Friday, Jan. 24, 1969

Nowhere to Go But Up

Although Hubert Humphrey was the Democrats' nominee for President, the last-minute surge of popularity that won him only 499,704 fewer votes than Richard Nixon last November was no credit to his divided, dispirited party. For four years, the Democratic organization had been neglected by Lyndon Johnson; the potent coalition assembled by Franklin Roosevelt was crumbling. The young were ignoring the party, and the Old South had deserted it. The big-city Democratic machines were frayed from the stresses of racial tension and urban decay. In fact, the most vocal critics of Democratic policies were Democrats themselves. Some dissenters were even praying for a debacle that would shatter the old patterns forever. Only then, they argued, could a new party be built without the encumbrances of obsolete ward heelers and aging urban oligarchs.

Yet the consoling advantage of falling so low, as drunks and defeated politicians both know, is that there is nowhere further to fall. Thus, on the chilly morning of Nixon's victory, dejected campaign workers were cheered by Humphrey's promise to work for a party that was "vital and responsive" to the political imperatives of the 1970s. Last week, the Democratic National Committee gathered in Washington to select a new national chairman to guide the party along the hard road back. The choice--by only a single dissenting vote--to succeed the outgoing Lawrence O'Brien: Oklahoma's Senator Fred Harris, 38. Harris not only had the blessing of Hubert Humphrey; he had also taken the precaution of telephoning every one of the committee's 110 members before the meeting.

Vitality to Spare. It was a characteristically astute performance for Harris, who had also cleared his candidacy with Senator Ted Kennedy, South Dakota's Senator George McGovern and Senator Edmund Muskie of Maine, all potential contenders for the Democratic presidential nomination in 1972. Harris, some Democrats said, had been the only politician on Capitol Hill who could breakfast with Humphrey, lunch with Lyndon Johnson and dine with the Bobby Kennedys. His wife LaDonna, who is half Irish and half Comanche Indian, frequently entertains small, select Washington dinner parties.

The new party chairman is the third-youngest member of the Senate, with a scant four years' seniority. Yet he is already admired by the Senate potentates as a man to watch. Personable, eloquent and diligent, he reads voraciously to make himself familiar with important pieces of legislation. He is also unabashedly ambitious. "I like to win," he says.

Harris' biggest asset has been his courage in espousing liberal causes that are often anathema to his conservative Oklahoman constituents. As a member of the Kerner Commission, which investigated black-ghetto rioting in 1967, Harris, son of a Mississippi-born sharecropper, was the principal advocate of the commission's strongly worded condemnation of white racism and its demands for programs to wipe out Negro slums. "If I can come to see these things," Harris is fond of saying, "anyone can."

Shadow Government. It is with this forthright approach to issues that Harris plans to smoke out volunteer workers, especially among the young. "We'll make the party so vigorous on issues," says Harris, "that the people we need will want to get involved." To this end, Harris will name a Democratic Advisory Council to provide the "out" party with the ideological thrust of a shadow government so that it can develop its own legislative programs and keep its platform up to date.

His first task will be to rescue the party from near-bankruptcy. At one point in 1968, the Democrats were in such penurious straits that Humphrey's backers could not afford a single hour of nationwide TV. The party's debts have since swelled to more than $8 million, including more than $2 million in remaining campaign lOUs incurred by the late Robert Kennedy, Eugene McCarthy and McGovern.

As a co-chairman of Humphrey's 1968 campaign, Harris was only narrowly edged out by Muskie for the No. 2 spot on the ticket. By 1972, the Democratic nominee, backed by a rejuvenated party, might well look no further than the chairman's office at national headquarters to pick a nationally known running mate.

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