University of Virginia Library

. . . And The Last Serene Sigh Of A Dying Campaign

By TIM WHEELER
and BILL BARDENWERPER

WASHINGTON–George
McGovern spent twenty-two
months assembling his flock
for the people's crusade to
unseat Richard Nixon, but in a
matter of five hours, it was all
over. Seasoned party
professionals, campaign aides,
and youthful supporters had
waited almost five hours in the
packed ballroom of the
Washington Hilton to hear
some words from their party's
nominee for Vice President, R.
Sargent Shriver. Amid shouts
of "76, 76," Shriver
proclaimed, "the journey we
have started will not end with
this, campaign." However,
within 15 minutes after
Shriver's concession speech the
room was nearly deserted.

In the early hours the
crowd seemed mostly under
voting age. However, as the
evening progressed, older
campaign workers, followers
and newsmen poured into the
spacious oval-shaped
International Ballroom.

A small mob milled about a
large election returns board
filling one end of the room.
Some had cocktails in hand,
others had tally sheets, but all

watched intently as returns
from state after state trickled
in, then grew to a torrent of
support for Richard Nixon.

For the most part, however,
the mood of the crowd was
non-political. Television sets
were spaced throughout the
ballroom, broadcasting
up-to-date election returns, yet
few people displayed any real
interest in the outcome. While
some optimists still remained

CD/Bill Bardenwerper

Young Campaigner

hopeful, nearly everyone
acknowledged Sen. McGovern's
defeat early in the evening.

Two large portraits of
McGovern and Shriver flanked
a large placard of the
Democratic National
Committee perched over the
speaker's platform. Smaller
photographs of Presidents
Truman, Kennedy, and
Johnson, as well as Robert
Kennedy and Eleanor
Roosevelt lined the walls.
Strings of McGovern-Shriver
posters dangled from the
ceiling and a four-piece rock
band bleated out tasteless
renditions of popular tunes.
Yet the room seemed almost
spartan in its simple and
obviously temporary
furnishings.

Political realities could not
help but intrude on the party
atmosphere, however. The
whole room was bathed in the
stark glare of spotlights
mounted on the three TV
camera platforms, which
towered over the throng on the
floor.

At about 9 p.m., Jean
Westwood, co-chairman of the
Democratic National
Committee, was still clinging to
the last shreds of optimism. "I'm
not yet ready to concede, she
said. She offered the excuse,
"It's always an uphill struggle
against an incumbent."

McGovern supporters found
little to cheer about, though, as
they watched even those states
in which the Senator was
expected to be the strongest
slip away and go for Nixon.
By late evening, even Mrs.
Westwood had stopped kidding
herself and was ready to
concede. Responding to our

query as to how she felt now
that it was all over, Mrs.
Westwood said, "We're not the
least bit bitter."

While Mrs. Westwood may
have spoken for the party
leadership, not everyone was as
good-hearted. George Weber, a
lifelong Democrat, and former
aid of President Taft whose
participation in politics began
when he shook hands with
President McKinley on the
White House steps, had no
good words for the opposition.
"As a college professor, I was
one of the first to get behind
McGovern, but as he was a sort
of political maverick, he got
hardly any breaks."

"Furthermore," Mr. Weber
contended, "he was up against
one of the most professional,
experienced, and ruthless
organizations in American
political history."

One visibly enthusiastic
McGovern supporter, sipping
whiskey from his binoculars,
laid the blame on the senator's
advisers who, he said, mislead
McGovern on the war issue.

Political discussion was an
exception, though, as small
talk and socializing pervaded
the ballroom. Dancing on the
stage and youngsters playing
politician at the speaker's
rostrum showed the crowd to
be no more than superficially
aware that the course of the
nation for the next four years
was being determined that
night. One almost wondered if
these people had ever really
supported George McGovern,
whether they had even listened
and understood his message.

These doubts were
momentarily allayed when
Sargent Shriver arrived to
address the crowd. A great
crush of supporters thronged
the stage, chanting "We want
Sarge, we want Sarge." In
reflecting upon the campaign,
Mr. Shriver shrugged off
defeat, saying, "The banner we
raised was the banner of truth.
And raising that standard was
our victory."

The overwhelming majority
of McGovern supporters were
idealists not necessarily in
touch with political realities,
who contended that the
campaign was not yet over.
Pierre Salinger, echoing their
views, exhorted, "None of us
should quit, none of us should
walk away from the struggle."

But walk away they did.
Within moments following
Mr. Shriver's concession
speech, the cameras were
turned off, the television crews
had packed up and gone home,
and we were left staring,
perplexed, at a barren stage
and an abandoned election
return board. Hotel staff were
already busily restoring the
ballroom to its original state, as
if the Democrats had never
even been there.

Only five hours after the
polls closed, Sen. McGovern's
always- ephemeral support had
faded into the night, joining
the ranks of political
mythology.

As we were about to leave,
we saw a couple remaining and
intended to inquire why they
were lingering behind. As we
approached, we heard the wife
consoling her husband in a soft
voice, "Let's go home. It's all
over now...it's all over
now..."

Copyright, 1972
The Cavalier Daily

CD/Bill Bardenwerper

Far Sighted Drinker Drowning His Sorrows