Instant Replay: How Ford won It

For a full 44 minutes, the long plastic horns wailed and moaned in an ear-pounding salute to a doomed candidacy. "Sounds like an old cow who needs milk-in' bad," scoffed one Mississippi delegate as Ronald Reagan's snake-dancing, banner-waggling backers gave vent to their frustrations. While one of the longest convention demonstrations in this century roiled about him in Kansas City's Kemper Arena, Minnesota's Bob Forsythe, a floor whip for Gerald Ford, remained unmoved. Said he: "We've got the votes and we're just waiting."

The sustained enthusiasm for Reagan had erupted as his name was placed in nomination at the Republican National Convention. The hundreds of red, green and blue horns wielded on the floor and in the galleries were meant to bellow the resistance of the Reaganites to the continued presidency of Ford. Yet they actually sounded a dirge. In effect if not in fact, the remarkable Reagan challenge had died the night before in a pivotal rules fight on which Reagan had gambled everything--and lost.

Both before and after the outcome had been determined, the exuberant, boisterous Republicans turned topsy-turvy their reputation for staidness. Through four noisy nights, partisans of the two candidates yelled approval, howled in dismay, even sobbed with the varying fortunes of their favorites. They hurled confetti, tossed Frisbees, bounced multicolored beach balls in the brightly illuminated hall. Despite their intense divisions, personal hostilities were minimized. It was one of the liveliest and noisiest of political conventions--a sharp contrast to the Democrats' cozy picnic in New York City's Madison Square Garden.

The hoopla in the hall--a two-year-old $23.2 million arena that looked like a giant white Styrofoam shoebox with Erector set scaffolding on the outside but had a clean, comfortable feeling on the inside--amounted to an exercise in psychological warfare. Augmented by the arena's crisp acoustics, Manny Harmon's Bicentennial Convention Orchestra (signaled from the podium by California's former actor and Senator, George Murphy, who resisted the urge to tap along) amplified and accented the roars of the delegates. As officials struggled to shorten the shouting matches, God Bless America gained a new distinction from the national anthem: it became a signal to sit down, rather than stand up.

Not even the two candidates' wives were spared in the atmosphere of supercharged competitiveness. The entrance of either Betty Ford or Nancy Reagan became a theatrical event, producing prolonged cheers and setting flashbulbs ablaze.

President Ford's forces, having looked unsure and inept for most of the grinding nine-month campaign, had pulled themselves together at the end. Superbly organized for the four-day convention, they stifled the last all-or-nothing Reagan effort to create emotional tides that might engulf Ford's slim delegate lead. The fight was over an intriguing yet relatively minor matter: the attempt by Reagan and his imaginative strategist, John Sears, to compel Ford to name his vice-presidential choice before the convention delegates voted on the top of the ticket. Once Ford had beaten back rules amendment 16c, the Reaganites had no fallback tactic. Ford's nomination as the Republican presidential candidate was assured.

Until the roll was called on the rules fight Tuesday night, no one could be certain that Ford would prevail. The wily Sears had set up the confrontation cleverly --first, the startling advance selection by Reagan of Pennsylvania's liberal Senator, Richard Schweiker, as his intended running mate; then the seemingly logical eleventh-hour argument: O.K., Mr. President, don't the delegates deserve to know your choice too before they vote? Ford's men dubbed 16c the "misery-loves-company" amendment, arguing that Sears was merely trying to force them into the same tight spot he had created for himself with the naming of Schweiker. In any case, both sides realized that the second spot on the ticket, while unquestionably important, had become an emotion-charged and exaggerated issue. Many of the more zealous Reagan supporters were outraged at the Schweiker move, considering it a betrayal of Reagan's professed conservative principles. Ford's backers knew that the vote on 16c could amount to a test of strength, and that losing it might start a stampede toward Reagan.

Much of the maneuvering by both camps in the first two days of the convention was intended to strengthen their forces for that showdown rules fight. Reagan spent hours wooing delegates in his suite at the Alameda Plaza Hotel and around the city. For his coaxing sessions, Ford enjoyed an incumbent's edge: he set up an office, adjacent to his $350-a-day suite at the Crown Center Hotel, complete with presidential seal, American flag and photo displays showing him with his family and assorted world statesmen.

Despite the high-decibel clash of the partisans, the grim game of the tide turning rules fight was being plotted in whispered conferences on the convention floor and strategy sessions elsewhere. The Ford forces proved the more ready for the battle.

Michigan Senator Robert Griffin used his expertise as Republican whip in the Senate to set up a remarkably thorough and speedy floor network. From a seat in the Kansas delegation near the podium, he could pick up a white telephone and direct the work of three veteran head counters in the Ford command trailer outside the arena: Jim Baker, Bill Timmons and Cliff White. The same phone would reach Congressman Bob Michel of Illinois, the G.O.P. whip in the House and Griffin's floor deputy for the convention. Michel was seated across the hall in the Tennessee delegation. Both could instantly reach twelve regional whips, wearing distinctive red caps--and all the regional whips could join in a conference call with Griffin and Michel at any moment. These whips, in turn, supervised state whips in the delegations. The entire phone system, like Reagan's, was "swept" daily by technicians to prevent bugging.

In the command trailer, the three key Ford men had six deputies; each was assigned to monitor two of the regions into which the floor had been divided. Also available for troubleshooting on the floor were seven "floaters" wearing yellow caps. If the phone system failed, the floaters and the men in the trailer had walkie-talkies to use. Since it was possible for each camp to eavesdrop on the other's radio channel, Griffin's men used code names. Ford was Tarzan; Betty was referred to as Jane, Vice President Nelson Rockefeller as Superman, Campaign Chairman Rogers Morton as Batman, Texas Senator John Tower as Cowboy.

In a "sky suite" overlooking the hall, which was similar to the elaborate network-television booths, John Tower supervised the delegate watching of three other political pros: Harry Dent, Bryce Harlow and Dean Burch. The sky suite was stocked with TV sets, sandwiches, fruit, cheese and drinks, soft and hard. Wavering delegates could instantly be invited into the suite for sales pitches, soft and hard--including phone calls from the President. Before long the Ford and Reagan sky suites were being referred to as "the massage parlors."

The aim of the Griffin operation was to be able to canvass 2,259 delegates within ten minutes on any issue that might arise. Before the showdown on 16c, the Reagan staff tended to belittle the need for such an elaborate floor system. In delegate watching, scoffed Floor Whip David Keene, "it's not how many are doing the counting, but what they have to count." Although the Reagan men had their own command trailer, sky suite and regional whip system, the overworked John Sears not only was in charge of the entire floor operation but also kept close track of five key delegations from his command trailer: Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Maryland and Delaware. Some of the Reaganites had walkie-talkies too, but saw little need for them. Declared Reagan Deputy Keene about the Ford floaters: "All they're doing with those walkie-talkies most of the time is talking to one another just to see if they're still there." And for other purposes too. One TIME correspondent overheard California Republican Chairman Paul Haerle cooing into his walkie-talkie: "Papa Bear to Mama Bear." When Haerle's wife Nola, also a Ford floater, responded from another part of the floor, he added: "Mama Bear, you're lookin' awful nice tonight."

Ford's preparations paid off. His partisans had the edge in the 30 minutes of debate allotted for 16c. Wisconsin's Dorann Gunderson pointed to the hypocrisy of the Reagan orators' contention that the delegates deserved 16c so they could participate in the Veep decision. "Not one delegate participated in Reagan's choice of Schweiker," she charged. Yet the Ford camp was guilty of deception in letting its 16c advocates argue that the rule would prevent Ford from asking Reagan to be his running mate. Ford had agreed earlier to meet with Reagan after the nomination, on Reagan's condition that the No. 2 spot not be offered to him.

As the momentous roll call was to begin, both camps were nervous about the erratic delegate switching they had seen on the issue in the previous two days. Settling into his front row seat, Griffin had a promising count on how balloting might go: 1,162 votes against the Reagan-backed amendment--32 more than the 1,130 needed to reject it. But his count included all of the unsteady Mississippi delegation's 30 votes, and if Mississippi did not deliver, the tiniest deviations elsewhere could mean that 16c might win approval.

Reagan piled up an early lead for 16c in his congenial Southern and Western territory, but there were a few pleasant surprises for Griffin in the head-of-the-alphabet states--here and there a vote more than expected. As the roll call continued, the long Ford-Reagan struggle in its final moments turned on odd combinations of delegates' personal whimsy, local political loyalties and the effectiveness of last-minute flattery and reasoned argument. Highlights of the dramatic roll call:

ILLINOIS. Racked by delegate charges and countercharges that low-level operators in both camps had tried to "bribe" them for their votes, the delegation was in some turmoil. National Committeewoman Hope McCormick, a Ford backer, abstained. Reason: she had promised a California friend to support the former Governor on at least one vote. Ford Delegate William Stratton, the former Illinois Governor, abstained. Reason: he had been shoved around by the Secret Service when Ford talked to the delegation that day; Griffin's deputy, Michel, was unable to appease him. 79 no, 20 yes, 2 abstain.

INDIANA. State Chairman Thomas Milligan learned that Earl Schmadel of Evansville, considered a likely Reagan vote, nevertheless admired Vice President Rockefeller. Milligan got on his phone to the Ford network. Rocky promptly rushed over to sit beside Schmadel. When the state's 27-to-27 split was announced, the state's Reagan chairman challenged it. Schmadel took the cigar from his mouth and announced proudly: "I voted with the Vice President."

KANSAS. Delegate Charles Hostettier, who had been considered solidly for Ford, told Senator Robert Dole the day before the vote that he was "softening up" and ought to see the President. An audience was promptly arranged. "He wasn't soft," Dole later concluded. "He just wanted to see the President because everyone else was." 30 no, 4 yes.

MISSISSIPPI. A caucus vote on Tuesday showed that its 30 alternates and 30 delegates divided 31 to 28 against 16c (one member was absent). Thus, under the unit rule, Mississippi committed itself to casting all of its 30 votes for Ford's position. Reagan had dispatched cases of cold Coors beer to the delegation's Ramada Inn East in Independence to no avail. Ford had lost one vote when he invited nine Mississippians to see him at Crown Center but his staff failed to send a car to pick up Retired Colonel James Egger.

That vote, however, by no means ended the courting and currying, phoning and photographing, fawning over and flattering of the Mississippians, whose 30 delegate votes were equally critical to the following night's balloting for the presidential nomination. Tennessee Congressman Robin Beard had said earlier: "This is the only delegation I've seen that has its own makeup team." But scarcely 24 hours after the vital rules vote, the Mississippians decided to break the unit rule and cast 16 votes for Ford and 14 for Reagan, and all that--the appearances on the Today show, the chauffeured limousines, the personal calls from the President, the invitations to view the Tall Ships from the deck of the Forrestal and to dine in the White House--came to an end.

NEW YORK. The overwhelmed Reagan faction was born less out of ideological fervor than an intraparty clash between the state's imposing, egg-bald party chairman, Richard Rosenbaum, 45, and the pugnacious chairman of Brooklyn's G.O.P., George Clark, 35. Clark had seized upon the Reagan candidacy to vent his resentment of Rosenbaum's iron chancellorship and Rockefeller's tight paternal grip. The two leaders had fought first in Kansas over whether Clark could have a Reagan telephone on the floor, then over whether Reagan should be formally invited to address the whole delegation. Rosenbaum vetoed both ideas. Complained Reagan Delegate Vito Battista: "This is like the Gestapo."

The state attracted excessive attention over an unseemly floor fuss in which Rocky grabbed a Reagan sign that he claimed North Carolina's Jack Bailey had been waving in his face. Utah Co-Chairman Douglas Bischoff (6 ft. 4 in.) intervened to get the poster back, but was challenged by Rosenbaum (6 ft. 1 1/2 in.). Bischoff thereupon ripped Rocky's white Ford phone out of its moorings. Rosenbaum galloped after Bischoff, normally a mild-mannered optometrist, shouting to guards: "Arrest that man!" Bischoff was detained for an hour by the Secret Service. The phone was retrieved and Rocky, displaying less than vice-presidential dignity, held it high for all to see.

Voting belatedly, Florida's delegates split, 38 to 28, but that was enough to put Ford over the top. The 16c amendment was dead. From his control position on the floor, the normally soft-spoken Griffin shouted, "That dood it! That's it! That's it!" Final count: 1,180 no, 1,069 yes, 10 abstain.

A deeply disappointed John Sears sadly phoned his boss. Reagan asked sympathetically if there was anything he could do to help. "Well," Sears replied wryly, "if you could get me one of those tractors backed up to this trailer and drag it out of here, it would be a help." As Florida cast its vote, Ford, watching the televised roll call with two aides, Jack Marsh and Richard Cheney, Son Mike and Daughter-in-Law Gayle, said quietly, "I think that does it." He meant that he was now certain to be the Republican nominee.

For the victorious Ford team, only one irksome conflict remained. Although it was 11 o'clock, the platform had yet to be approved. Reagan's saddened troops were still determined to add a self-styled "morality" amendment that not very obliquely assailed the Administration's foreign policy. The code words included praise for Alexander Solzhenitsyn, the dissident Soviet writer whom Ford had refused to invite to the White House; criticism of pursuing detente--a word that Ford had banned --without insisting on concurrent Soviet concessions; an attack on "secret agreements, hidden from our people"; and a reference to "Helsinki," where Ford had agreed to the 35-nation pact ratifying the postwar boundaries of Eastern Europe.

Vice President Rockefeller and U.N. Ambassador William Scranton urged the Ford campaign advisers to oppose the amendment. "Nelson and I both thought it was very bad, an attack on the Nixon-Ford-Kissinger foreign policy," Scranton said. In a conference in the sky suite, Burch, Tower, Senators Hugh Scott and Roman Hruska tried to still the urge for more combat. They reasoned that Ford had just won the big test, he might well lose a second, there was no need to dilute the night's good work. Nearly alone, Rocky sought some softening language. The Reaganites were in no mood for compromise.

On the convention floor, the cool-headed Ford operatives prevailed. At one point, Reagan Aide Keene told a group of delegates that Ford's assent to letting the amendment pass would mean he was "willing to humiliate the Secretary of State." With a Cheshire grin, Ford Floor Whip Tom Korologos whispered in Keene's ear: "We accept." Then he stuck a photo of Kissinger on Keene's back and walked away laughing. When the morality amendment was introduced, the Ford forces were content to allow its approval on a voice vote.

With that, the nervous Ford operatives could relax. Despite hints of hidden grenades, no real surprise had been sprung by the Reagan strategists. Griffin had not even had to use the store of white caps he had kept in reserve in case the Reaganites flooded the floor with red and yellow hats to confuse the Ford floor operation. Nor had the Reagan plotters ever been able to unleash their "S.T.P." operation, in which any ruling from the chair that seemed unfair would be challenged by a "storm the podium" deluge of fist-waving protests and jeers, in an effort to turn the delegates against Ford's controlling convention officials.

Although the issues had been resolved, the delegates' spirit had not been squelched. Wednesday's session was so noisy that at one point Chairman John Rhodes growled in disgust: "You're sounding like a bunch of Democrats." Although the sentiment for Reagan among his backers needed little prompting, the big demonstration for him on nominating night was far from spontaneous. His delegates had been instructed to begin with "flags, sirens and horns," then, after two minutes, break into the chant "We need Reagan!" Texas and California delegations were to snake dance into the aisles two minutes later. At nine minutes the horns were to dominate the action. But it all went on much longer than planned.

Despite the din, the session was actually anticlimactic. Ford gained seven votes from the night before, winning, with little suspense, 1,187 to 1,070.

In his Crown Center suite, the President calmly checked off West Virginia --the state that put him over the top --on a tally sheet; then he accepted the handshakes of his aides in the room. "I guess we don't have to change the speech," Ford quipped to Media Consultant Don Penny.

Ford promptly traveled across midtown to speak to his defeated challenger. "Governor, it was a great fight," he said graciously as the two met in Reagan's hotel suite. "You've done a tremendous job. I just wish I had some of your talents and your tremendous organization." The two retired for a private 30-minute meeting at which they discussed the vice presidential candidates. Reagan had been deadly serious all along in his repeated vow that he would not accept the post if offered it.

By the time Thursday rolled around, many of the conventiongoers were thoroughly worn out. "I'm so tired fightin'," said Mississippi Delegate Malcolm Mabry, "I just wish someone would ring the bell." Yet Gerald Ford managed to recharge the delegates.

It was, fittingly, one of the President's finest hours. The ovation that greeted his appearance on the podium carried a rousing ring of enthusiasm. Speaking with unaccustomed fervor and a punchy delivery, the President effectively assailed, by biting implication, his Democratic opponent, Jimmy Carter. "We will build on performance, not promises; experience, not expediency; real progress instead of mysterious plans to be revealed in some dim and distant future." At another point he jabbed: "My record is one of specifics, not smiles."

While Ford harshly attacked the Congress that either "won't act" or acts wrongly when it does, he also cited it to legitimize his presidency. "I have been called an unelected President, an accidental President," he noted. Yet he had been confirmed for the vice presidency, he pointed out, by votes of 387 to 35 in the House and 92 to 3 in the Senate. "Having become Vice President and President without expecting or seeking either, I have a special feeling toward these high offices. To me, the presidency and the vice presidency were not prizes to be won, but a duty to be done."

In a speech that sounded much better than it reads, Ford directly addressed is large television audience: "You are the people who pay the taxes and obey the laws. You are the people who make our system work. It is from your ranks that I come, and on your side I stand." Again, quite personally, he predicted about the election: "The American people are going to say that night, 'Jerry, you've done a good job. Keep right on doing it.' "

After his speech, Ford motioned to his vanquished foe in the guest galleries to join him and Betty on the podium. When Reagan and Nancy had entered the hall earlier to a resounding ovation, there were rhythmic cries of "Speech! Speech! Speech!" Invited to the podium by Chairman Rhodes, Reagan initially declined. "This is someone else's night," he said to friends. But now he responded to Ford's beckoning. As he moved through the packed arena with Nancy, then took the microphone at Ford's bidding, the eyes of many delegates shimmered with tears.

Reagan delivered a capsuled version of his intended acceptance speech. He warned in moving terms of the erosion of liberty in the world, the dangers of nuclear annihilation and the need for America to lead the fight against both. Not once did he laud his party's newly nominated candidate for President.

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