Here's to the State of Richard Nixon

[Robespierre's Jaw]

October 9 1971,
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
United States of America

For the first time since the campaign was launched in January, George McGovern’s campaign manager had something to smile about. “Jesus Christ, Frank”, exclaimed Gary Hart. “Look at the numbers. We’re up five points”, he said passionately to his older counterpart.

“Since?”

“Last week”.

“We did something last week?” Frank Mankiewicz asked disdainfully, wiping his glasses with an
overused handkerchief.

“We didn’t.”

The two figureheads of the McGovern campaign stood behind the stage of the Sioux Falls City Hall. Though the Hall was re-built in 1934, the significance of the place overwhelmed them both. Was it the sense of occasion; the hum of the teeming crowd; their fragility under the vast flag or red, white and blue? Neither knew, nor did they want to.

And so they waited for their man, absorbing the surrounds of the prairie and the air, tainted with grain.

“Then how in the name of god can we be up five points if we didn’t do anything? Whose campaign do the pollsters think we’re running: Ted Kennedy’s?”

“Well, according to the latest polls, Frank, Kennedy would win the nomination in a sweep. In a hypothetical race against Agnew he’d win in a landslide similar to Johnson’s in 1964. He’s more popular than Muskie, Wallace and George; he’s the most popular politician in the country. You should know that, Frank”, explained Gary.

“Of course I fucking know”, Frank snapped. “I was lined up to run his campaign in 1972 until Chappaquiddick. And I did work for his brother, you know...” It was a rant brewing in his mind since 1969. Until today, Frank never had the courage to utter those words against a Kennedy. After all, he had worked for the infamous clan for the better half of his life. And how dare he critique the Kennedy kin which saved him from the dry and dreary world of Californian journalism and took him to bastion of American power, Washington, DC, serving as Robert F. Kennedy’s press secretary.

“Of course, Frank, of course”, Gary replied cautiously.

“Now, you didn’t answer my question, Gary. How can we be up five points if we didn’t do anything?”

“Does it even matter? Any improvement is a good improvement”.

A tense pause separated the two men as unkempt McGovern volunteers walked on by.

“Seriously though, Frank. We’re doing better than the rest”, Gary advocated in vain.

“How so? You do know whose campaign we’re running, right?” said Frank self-depreciatingly.

“There’s only so long Ed Muskie can run on the fact he was Humphrey’s running mate in ’68 and is therefore the rightful heir to the Democratic throne in 1972. Only so long Hubert Humphrey can run as the poor, Minnesotan bastard child, who deserves the presidency because his path has been routinely blocked by Kennedy and Johnson. Only so long George Wallace can run as the token racist. Only so long...”

“That’s enough now, Gary. Enough”, Frank insisted. He had enough of Gary’s talk. He heard it all before. They said the same thing about Kennedy in 1968. As far as Frank was concerned, June 6 1968, was the day his hopefulness in the political system died.

“Frank, the other candidates – the likes of Muskie, Humphrey and Wallace – are has-beens. Nobody wants to listen to them, nor should they have to. There is only so long they can carry the same old tune...”

 “What about us? There’s only so long we can campaign as the ‘anti-war’ candidate”.

“Don’t you see, Frank? We’re not the anti-war candidate. We’re more than that”.

“Than what are we?”

“We’re the candidate of change. The people are listening to us; the polls are reflecting that. If we can carry this momentum throughout the primaries, the winds of change may sweep through Miami Beach, even the capital come 1973”.

“I don’t know, Gary. I just don’t know”.

“You don’t know, Frank? Jesus Christ!” Frank Mankiewicz may have been more experienced, but his cynicism irritated Gary. Whenever Frank quoted from a passage of the past – often patronisingly – Gary wondered if he made the right move. Cynicism and politics was a deadly mix, he thought. If he didn’t believe George McGovern wasn’t the one, he would still be in Denver practicing law. He continued. “The Republicans are on the ropes! After eight years in the wilderness, they’ve ruined the country so badly, so ruthlessly, that the American people are begging for us, pleading for us to return in 1972”.

“I don’t share your optimism”, Frank replied snidely.

“And you’re running George McGovern’s presidential campaign? Get a hold of yourself, man. We’re at the start of something. This is our chance to be daring. This is our one, bright shining moment”.

“As it was Bobby Kennedy’s - even George’s in ‘68. And Bobby was gunned down on the brink of glory; George shouted down by a chorus of Chicagoan brutes”. Frank paused. Images of the convention came flooding back: the so-called servants of the state, bludgeoning the people they’re meant to protect; the midwestern streets running with blood; the floor of the amphitheatre strewn with the bodies of faceless men, chanting an unnerving war cry “Humphrey! Humphrey! Humphrey!” He wiped the sweat from his brow, and continued. “I just don’t want to be caught up in the emotion of it all. The sense of inevitable victory, only to be cruelly torn away; the sense of change, you could feel it in the air comrade. Feel it! History is going to repeat itself in 1972”.

“It won’t, Frank. It won’t. Now this might sound strange, but when was the last time you read The Iliad?”

“Would have been when I was at Berkley, why?” Frank looked at Gary curiously. It was moments like these, Frank thought to himself, that Gary would be more at home at an Ivy League college, studying the works of Homer or Virgil, rather than running a presidential campaign. Homeric ideals of pride and honour and love of man had no place on the campaign trail.

“Do you remember the final moments of book six?”

“No – you’ll have to enlighten me”.

Gary paused for a moment while he remembered the synopsis. Like Frank, it had been a while since he read Homer; but he thought a literary discussion seemed relevant to the topic at hand - so the wait was worth it.“Hector leaves the battle and returns to Troy, to ask his mother, Hecuba, along with her noblewomen, to pray for mercy at the temple of Athena. He visits his brother Paris, who has withdrawn from battle, claiming he is too grief-stricken to participate. Hector and Helen heap scorn on him for not fighting, and at last he arms himself and returns to battle. He meets his brother on his way out of the city, and the brothers prepare to rejoin the battle”.

“And what does this have to do with anything?” Frank asked curiously.

“Frank: you’re Paris. You must leave Troy - you must leave behind Andromache and Astynax - and return to the battlefield. The Athenians can’t win without you; George McGovern can’t win without you”.

Suddenly, with wife, Eleanor, beside him, George McGovern greeted the two men he entrusted to run his campaign. “Gentlemen”, the Senator began quietly, “good job on the polls”.

“Don’t thank us, sir”, replied Gary. “It’s all your doing”, he insisted.

 “I must be doing something right for once”, George replied self-depreciatingly.
The crowd warmer peeked his head through the drapes of red, white and blue. “Senator”, he began, “they’re ready for you”. As quickly as he peeked in, the gaping hole in the flag was closed.

With a commanding voice, a voice that could be heard from the mountains of Appalachia to the seas of the Pacific; with a crowd drunk with the dreams of a better tomorrow, the  warm-up guy introduced their Senator. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce the next President of the United States, George McGovern!”

[Proud Lieberal from Northeast]

[Robespierre's Jaw]

I come bearing good news. There will be updates in the next few days.

Shameless self-promotion is needed in the quest to save our beloved board.

[CathKhan]

I come bearing good news. There will be updates in the next few days.

Shameless self-promotion is needed in the quest to save our beloved board.

Anything to save the board!

[Jerseyrules]

I come bearing good news. There will be updates in the next few days.

Shameless self-promotion is needed in the quest to save our beloved board.

Anything to save the board!

[Jerseyrules]

I come bearing good news. There will be updates in the next few days.

Shameless self-promotion is needed in the quest to save our beloved board.

Anything to save the board!

[CathKhan]

Update, dammit!

[pillage the village, trash the scene]

Update, dammit!

[Jerseyrules]

Update, dammit!

[MIKESOWELL]

Great timeline!

[Jerseyrules]

Update, dammit!

[Jerseyrules]

Great timeline!

[Robespierre's Jaw]

I knew this would happen someday; someday, I would return to this site: this site which has caused me much pain; this site which has ruined potential political prospects; this site which has forced me into the arms of the people I know for the past six months.

I have read your comments, and I have re-read my incomplete work - though, I must insist: it's not a timeline, it's a narrative; it's different from the rest. It reminds me of a time when I had the will to write, when writing was flowing through my veins. But that time has passed, and until it returns, I cannot guarantee the future of this tribute to Phil Ochs.

[CathKhan]

Damn you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, I've started reading "Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72", fascinating book.

[Robespierre's Jaw]

You need to understand, Cathcon: university has deprived me of my creative instincts. When they return as will Here's to the State of Richard Nixon.

[Jerseyrules]

You need to understand, Cathcon: university has deprived me of my creative instincts. When they return as will Here's to the State of Richard Nixon.

I look forward to that day

[CathKhan]

You need to understand, Cathcon: university has deprived me of my creative instincts. When they return as will Here's to the State of Richard Nixon.

Yeah man, I get it. My response was mostly emotional with a hint of hyperbole. I've been there. Regardless of whether you can post or not, I hope you get some free time soon.

[Jerseyrules]

You need to understand, Cathcon: university has deprived me of my creative instincts. When they return as will Here's to the State of Richard Nixon.

Regardless of whether you can post or not, I hope you get some free time soon.

[Robespierre's Jaw]

This could do with a re-write, I reckon. What do you party people think?

[Proud Lieberal from Northeast]

This could do with a re-write, I reckon. What do you party people think?

Well, I think you should shut up and finally continue something

[Robespierre's Jaw]

This could do with a re-write, I reckon. What do you party people think?

Well, I think you should shut up and finally continue something

Touche, good sir. I dunno, with work and council elections and everything else, it's a bit hard.

[CathKhan]

You're back (but for how long?)! Assuming you were to begin writing again, I'd prefer for you to continue this. From what I remember, this was quite epic and I"d love to see it reach wherever it's going.