University of Virginia Library

Hubert Is Hurting

By Robert Rosen

Hubert Humphrey's campaign
team (of which he is, presumably,
already captain) has not been doing
a very good job. I say this only in
the spirit of helpfulness, because
Humphrey needs not merely a little
help at the moment. I have made
one contribution to his campaign
already in the form of some
political diatribe I wrote about Mr.
Nixon in last week's Cavalier Daily.
But I want to do more for the only
presidential candidate who boasts
that while others talk change, he
affects it. And Humphrey does
affect it.

In view of the fact that Walter
Lippman has come out for Richard
Nixon, I can no longer stand aside
as other former McCarthyites are
doing. I have to stand up and be
counted. And so, to counter
Lippman and his gang, and to show
that I have not lost my sense of
humor, I hereby formally endorse
Hubert Horatio Humphrey for
President of the United States.

Now, why? There are no real
intellectual reasons for my switch
from silence to Humphrey's
pleasant vocal performances. There
is only an experience I had last
Thursday night in Washington, D.C.
Others may take experiences such
as the one I am about to describe
lightly, but I have to live with it all
of my life.

There I was in National Airport
awaiting a flight home in order to
tell Uncle Sam rather indirectly
"Hell No, I Won't Go" - by signing
up for the Air Force Reserves.
There I was with an hour wait. So I
decided to take a walk about the
airport. (I shall not describe the
Northern Terminal, because it
would not contain much that was
wither witty, urbane, or
sophisticated, and I would lose my
position on Rapier. I walked for a
minute or two and spotted to my
right a small knot of people waving
balloons and banners. I just knew
Elvis Presley was arriving in
Washington. Or perhaps Paul Anka.
So I walked over to see what was
going on, and discovered to my
amazement that Hubert Humphrey
was arriving in only a few moments.
Imagine my surprise when I learned
that I had stumbled into what then
looked like the Humphrey family
welcome. I asked a guard if I was
intruding on a private affair, but he
assured me that I wasn't and that
this was "the public." I still wasn't
convinced: were the
demonstrators?

Suddenly I had the terrible
realization that I was there alone,
thinking Hell No I Won't Go all by
myself, surrounded - although not
very surrounded - by Humphrey
Democrats.

In any event, the Vice-President
did indeed arrive to a mini-welcome
from two to three hundred cheering
people, and one jeering person, me.
His cherubic face grinned under the
lights. He looked like a nice man.
He held both arms aloft and waved.
He smiled.

Finally I had enough. I decided
to try to exercise a little absentee
protesting for those dissidents all
over America who were not able to
attend. I yelled, not very loudly,
Hell No We Won't Go - trying to
sound like a crowd - right into the
ear of a flat-topped gentleman in
front of me who kept running
around and organizing We Want
Humphrey chants. He turned
around, frowned, and hit me
squarely on the head with a balloon.

After that, it was all over.
Having been silenced by The Pig
with a balloon, I wondered if we
had any chance at all outside of the
Establishment. I decided we did
not.

It was getting late. Humphrey
was arriving in Washington and I
was departing, not unhappily, at
the same moment. But my thinking
had been changed.

I had been ballooned into
supporting Hubert Humphrey.