The Fromson File

WHEN THERE WAS AN UNFORGETTABLE WEEK As a lifelong junkie, I have listened to, watched and covered political conventions for umpteen years. But for drama or excitement, the one convening in Boston may be the ultimate large zzzz zzzz.  Why do we have to wait four days for the final outcome that is a foregone conclusion? Can you imagine that for four days 15,000 journalists have converged on Boston to cover 5,000 delegates who will have nothing to talk about?  Except their last lobster meal.  So while I’m weak and will watch all the pretensions of a serious gathering, I’ll catch up with the details in the next morning’s newspapers. That was not the case in 1960 when the Democrats gathered in Los Angeles for what would be a memorable convention, the one remembered as the “Kennedy Convention.”   After overwhelming victories in the Wisconsin and West Virginia primaries in April and May, the momentum toward winning the party’s presidential nomination was all in John F. Kennedy’s favor. Miraculously, the 43-year-old senator had overcome anti-Catholic resentment and the question of his relative youth.  But the outcome still was uncertain. He did not have enough of the 763 delegates locked up to clinch the nomination. Lyndon Johnson, the Senate Majority Leader, had declared his candidacy a little more than a one week before the convention. Adlai Stevenson, a two-time loser against Dwight Eisenhower, would not surrender the possibility of  being anointed for a third nomination. Senators Stuart Symington and Hubert Humphrey remained in contention.  Kennedy, his brother Bobby and their advisors were certain of one thing. JFK had to win the nomination on the first ballot or he probably would not win it at all. Momentum would shift towards Johnson or the other senators. The Bosses In those days, the Democrats’ big city political bosses acted as if they ran the conventions and just about everything else because they had access to money. They also singled out who they thought would be the best candidates. Or at least they thought they did until Kennedy disabused them of that notion. Nonetheless, little cameos designed to enhance machine politics were played out on the convention floor every day.  Jim Curley of Boston was seen huddled with Bill Green of Philadelphia and Carmine De Sapio of New York was caught by cameras, whispering in the ear of Chicago’s Jake Arvey, and so on. De Sapio, grimacing behind sunglasses inside the Los Angeles Sports Arena, constantly acted as if he had a severe case of kidney stones. I was a floor reporter for NBC News, assigned to follow his every step, even his repeated trips to the bathroom which were intended only to wash his hands. De Sapio was known for his manic obsession with cleanliness. To be sure, there were just as many tedious speeches from the convention floor in 1960 as there are bound to be this year.  But 44 years ago they probably were a lot longer. The television networks weren’t strong enough yet to kick the political parties around. In the nearby Biltmore Hotel in downtown Los Angeles, the pre-convention excitement was fascinating.  Kennedy’s arrival, his dashing good looks and smile electrified delegates, convention staff and the press.   JFK Vs. LBJ Kennedy and Johnson, faced off against each other in a heated debate in front of the Pennsylvania delegation.  Symington and Humphrey hustled for the support of uncommitted delegates’ votes. Stevenson was laying low, hoping for a groundswell of support. In the Biltmore lobby, I was introduced to a young lady in white, a convention hostess who eventually would become and still is my wife of 43 years. As the delegates gathered in the arena for the roll call, Eleanor Roosevelt arrived to take her seat in the balcony. When the delegates spotted her, they rose as one to greet her with thunderous applause. Serenely, the former First Lady waved to her admirers and sat down. Then, Stevenson, entered the hall and triggered a similar response from liberal Democrats.  Stevenson was terrified of large crowds. As I watched him making his way toward the Illinois delegation, he acted as if he was surrounded by monsters. Ultimately, the convention boiled down to a two-candidate race between  Kennedy and Johnson. The senator from Texas truly hated Kennedy who he considered a political upstart.  But JFK had the lion’s share of the delegates. That was Johnson’s biggest obstacle. I had spent months before the convention, traveling through the Western states, canvassing party officials, governors, senators and likely delegates. I got to know many of them on a first name basis. As the first ballot roll call droned on toward its climax, each of the states declared their candidate preference. Then the convention secretary prepared to call Wyoming.  J.J. McCracken, the state chairman, knew the 15 delegates had been split, 10 ½ votes for Kennedy and 4 ½ for Johnson. If the Johnson delegates would switch, Kennedy would go over the top and win the nomination.  With that, JFK’s brother, Bobby, arrived at the delegation and. standing next to me, he leaned in to McCracken.  “J.J.,” he barked out. “It’s now or never.” Actually, he said something more colorful if unprintable. In any case, it was persuasive enough and McCracken caucused the delegation. The Johnson supporters quickly reconsidered when they realized that Wyoming would have the distinction of having clinched the nomination for the young senator from Massachusetts. Kennedy’s Secret But the convention shocker was yet to come. A day later, the buzz had focused on Senator Henry (Scoop) Jackson of Washington state as JFK’s clear choice to be the vice presidential running mate. I had confirmed that with party officials and members of Kennedy’s brain trust. So I was shocked like most everyone else by what happened that afternoon. I was interviewing two of the party’s liberal stalwarts, Walter Reuther, the president of the United Auto Workers and G. Mennen (Soapy) Williams, the governor of Michigan when word began to circulate that Kennedy supposedly had a change of heart. Lyndon Johnson and not Jackson was heading for Kennedy’s suite where HE would be invited to join the ticket as JFK’s running mate.  Reuther and Williams acted as if someone had stuck knives in them. They were dumbfounded and genuinely seemed betrayed.  Johnson was so disliked by the liberal wing of the party and he had so little regard for the younger and less experienced Kennedy that nobody could believe the rumor or countenance the notion that, if elected, they could ever work together. The party bosses were shaking their heads. House Speaker Sam Rayburn, LBJ’s  closest confidante, acted as if he was surprised, which in fact was not true. He discussed Kennedy's offer with Johnson hours before LBJ met with JFK.  Jackson was the most betrayed and disappointed of all. Three years later after JFK’s assassination, when he realized he could have been so close to the presidency, Jackson’s bitterness toward Bobby Kennedy and the rest of the family became obvious to Washington insiders. According to one biographer, it would torture him the remainder of his life. As it turned out, we in the press had it all wrong or were tricked into believing where Kennedy’s instincts would really lead him. Apparently, Johnson was his choice all along and LBJ, in fact,  wanted the vice presidential nomination, believing that if Kennedy was elected, his power as Senate Majority Leader would be severely reduced. For the full story, it would be worth reading Robert Dallek’s fascinating biography of Kennedy, An Unfinished Life (Little Brown 2003). In any case, Los Angeles 1960 was the kind of convention we will never see again, thanks to the television networks that thrive on drama and even suspense. Ironically, they've taken surprise out of politics and given the convention coverage less air time than they would devote to a two-hour movie. So what's left? That's the way it is, Walter.