Rendezvous with Destiny: Ronald Reagan and the Campaign that Changed America (97 page)

George Bush headed for Virginia, another state that should have been tucked away months earlier. Also in play was Michigan, where labor unions were working hard for Carter—motivated in part by the administration's $1.3 million grant to create counseling centers for unemployed autoworkers.
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Although Gerald Ford had carried his Wolverine State in 1976, the moderates who dominated the state GOP were decidedly unenthusiastic about Reagan.

The only major industrial state in the Northeast where Reagan was holding a lead was New Jersey, and soon even that state would move into the toss-up category. Connecticut was still up for grabs, despite the campaign's attempt at a merger between Bush's blue bloods and Reagan's blue collars. Reagan punster-in-residence Lyn Nofziger called it the “blue woo.”
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Illinois, land of Reagan's birth, which Ford had carried in 1976, fell back into the undecided column. A Chicago Sun-Times poll as of the third week of October
had Carter ahead, 43.9 to 41.5 percent.
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Carter's surge had come primarily from suburban voters, who were moving away from John Anderson and had lingering doubts about Reagan. The state was a bellwether, as it had gone for the winner in seven out of the eight previous presidential contests.

Ohio's status also slipped back into the toss-up category, despite a statewide unemployment rate of around 9 percent and the Reagan campaign's considerable expenditure of resources in the Buckeye State.
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The newest polling had Reagan at 36 percent and Carter at 34 percent in the state. Amazingly, among the self-described conservatives in Ohio, Reagan was getting only 54 percent of the vote and Carter was taking a respectful 25 percent. The Democratic chairman of Cuyahoga County, Timothy Hagan, summed it up: “With all his problems, Carter should be blown out of the water by now, but he obviously isn't, so he's still in the game.”
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Republican governor Jim Rhodes, a slightly unsavory character, was campaigning hard for Reagan. Typically, he would slam his wallet on a lectern and tell the crowd, “That's the issue—who puts something in there rather than who takes it out.”
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In Florida, a newspaper poll had it 42 percent for Reagan and 40 percent for Carter, but Jewish voters there were overwhelmingly for the president, 61–14 percent. Carter was hitting Reagan hard in the state on Social Security and Medicare.
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And Reagan had protracted problems in Alabama because of his comments several weeks earlier about the Klan.
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All told, a dozen battleground states were considered toss-ups by mid-October, and both campaigns were working overtime to determine where to deploy their limited financial and manpower resources in the final weeks.

In many states, Carter had two aces in the hole. The first was that organized labor controlled most of the levers of power, from the election boards to the public schools to the state legislatures. Second, most states had Democratic governors and many of these had their own effective political machines they were only too willing to loan to Carter.

Ted Kennedy had made some campaign appearances with the president, but with his standoffishness he telegraphed that he was holding his nose in supporting Carter—a point Kennedy speechwriter Bob Shrum confirmed in an interview years later.
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Now Kennedy reluctantly agreed to do commercials for the president, with the proviso that Carter's media man, Gerald Rafshoon, not be anywhere near him. Kennedy held a grudge against Rafshoon over what he believed were heavy-handed ads in the primaries. Teddy's former media adviser David Sawyer bluntly said, “They were mean,” and speculated that the residual bad feelings had hurt Carter among traditional Democratic voters because the ads “were so intensely personal, raising inferences about Chappaquiddick.”
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But Carter needed Kennedy's help, and he knew it. As Carter later remembered, “I was never reconciled to the more liberal wing of [the] Democratic Party as long as I was in office.” He fretted over the Catholic vote going to Reagan and the liberal vote going for John Anderson, and so he was working hard to hold on to these traditional Democratic voters.
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Mondale, Carter, and Bush were all available to talk with the media, but not Reagan and the complaints became more insistent. Reporters began to wonder amongst themselves why Reagan seemed to be ducking a one-on-one debate with Carter, since John Anderson had faltered and because Reagan initially had said he would welcome such a confrontation with Carter. Reagan began receiving renewed tough critiques from the nation's columnists. David Broder of the
Washington Post
said that some of the Reagan campaign's tactics were downright “preposterous” but that Carter was too much of a stiff to take advantage; many other politicians had successfully stopped their opponents by making fun of them.
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Reagan was trying to stay on offense. He charged the Carter administration with “doctoring” the new economic figures, but the charge did not stick.
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He was still bedeviled over his comments that air pollution in America was essentially under control and that the massive oil spill in Santa Barbara in 1969 wasn't a big issue.

The GOP nominee was mostly sticking to his script, talking again and again about “family, work, neighborhood, peace, and freedom.” His staff referred to it as the “FWNPF” speech and the media had their own impolite way of describing it. Reagan was not saying anything new.

Although Carter's attacks on Reagan had come at a serious price for the president, they did at least slow the Republican down. The assaults had, for example, limited Reagan's ability to call for military action to free the hostages, as this would play into Carter's hands and renew suspicions that Reagan was “trigger happy.”

Pat Caddell saw “softness” in Reagan's support, including in his adopted home state of California.
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A good deal of the softness, according to Caddell, was with women voters, who were more supportive of Carter. Reagan was touchy about the subject and suggested that his support among women might be higher absent Carter's “warmongering” attacks. Caddell said, “All elections involve a certain amount of seeding. Carter has succeeded in seeding certain doubts about Reagan.”
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As was the case four years earlier, Carter was once again relying upon a small coterie of fellow or honorary Georgians. Hamilton Jordan was at the headquarters full-time, delighted to be away from the stuffiness of the White House. Jordan found governance to be a bore. His office at the campaign reflected his irreverence:
the only item adorning the walls was a poster that read “Luciano Pavarotti for President.”
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Each morning, Jordan convened an 8 o'clock strategy meeting. Most nights, the Carterites retired to the Class Reunion bar around the corner from the White House for further talks, cigarettes, and booze. The smelly dive was a favorite haunt of the Carter gang and political reporters. In the rear, next to the men's room, was a door to the alley, where a dumpster was often covered with rats.

John Anderson's candidacy appeared to be waning, but not fast enough for Carter's nerves. Four years earlier, Eugene McCarthy's quixotic candidacy had, Carter believed, cost him a handful of states as liberals threw in their lot with the erudite Minnesotan.

Only in the rural West was Carter unable to make much of a dent. One large reason why the president had not cracked the region was his hostility toward federal water projects there, essentially sacred cows in this perpetually parched land. Farmers, ranchers, and developers prized these projects. Spurred on by the “Sagebrush Rebellion” that had grown up in opposition to the federal government's control of so much western land, the region had become increasingly anti-Washington on issues ranging from water to taxes to gun ownership to the fifty-five-mile- per-hour speed limit, which Westerners saw as hugely impractical in a land where one might have to drive for hours just to go grocery shopping.

About the only other good news for Reagan at this time was that he appeared to be making inroads with Catholic voters nationally. Catholics had supported Carter 54–44 over Ford in 1976.
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Chipping away at Carter's lead with Catholics could help Reagan in battleground states.

A final piece of promising news for the Republicans went underreported: the results of a national survey of the rank-and-file of the labor movement taken by the AFL-CIO. Surprisingly, 72 percent of members opposed any cuts in defense spending, 65 percent favored a balanced-budget amendment, 60 percent remained opposed to the Panama Canal treaties, more than 50 percent opposed new gun-control laws, and 44 percent stood in opposition to abortion.
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No wonder the leadership at the AFL-CIO tried to keep a lid on the results.

On the whole, though, the election indicators were growing poor for Reagan and the GOP. The Republican National Committee was so fearful of a Reagan collapse that it began telling its candidates to run from Reagan and localize their efforts.
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Where once the GOP had been favored to take control of Congress, the Democrats had regained the lead, 51–42 percent, according to a Gallup poll released in mid-October.
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A Republican sweep appeared to be slipping away.

A
S PART OF THE
evolving tone of his campaign, President Carter began a series of twenty-minute radio broadcasts, the first detailing his new economic plan, which he said would lead to an “economic renaissance.” Without mentioning Reagan by name, Carter excoriated those who pined for “earlier times.” Carter then headed for New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Missouri, Illinois, and, curiously, Massachusetts, which everyone assumed would be a lead-pipe cinch for the Democrats.
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Carter's closing argument would have to be directed at undecided voters and wavering liberals who had flirted with Anderson over the summer and fall but were succumbing to the argument that a “vote for Anderson is a vote for Reagan,” as Carter's campaign had charged.

To make his case, Carter needed to rekindle a message of hope and opportunity, a message he'd thrown away over the past several years, repeatedly telling the American people of a world of scarcity and sacrifice. Reagan had happily picked up the message of hope. Carter would also have to continue to shift the focus from the current state of the economy to questions about Reagan and nuclear war.

In addition, the Democrats wanted to remind voters of Reagan's flip-flops, and this Vice President Mondale did with relish, hoping to prod disgruntled Democrats back into the fold. Reagan indeed had changed his positions on federal aid to New York City, the grain embargo of the Soviets, the federal loan guarantee for Chrysler, and the sale of the Tennessee Valley Authority, and Mondale wasn't about to let anyone forget it.

Mondale was from the old school, the Harry Truman school. As a young man, he been on the train with Truman in 1948 when the thirty-third president was “giving 'em hell” and Mondale always remembered three lessons from the old machine pol: “Tell the voters what you have done and where you are going and, above all, have some fun along the way.”
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T
HE ELECTION WAS NOW
less than three weeks away. Tempers rose and patience was practically nonexistent. Subtlety was in short supply. Andrew Young, Carter's former UN ambassador, opened his mouth again—always a dangerous proposition. In Ohio, he said that Reagan's support for “states' rights … looks like a code word to me that it's going to be all right to kill niggers when he's president.” The White House immediately repudiated Young's horrendous comments, and Ed Meese, who was almost always a study in dispassion, stepped out of character and called Young's comments “low and vicious demagoguery … part of the continuing Carter hatchet attack.”
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Reagan, in an effort to close the sale in his home state, went back to California for a hoped-for favorable tour, complete with good visuals for the networks.
The stop at Claremont College was anything but favorable, as hundreds of chanting students from a half-dozen colleges ambushed him as he attempted to speak. The wittiest sign was attached to a tree, and it said, “Chop me down before I kill again,” a reference to Reagan's earlier statement about trees and pollution.
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Chanting “We Want Bonzo!” “Smog!” and “ERA!” some protesters waved coat hangers signifying their support for legal abortions and tried to drown out Reagan's speech by singing “America the Beautiful,” prompting Reagan to gibe, “They can't even sing.”
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Reagan smiled and watched the protesters until they began yelling “Heil Reagan!” and making the Nazi salute in his direction. Reagan's visage became grim and he said, “Those who would deny the right to speak to others who don't share their particular views were raising their hands in a salute that was more familiar in my younger days.… Well, you know I take a little pride, if you'll forgive me, that if it wasn't for our generation they'd be saying ‘Heil’ somebody today.”
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Reagan was treated far better at an event in Orange County that included skydivers and fireworks. He shouted to the thousands assembled, “Are you better off than you were in 1976?” and “Do we really need more spending programs?” The crowds shouted back, “No! No!”
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But more and more hecklers were showing up at every Reagan appearance.

Carter had his own trouble with hecklers. In New York, he pledged continued support for Israel in the Jewish Community Center in Queens, but a handful yelled “Liar!” back at him.
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Carter would need the support of Jewish Americans if he were to carry New York again. Reagan, in California at Temple Ner Tamid in Van Nuys, attacked Carter for failing to denounce the bombing of a synagogue in Paris and other apparently coordinated attacks on Jews in France. Wearing a white yarmulke, Reagan was well received.
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