangers of standing pat. By way of response, he said: "I have been accused of dividing the party once [in 1964]. I don't want that ever thrown in my face again." And he again conceded his willingness to be drafted. "But there's a question of how you define a draft," he told his fellow New Yorkers. "I'm going to be thinking about that."

His thoughts were undoubtedly jogged by Romney's follow-up press conference Friday morning. Instead of coming out for Rockefeller as many expected he would do, Romney said he was not advising his supporters in New Hampshire or anywhere else about whom to work for. Like Rockefeller, he talked of the need for unity. Unlike Rockefeller, he also talked of the need for potential candidates to make clear their positions on major issues--most especially on Viet Nam. This jab hit Rockefeller in the vitals. There are few subjects on which he has been more silent recently, and his reticence has prompted rumors that he has modified his prowar stand of two years ago.

Romney followed up his plea for a discussion of the issues by remarking that he could support Nixon if the other Republican Governors went that way. Then Montana's Tim Babcock, previously thought to be holding out for Ronald Reagan, announced loudly that he would support Nixon, and that half the Republican Governors would do the same. It was after that--just a few hours after the Romney press conference--that Rockefeller issued his statement of availability. Said George Hinman: "We decided that we simply had to clear up his position."

The First T.K.O. In making his half move, Rockefeller obviously bought time for himself. He has given the brokers who select and control delegates reason to pause in the coming weeks before committing themselves to Nixon. Some of his own support may solidify, a favorite son or two may be won over, and a write-in campaign in a smallish, friendly state like Oregon could yield vastly encouraging results. Nixon, meanwhile, might blunder or falter.

Yet there are also new risks. The write-in efforts that now have Rockefeller's consent could fizzle. Speaking out on controversial issues could renew enmity as well as arouse a following. The press that gave Romney such a bad time will now be dissecting Rockefeller's every move to see whether the "draft" meets his own criteria of being "meaningful, natural and genuine."

As it did for Rockefeller, Romney's withdrawal presented Nixon with new choices and alternatives. One of his biggest tasks, by his own admission, is to prove to the skeptical that he can win elections again. Nixon has not, after all, won a general election in his own right since his 1950 Senate race. The primaries were to have been his means, and George Romney the man conveniently heading the loser's column. By driving Romney out of New Hampshire before the vote, Nixon certainly demonstrated strength rather than weakness. It was, as one of his aides put it, "the first T.K.O. in American politics."

Whomping the Old. Yet a clean knockout, with the vanquished being carried off bloodied and limp in view of all, would certainly have been more meaningful. As Nixon himself said last week: "The question is not just winning the primaries. It is how they are won." The spectacle of Nixon whomping Harold Stassen from New Hampshire to Nebraska would hardly electrify the voters. Another possible problem for Nixon is the effect of last week's events on Ronald Reagan's position. The Californian's backers believe that Rockefeller can stop Nixon--something Romney could not do--and thus revive Reagan's chances as the compromise conservative choice of the convention.

On the other hand, in the absence of sharp, direct confrontation, Nixon can claim victory in the primaries by default without expending much ammunition. He can concentrate his attacks solely on Lyndon Johnson in broad terms during the preconvention period--which he has been trying to do anyway--keeping his specific proposals fresh for the general election. Instead of devoting most of his time to the six primaries he is entered in, Nixon points out, "I am going to greatly expand my efforts in the non-primary states. We'll be able to plow ground we would not otherwise have been able to plow." And to hear Nixon strategists tell it, Romney's exit dissipates a certain obfuscation around the G.O.P.'s center, which Nixon covets as his private turf. They feel that now there is only Rockefeller on the Republican left, Reagan a dim figure on the right, and Nixon alone in the middle.

Nixon's initial reaction, however, was to maintain popular interest in the primaries, especially New Hampshire. He got word of Romney's decision while stumping in Milford, a few hours before the official announcement. Two aides who picked up the rumor drew Nixon into a lavatory to give him the news. His first reaction upon reappearing: "I don't believe it."

Political License. Soon he was not only believing it but adroitly acting on it. Even before Rockefeller gave the go-ahead to draft committees and write-in campaigns, Nixon declared: "New Hampshire has the significance of indicating how strong Governor Rockefeller is in the state. If he gets a minimal [write-in] vote, that would tend to discourage those who want to draft him." With more than a bit of political license, Nixon also remarked: "Rockefeller is said always to have been popular in this state. I have no reason to question that" Actually, Rockefeller ran a poor third in New Hampshire four years ago despite a vigorous campaign. Henry Cabot Lodge won, and Goldwater came in second.

Nixon's purpose was served when Rockefeller supporters announced that they would step up their write-in drive in New Hampshire. Their efforts until now have been slight and amateurish. Regardless of how that turns out--Nixon kindly set a near-impossible goal of 30% for Rockefeller--there will be a subsidiary contest between the two. The phase of the New Hampshire primary that gets all the attention is the so-called popularity contest, in which voters express their preferences for the individual candidates. However, the ballot has another segment listing convention delegates who may run as pledged to a candidate, favorable to one, or uncommitted. Both Nixon and Rockefeller have delegate slates supporting them. Therefore, Rockefeller's name, while missing from the popularity contest, appears 16 times elsewhere with those of the eight nominees for delegates and eight for alternates.

Second Barrel. Nixon was not content to be running against Rockefeller; he named Lyndon Johnson as an antagonist. "The size of the vote on the Republican side," he pointed out, "will be measured against the size of the vote on the Democratic side. The bigger the vote we get, the clearer the message will ring out loud across the country that New Hampshire says the time has come for Lyndon Johnson to go home to Texas."

The former Vice President's cardinal rule has been to treat fellow Republicans as lovingly as an election year will allow. He praised Romney's vigor as a campaigner; he also did his bit to debunk the stalking-horse theory. Romney's withdrawal, he said, "was not designed to stop Nixon. It was designed to save Romney from a defeat."

But Nixon has been arguing all along that his own itinerary to the nomination--via the primaries--must be followed by all the other hopefuls. Last week he challenged Rockefeller's argument that full-scale primary battles would sunder the party. For one thing, he said, a high-minded campaign such as his own would not injure the Republicans but merely add a second barrel to the anti-Democratic gun. Then he invoked a decidedly Democratic name: "As John F. Kennedy said in February of 1960-- in Albany, N.Y., incidentally--the time is past when presidential nominees, untested in the primaries, would be named in smoke-filled rooms by political bosses." Thus Rockefeller's tabernacle of unity becomes Nixon's den of iniquity. They have each promised to support the other in the general election, but until the convention the genteel barbs will be there. While renewing his pledge to Nixon, for instance, Rockefeller took a dig at his weakness: "The party has got to make up its mind on who has a real chance of getting the votes of independents and Democrats."

Study in Contrasts. Rivalry between the two would be fascinating regardless of the prize. They are a study in contrasts. Richard Milhous Nixon, only 55 but a political force in the nation for a full generation; the steely infighter who developed from a boy beanpicker in Whittier, Calif., to the second-youngest Vice President in U.S. history; the man who has been around so long, sat so high, fallen so far, and so discreetly risen again that some of his oldest enemies have grown mellow toward him; and the politician who, despite his origins and his own mellowing, has been unable to shake entirely the opportunist's image. Nelson Aldrich Rockefeller, 59, a megamillionaire via the Rockefellers, a political patrician through the Aldriches; a Republican brought into public life by F.D.R.; a man of charm and assurance who got on a silver platter the early prominence that Nixon had to claw for, who wandered away from a Republican Administration rather than be frustrated by it, who eschewed the easy life for elective politics and then turned into a blintz-eating back-slapping vote catcher.

Yet they also have some things in common. Both have lusted for the presidency for eight years. Both have been pronounced politically dead, Nixon after signing his own burial order at his bitter 1962 press conference ("You won't have Nixon to kick around any more"), Rockefeller after being divorced from a middle-aged wife and marrying a divorcee--and raising state taxes to boot. Both have reemerged, old pros in a youth-happy age, miraculously well-preserved politically in the formaldehyde of ambition and determination.

Fifth Avenue Compact. If any more piquancy were needed to build the gate, there is the additional fact that this is something of a grudge match. Nixon and Rockefeller collided in 1960 over the nomination when, as today, Nixon was the announced candidate with much strength in the regular party organization and Rockefeller the non-candidate in search of a draft. The contest was woefully uneven then, but Nixon badly wanted the backing of liberal Republicans. Rockefeller refused to consider the vice-presidential nomination, harpooned the outgoing Eisenhower Administration--and by implication, Nixon--and, as the price of support, exacted from Nixon the famed 14-point Fifth Avenue compact that put Nixon in bad odor with the Republican right wing.

That agreement on platform planks, hammered out in Rockefeller's Manhattan apartment* while the convention roiled in Chicago, was not so offensive to Nixon ideologically as it was politically. In 1964, they tangled again, not so much over principle as over party loyalty. Nixon supported the ticket and worked for it, later attacked Rockefeller as a "divider" and "spoilsport" for doing neither.

Although much is made of the conservative-liberal split between the two, they have rarely been in conflict on basic principles. When Rockefeller worked for Eisenhower as Under Secretary of Health, Education and Welfare and later as his Special Assistant for Foreign Affairs, he occasionally found an ally in Nixon against more conservative elements in the Administration. Certainly Nixon is at home with the congressional wing of the party, oriented toward the Middle West and limit ed government, while Rockefeller is of the Eastern Establishment, prone to look first toward the executive branch. Yet if during the '60s Goldwater has symbolized Republicanism's right frontier and Rockefeller its left, Nixon falls well between. On several of the big emotional issues defined in liberal-conservative terms, Nixon has fallen on the liberal side. He was denouncing the John Birch Society and right-wing extremism in California before it became fashionable for Republicans to do so. He supported the 1964 and 1965 civil rights bills and the nuclear test-ban treaty although Goldwater opposed them.

New York Cornucopia. How they will differ on 1968 issues remains to be seen. Nixon has not yet produced a sheaf of detailed proposals on major questions, although he talks a hard line on Viet Nam and calls for budget cutting at home. Nixon has also made some thoughtful statements on poverty here and abroad, on racial issues and other subjects that indicate he is developing new proposals for use when he considers the time right. Rockefeller in recent months has been studiously sticking to state affairs, venturing afield as a rule only in his capacity as chairman of the Republican Governors Association policy committee. Seven months ago, the committee put out a 60-point package on urban problems similar in some respects to the presidential riot commission's report last week.

Rockefeller's record as Governor indicates what he would argue for as a presidential candidate. In his past nine years in the statehouse, Rockefeller has more than doubled state spending to the present rate of $5 billion by raising taxes three times; he is currently seeking another tax increase and a $5.5 billion budget. Rockefeller has used the money for a cornucopia of state programs--education, health, pollution control, transportation, housing--that have made New York one of the most progressive states in the country. Last week he unveiled plans for a new transportation-improvement scheme for the New York City area that will cost some $3 billion over the next decade and an urban-redevelopment plan with a price tag of $6 billion in public and private funds. If Rockefeller becomes the Republican candidate, the Democrats will hardly be able to accuse him of indifference to domestic needs. Nor, for that matter, could he charge the Democrats with spending too much.

Primary Mill. The White House regards Rockefeller as the strongest man the Republicans can field, and some Republicans who personally prefer Nixon would accept Rockefeller if they thought that only he could win. Nixon, however, has held a strong lead in polls of both Republican leaders and ordinary voters. The current Gallup poll of registered Republicans gives Nixon a formidable edge of 67% to 30% for Rockefeller with 3% undecided. Nixon's lead in this test has swelled 21 points since January, partly perhaps because of Rockefeller's clash with New York Mayor John Lindsay over last month's garbage strike (TIME, Feb. 23). The poll shows Nixon ahead of Rockefeller among all voters, 48% to 44%, with Rockefeller leading among independents, 47% to 45%. Surveys of this nature have been swinging widely in recent months, as has the President's popularity rating. Yet by next summer they could become an important factor. If Johnson's estate falls so low that he appears vulnerable to almost any challenger, Nixon is bound to benefit. A tighter situation would boost Rockefeller--provided that he has meanwhile advanced his own cause.

As he becomes more active nationally and attracts more publicity, Rockefeller's standing in the polls may well improve. This would help him, of course, but unless the rise is large and sustained, the value to him is likely to be short-lived. What Rockefeller needs is solid missionary work among the convention delegates, whose selection has already begun, and a demonstration of enough fight to prove his ability to slug it out with L.B.J. "Drafts," said Everett Dirksen last week, "are few and far between." Major party candidates who avoid primaries have been rarer still in recent years.

As the deadlines for Nebraska, Oregon and Indiana fall one after another this month, Rockefeller will doubtless be criticized for his decision to remain aloof, but it seems unlikely that he will reconsider at this stage. Yet his drive needs some impetus. By week's end he had already given tacit consent to the formation of Rockefeller-for-President groups in each state, and organizational work was beginning. These units may soon be meshed into a national organization. It is still questionable whether a draft can be induced in this manner for Rockefeller. Moreover, by boycotting the primaries he will run the risk of seeming too afraid or too arrogant to fight for the prize.

Nonetheless, both Nixon and Rockefeller will now be compelled to take positions on all the pressing issues of 1968--from slums and fiscal policy at home to Viet Nam and U.S. policies elsewhere in the world. They will have an unrivaled opportunity to engage in a thoughtful, thoroughgoing discussion of Republican alternatives--and at the G.O.P.'s highest level. Their dialogue should stimulate the party. It may also provide the nation with the new perspectives it urgently needs.

* Nixon now lives in the same building. Rockefeller has since moved next door.

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