Front and Center for George McGovern

SUDDENLY, in what once had seemed a cut-and-dried contest for the Democratic presidential nomination, all bets were off. On the morrow of the Massachusetts and Pennsylvania primaries last week, it was a new race. In Pennsylvania, Hubert Humphrey won the first state primary of his career. George McGovern swept to a lopsided victory in Massachusetts and finished close behind George Wallace in Pennsylvania, where Edmund Muskie ended up an embarrassing fourth--and quite literally out of the money. As the candidates went into Ohio and Indiana this week, the committed delegate count stood: McGovern, 231 1/2; Muskie, 124 1/2; Wallace, 77; Humphrey, 76; Shirley Chisholm, 5; Wilbur Mills, I. A Who's Where of the principal candidates:

MUSKIE took himself out of active contention with considerable dignity. The fault, he said, was that he had spread himself too thin, entering every primary, draining his resources. But he had also seemed fuzzy on the issues as he tried to be a consensus candidate, and he was disorganized and indecisive. Most important of all, perhaps, was that the unpredictable 1972 electorate was unmoved, even dissuaded, by Muskie's reliance on the endorsements and the organizations of the regular politicians. So, he said, he would no longer run, but would remain available if a deadlocked convention wanted him.

HUMPHREY may well benefit more than McGovern from Muskie's abdication, since they were both fighting for what Humphrey likes to call "the vital progressive center" of the Democratic Party--including organized labor and the border South. A TIME/Yankelvich survey of Pennsylvania voters, interviewed as they left the polls, found that

Humphrey's victory was built on a "somewhat frail reproduction" of the traditional Democratic coalition--the poor, the minorities, the aged and the ethnic blue-collar workers. Of Muskie's supporters, 55% named Humphrey their second choice v. only 29% for McGovern. For the Ohio primary this week, the polls had Humphrey about a 10% favorite over McGovern.

WALLACE will meet Humphrey head-on in Indiana this week, and again in one-to-one primaries in Maryland and West Virginia. Wallace remains a force to be reckoned with, though some observers think that he merely wants to be the Democrats' Strom Thurmond --without real power, but able to boast of his influence in high places. Feeling his oats, he joked with reporters last week about his plans as President: "We just may have a lot of press censorship --but maybe I can get you boys a job in the basement or something. That be all right with you?"

MCGOVERN plans to do well where he thinks he can--Ohio, Michigan, Nebraska--and play a dramatic end game with victories in Oregon, California and New York. "It's the classic underdog strategy," says Ted Van Dyk, a former Humphrey aide who is now a McGovern adviser. "It's also General Giap's battle plan. You concentrate your forces at the point of the enemy's weakness. You pick your battlegrounds." That has led him, wisely and conveniently, to stay out of Southern contests that could have set him back.

For McGovern, that strategy has not only been shrewd; it has been necessary. When he announced for the presidency more than a year ago, there was skepticism, irreverence, even downright disbelief. But George Stanley McGovern, 49, once an obscure prairie politician, has somehow struck a responsive chord in the voters; he is now ahead in the extraordinary testing of Democratic presidential postulants in 1972. With Muskie out of the race, McGovern's chief rival is Humphrey, the ever-ebullient 1968 nominee, a hardy perennial compared to the burgeoning McGovern. If his momentum holds, McGovern could well take the Democratic nomination; if it does not, and Humphrey becomes the candidate, the fierceness of McGovern's supporters could well mean a Democratic Party sundered more deeply than it was even in 1968. And should McGovern win at Miami Beach, the campaign could be the most spirited and sharply drawn since John Kennedy and Richard Nixon faced off in 1960.

Unlike Humphrey, say, or Wallace, 2 whose persons and prejudices are clear and familiar, McGovern remains a paradoxical figure. He is a very liberal

Democrat from a very conservative, very Republican state. He is the plain-spoken son of a country preacher who now sports $15 Gucci ties and owns an elegant Japanese-style house in a quiet corner of northwest Washington, D.C. He is a middle-aged prairie populist whose strongest national appeal has been to the young and to the affluent and well-educated citizens of suburbia. He is an outwardly diffident, gentle man--Robert Kennedy once called him the only decent man in the U.S. Senate --whose professorial facade conceals a core of toughness and ambition. He likes movies and chocolate milkshakes, and has fired subordinates for unduly chewing out people working under them. He is a complex man, a curious mixture of pragmatism and principle, patience and restiveness, at once a staunch, almost pedantic moralist and a calculating, hard-driving politician.

Broad Horizon. Like Hubert Humphrey, McGovern grew up in a small town in South Dakota. His father was a Wesleyan Methodist minister in Mitchell (pop. 6,000). In a state where debating once ranked as football does in Ohio, or basketball in Indiana, young George took eagerly to oratory as a high school student. World War II broadened McGovern's horizons beyond the prairie: as pilot of Dakota Queen, a B-24 Liberator heavy bomber based in Cerignola, Italy, he flew 35 missions over Nazi-occupied Eastern Europe, often through heavy antiaircraft fire. Once, with two of the four engines out, he nursed the plane to an emergency landing on a tiny airstrip on a Yugoslav island.

The war made McGovern, already a solemn young man, still more somber and earnest. Back home, he plunged into history studies at Dakota Wesleyan, then went off to study for the Methodist ministry. The limitations of the clerical life soon disillusioned him, and he switched to graduate work in American history at Northwestern University, taking a master's and a Ph.D. The subject of his dissertation was the Colorado coal strikes of 1913-14, which culminated in the Ludlow massacre of miners and their families.

The Northwestern history department leaned strongly to the left politically; McGovern faced the opening of the cold war with dismay and disbelief. He went with his wife Eleanor, whom he had married in 1943 (see box, page 27), as a delegate to the Progressive Party convention at Philadelphia in 1948. But he soon became disenchanted with the fanatical rigidity of some of Henry

Wallace's supporters, and finally did not vote that November. McGovern told his recent biographer, Robert Sam Anson: "I felt then, as I do now, that U.S. foreign policy was needlessly exacerbating tensions with the Soviet Union and that we were wrong in our support of Chiang, the French in Indochina and Bao Dai. I liked what Wallace had to say about foreign policy. I still think he was essentially right."

McGovern's fling with Henry Wallace came to hurt him when he entered politics, which he did after a six-year stint as a political science professor at Dakota Wesleyan. First he took on a seemingly hopeless job as the only full-time Democratic Party organizer in South Dakota; at that time, no Democrat held statewide office, and the party had only two of the 110 seats in the state legislature. McGovern once walked into a general store and announced to the proprietor that he understood that he was talking to the county chairman. The owner hushed McGovern quickly: "I'd be out of business if my customers knew." But McGovern's methodical persistence built the state organization to the point where he could run successfully for two terms in Congress (1957-61) despite reminders of his Wallaceite past.

He failed to unseat Republican Senator Karl Mundt in 1960 partly because he openly backed Roman Catholic John Kennedy in heavily Protestant South Dakota. McGovern's reward for that support was the directorship of Food for Peace early in the Kennedy Administration; he made it to the Senate on his second try in 1962. As a freshman Senator, he spoke out against the Viet Nam War. He was the first of a lonely flock of Senate doves that soon included Frank Church of Idaho, Ernest Gruening of Alaska and Wayne Morse of Oregon. McGovern's opposition to the war strained his friendship with his Chevy Chase neighbor, Humphrey, who had been his political mentor when he first came to Washington.

However, it attracted the man who first put the presidential bug in McGovern's ear. Allard Lowenstein, the youth ful antiwar Democrat who was looking for a "symbolic" candidate to run against Lyndon Johnson in the 1968 pri maries, approached McGovern at Rob ert Kennedy's suggestion. McGovern was intrigued; his backers at home were incredulous. In Sioux Falls, Lowenstein bearded Peder Ecker, later Democratic state chairman, who quickly got on the phone to Bill Dougherty, now Lieuten ant Governor. Said Ecker: "Billy, you've got to get over here. There's some Jewish guy here from New York saying that he's going to make George McGovern President."

McGovern turned Lowenstein down, with misgivings. He was up for re-election to the Senate in 1968, and he decided that keeping his Senate seat was more important to the antiwar cause than a hopeless fling at the presidency. Following McGovern's advice, Lowenstein turned to Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota; Robert Kennedy jumped in after McCarthy showed strongly against Johnson in the New Hampshire primary. After Kennedy was shot in California, McGovern pondered and finally announced for President 16 days before the Chicago convention. He wanted to be a rallying point for the pro-Kennedy remnant that could not accept McCarthy, but garnered only 1461 delegate votes. McGovern joked: "By announcing when we did, we at least eliminated the possibility of peaking early."

After re-election to the Senate in 1968, McGovern helped write the reforms to open the Democratic Party's nominating process to greater participation by the rank and file (TIME, Dec. 6, 1971). Those reforms have helped make his candidacy; state and local party satraps, never pro-McGovern, now have a diminished role in picking the 1972 nominee. In the Senate, though he has taken a major role in trying to end hunger in the U.S., he remains best known for a series of unsuccessful resolutions and amendments, co-sponsored by Republican Mark Hatfield of Oregon, that would set a date for ending the U.S. presence in Viet Nam. "This chamber reeks of blood," he bitterly told his colleagues just before the Senate voted on the first McGovern-Hatfield amendment in September 1970. If elected, he has promised to end U.S. bombing on Inauguration Day and to get the U.S. out "lock, stock and barrel" within 90 days in return for the release of American P.O.W.s.

For a time, McGovern risked being known as a one-issue candidate because of his early and unequivocal opposition to the war. But in putting together his first primary victory of 1972 in Wisconsin, he plainly attracted voters to whom the state of the economy is a more pressing concern. Moreover, he was the first--and is still the most thorough--of the candidates to lay out detailed position papers on such other issues as tax reform and defense spending. Not much attention was paid to the McGovern papers at first, since he did not seem a likely winner.

That oversight was a mistake, as McGovern's plan for changing the tax structure and redistributing the national wealth constitutes a radical economic scheme reminiscent of the days when Huey Long promised to make "every man a king." Among those consulted in its preparation: John Kenneth Galbraith of Harvard and James Tobin of Yale, a member of John Kennedy's Council of Economic Advisers. MCGOVERN IF YOU REALLY WANT THINGS TO CHANGE read his billboards in Massachusetts. His whole program would mean just that--real, profound change. Among its main elements:

TAXES. McGovern claims that 40% of U.S. corporations paid no corporate income taxes last year. (Internal Revenue Service figures for the fiscal year ending in June 1970, the latest available, showed that 1,670,000 corporations filed tax returns and 620,000 --37%--had no taxable income and hence paid no tax.) McGovern would raise the corporation tax rate from 48% back to 52%, its level before the tax reform of 1964. He would end investment tax credits, tighten depreciation rules, and gradually eliminate the oil-depletion allowance, now at 22%. These and other changes, he estimates, would add some $17 billion annually to the federal treasury. By reducing corporate profits, they would also reduce dividends to stockholders.

McGovern's aim is to give the Government a far greater voice in the uses to which investment is put; more of the profits of private industry would tend to be taxed away and invested instead as Government chooses. Such resource allocations would mean a different kind of America, more like the mixed economies and relatively paternalistic societies of Western Europe. This is a breathtaking proposition, to say the least, and it is going to require a lot of explaining before the campaign is over.

INCOME. Anyone making over $50,000 a year--earned or unearned --would have to pay 75% of the excess in taxes, no matter what tax shelters might exist. Inheritance taxes would be increased, with a 77% rate on anything over $500,000. He had originally proposed a confiscatory 100% tax on inheritances over $500,-000, but backed down when blue-collar workers in Wisconsin and Massachusetts objected that taxing anybody 100% was unAmerican. Said a bemused McGovern: "I don't know whether people still think they will win a lottery or what." He would abolish welfare payments and substitute minimum income grants with a maximum of about $1,000 per person annually. All told, his redistribute-the-wealth plan would shift $43 billion a year from the more affluent to the relatively poor. In a study for the Joint Economic Committee, Economist Lester Thurow of M.I.T. found that the gap between the mean annual income of the richest 5% of U.S. families and that of the poorest 5% was $27,605 in 1969; it was only $17,057 in 1947 (using 1969 dollars).

JOBS. A major goal is to provide employment for every able-bodied American who wants it. Says McGovern: "The President could relieve a lot of the tension between blacks and whites if he stopped talking about welfare chiselers and said: 'Look, everybody who wants to work is going to have a job. We don't know quite yet what you'll be doing, but you're going to have a good job. And the Government is going to guarantee employment at decent wages.' "

DEFENSE. To help pay for the jobs and other social benefits that he proposes, McGovern would cut the Pentagon budget by $32 billion over three years. His detailed 56-page plan earns good marks for thoroughness even from its critics. He would drop many new weapon systems, including the Safeguard ABM and the B-l bomber. He would cut the armed forces and civilian Pentagon employees by nearly 30% --chopping U.S. forces in Europe from 300,000 to 130,000. At the Pentagon, the comptroller's office reviewed McGovern's proposals with deep interest, and noted that he failed to include in his alternate defense budget some $10 billion in essential "consumable supplies"--chiefly fuels and lubricants. More broadly, the Brookings Institution's Leslie Gelb, project director of the Pentagon papers, says that he agrees with 95% of the McGovern plan but has two objections: 1) "The program does not come to grips with the practical and political problems of putting that many people out of work," and 2) allies might well be disconcerted by such drastic changes. Again, further explanations are in order.

"A vast military colossus," says McGovern, "now capable of blowing up the world a hundred times over, is devouring two out of three of our tax dollars." Hyperbole aside, the tax mathematics are very nearly right. Federal revenues for the current fiscal year are estimated at $197 billion. Subtract $54 billion in Social Security receipts and $3 billion for the highway and other trust funds--none of which is income tax revenue--and the total is $140 billion. Add to the defense budget of $78 billion the outlay for veterans' benefits ($11 billion) and 80% of the interest on the national debt ($16 billion); both, arguably, are the continuing cost of past wars. That puts the defense total slightly over $ 100 billion, which is more than McGovern's two-thirds of $140 billion. McGovern is not alone in his calculations of the total cost of defense; Arthur Burns, Chairman of the Fed and no fan of McGovern's, has made a similar analysis (TIME, July 13, 1970).

AMNESTY. McGovern has urged that after the Viet Nam War is over, amnesty be granted to those "who, on the grounds of conscience, have refused to participate in the Viet Nam tragedy." He would not include deserters.

EDUCATION. He wants to end use of the property tax to finance schools; he would increase federal aid to elementary and secondary schools fivefold, to $15 billion.

BUSING. The McGovern position is more liberal than most, and he has avoided serious campaigning in Florida and will probably avoid it in Michigan, where the issue is paramount. He believes that busing may be used to achieve racial balance as long as it harms neither children's health nor the educational system. "Without busing as a tool," he says, "desegregation will probably stop dead in its tracks."

HEALTH CARE. McGovern favors "a federally funded, guaranteed system of comprehensive health insurance for all Americans."

Should McGovern get the Democratic nomination, politicians hostile to him argue, such a sweeping program could make him the Barry Goldwater of 1972: a candidate at the extreme of his own party (albeit the other extreme), beloved of the more intensely ideological partisans, but so wildly far from the national center as to be totally unelectable. Goldwater has not missed the point. He ran into Democratic National Chairman Larry O'Brien shortly after McGovern's victory in Wisconsin. Goldwater winked and said: "Where you fellas headed?" Others are predicting a rout, if not of Alf Landon proportions, at least as embarrassing as Goldwater's own in 1964.

One difference between Goldwater in 1964 and McGovern today is that McGovern is not widely known, and thus not widely recognized as an ultraliberal; if anything, his willingness to speak out against what he calls the "establishment center" has long been admired even where his views are unpopular. (The "establishment center" is McGovern's confusing phrase for the men who he thinks have kept American society from meeting the needs of the 1970s: the leaders of the military-industrial complex and the rigid hierarchies of business and government.) Allard Lowenstein argues that a pitch for making things better can succeed politically, even if some of the remedies are severe. Says Lowenstein: "That's what Robert Kennedy was doing in 1968, and it was working." McGovern makes his own plain-spoken distinction.

Says he: "Goldwater was outside the mainstream, and I think I'm moving with the mainstream of the country."

McGovern is vulnerable to the charge that he is admired by radicals; unsolicited endorsements last week by Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin of the Chicago Seven were embarrassingly conspicuous. Senator Henry ("Scoop") Jackson of Washington, a disappointed also-ran in the season's primaries, tore into McGovern viciously as "the spokesman for some of the most dangerous and destructive currents in American politics." Obviously President Nixon could give McGovern a hard time over his plan to cut defense spending; he could argue that McGovern's program would leave the U.S. naked before its enemies. He could also remind the nation of McGovern's adventure with Henry Wallace in 1948, as Jackson has done. However, Nixon himself has come a long way since 1948, as they must be saying in Peking and Moscow.

Antiwar voters, including the young, are important to McGovern's candidacy: in the TIME/Yankelovich Pennsylvania survey, two-thirds of the voters mentioned the war as the issue of greatest concern to them, and it was an issue that worked to McGovern's benefit. The President is at the mercy of his own Viet Nam policy: so, conversely, is McGovern.

McGovern has had trouble getting much support from blacks and organized labor leaders during the primary campaign, largely because both are part of Hubert Humphrey's natural constituency. After McGovern's Massachusetts victory, however, a noticeable shift was on. Representative John Conyers of Michigan said that he would back McGovern, and so did Julian Bond of Georgia; the Rev. Jesse Jackson of Operation PUSH in Chicago noted that he still prefers Shirley Chisholm, but thinks McGovern stands the best chance to win. Jackson will campaign for McGovern in Ohio and California. In the general election, of course, blacks would overwhelmingly prefer McGovern to Nixon. As for labor, the AFL-CIO's George Meany, a hawk, dislikes McGovern's views on the war. United Auto Workers President Leonard Woodcock, once a Muskie man, may now join the McGovern camp; that would give McGovern a boost in Michigan.

One aspect of the McGovern campaign that has confounded the experts is McGovern's unexpected appeal to blue-collar workers. His triumvirate of 21-year-old poll takers, seniors at Harvard who have formed Cambridge Survey Research, Inc. (TIME, May 1), first saw the phenomenon taking shape in working-class districts of Manchester, N.H. It appeared again in Wisconsin --for example, McGovern carried the blue-collar congressional district in Milwaukee that contains the state's heaviest concentration of Poles. Last week Protestant McGovern took some heavily Irish and Italian sections of Boston by as much as four to one--with the Kennedy organization scrupulously standing aside from the contest.

Style. Adviser Ted Van Dyk remembers a McGovern handshaking visit to grimy factory workers in New Hampshire: "One of them stepped forward and said, 'You know, Senator, you've made a lot of friends here today. Muskie came through last week and he shook our wrists.' " In a fashion reminiscent of the Kennedys, however different his style, McGovern has created a blue-collar following that might otherwise go to George Wallace (see box, page 18).

McGovern has yet to be tested nationally; he has so far not been subjected to the same tough, critical scrutiny that is all too familiar to Teddy Kennedy, Edmund Muskie and Hubert Humphrey. He faces a possibly painful ideological dilemma: to build a truly national base he may need to move toward the center, but to keep his most ardent following he must not stray too far from the striking positions he is admired for. Already, McGovern has begun to modify some of those positions, and has moved toward reconciliation with the party bosses. He has so far refused, for example, to join in challenging Chicago Mayor Richard Daley's delegation to the Miami Beach convention. Daley has yet to be won over; he believes the convention will deadlock and Kennedy will be drafted.

McGovern will need the pros to be a strong national candidate against Nixon, despite the already accumulated assets of a strong staff and an extraordinary network of young volunteers unseen since the kids went "clean for Gene" four years ago. His senior political adviser is the well-connected Frank Mankiewicz, 47, once press secretary to Robert Kennedy, master of fast political one-liners and possessor of what one aide calls "the best black book in the business." Among all the youngsters, Mankiewicz is an elder statesman of the McGovern organization. He spends an average of seven hours a day on the phone, cajoling the press, scraping up funds, masterminding strategy in a dozen different places. In between, he keeps tab on the state delegate hunters and primary organizers and suggests changes in speeches and pamphlets. His quick wit has been of inestimable value to McGovern. During the Wisconsin primary campaign, Mankiewicz fed his boss a line that scored points against

New York's Mayor John Lindsay: "He is the only populist in history who plays squash at the Yale Club."

McGovern's campaign manager is Gary Hart, 34, a young lawyer from Denver with a personality so akin to McGovern's that he is almost his boss's Doppelgdnger. Much of the campaign money has come from Max Palevsky, 47, Los Angeles-based chairman of Xerox's executive committee, and from Henry Kimelman, 50, a businessman with interests in the Caribbean who has been McGovern's conduit to some old-line Democratic financial backing.

And then there are all the kids. Taking a lesson from McGovern's lifelong political passion for collecting the names of his supporters, they move in droves from state to state, classifying prospective voters on 3 in. by 5 in. cards as 1 (committed), 2 (leaning), 3 (uncommitted) or 4 (definitely not). The effect of the army of ants is cumulative, for the young organizers learn in one state and then apply the experience they have gained in the next. McGovern's "flying squad" of 80-odd volunteers, aged 16 to 30, worked New Hampshire, Wisconsin and Massachusetts and then flew off election night to Ohio. Other McGovern workers have been quietly tilling the vineyards in the nonprimary states, sneaking up on the courthouse pros to capture 7 delegates in Vermont, 8 in Idaho, 13 in Iowa, 9 in Arizona.

The capping of all this effort should come early next month in California, where Campaign Manager Hart plans to do what most politicians say is impossible: organize that heterogeneous state from the ground up. California is so big that the conventional political wisdom dictates campaigning it through the media. But McGovern's operatives disagree. By primary time they aim to have at least 1,000 out-of-state volunteers working with 25,000 to 50,000 Californians, organizing the state New Hampshire style--except that in the case of California that means calling in person or by telephone on nearly 2,000,000 Democratic households.

Severe Test. The organization is impressive and essential, but McGovern's ultimate strength may be that his jut-jawed, clean-cut prairie populism has a freshness and frankness that matches the mood of an electorate that is deeply discontented with business-as-usual politics (see box). "Cynicism, all over the country, is so widespread," notes a ranking Democratic Party worker. "It goes back eight years. I honestly think the system is being severely tested, and McGovern could be just the guy who could get elected because he talks to the basic issues. McGovern has an anti-Establishment image, and that has to help in the primaries or in the general election against Nixon."

Says a machine precinct worker in Philadelphia: "People really don't like Wallace, but they want to give the Establishment a kick in the pants." At the moment, Ted Kennedy--the favorite of Pennsylvania voters in the null kelovich survey, and the man most likely to break a deadlock between Humphrey and McGovern--remains the Democrat who could most effectively capitalize on that sentiment, much as his brother tried to do in 1968. But Kennedy could also put McGovern across in a deadlocked convention, and he leans strongly toward McGovern. Just when--or whether--he will endorse him remains uncertain, but he believes that Ethel's children, busily campaigning for McGovern, are making the family sentiments clear. McGovern remains less known nationally than his rivals; in a sense, his showing in the primaries so far is all the more impressive because of that. And if he becomes the Democratic nominee he will automatically be more widely recognized. He also has the sectional weakness shared by most left-of-center Democrats: he is wildly unpopular in the increasingly Republican South. Still, on present form, Americans are going to hear a good deal more from George McGovern between now and the Democratic National Convention--maybe even between the convention and Election Day.

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