National Affairs: The Eye of the Nation

A European is astonished to see nearly one thousand men prepare to transact the two most difficult pieces of business an assembly can undertake, the solemn consideration of their principles, and the selection of the person they wish to place at the head of the nation, in the sight and hearing of twelve or fourteen thousand other men and women . . .

—James Bryce, The American Commonwealth (1893)

In 1952, the solemn business was being transacted in the sight and hearing of some 50 million people who were watching the loud, gaudy—and deeply serious—scene through the electric eye of TV.

Fate of the World? Slowly, through Chicago's hot, traffic-jammed streets, the herd of delegates converged on the convention hall, the International Amphitheater, which swam in the pungent smell from the surrounding stockyards. The delegates were a serious bunch. They seemed to realize that their party and their nation had come to a crossroads.

The convention hall itself seemed a touch less garish than usual. The gay red, white & blue was balanced by quiet greys and blues (which show up more sharply on TV). The face of Abraham Lincoln looked down earnestly on the delegates. An hour behind schedule, pudgy National Chairman Guy Gabrielson advanced to the rostrum, which jutted, like the bridge of an ocean liner, above the floor. "O.K., boys," he said, and banged the gavel.

The delegates seemed impatient with the time-honored ritual—the prayer, the singing of the national anthem, the welcoming speeches, and the chair's plea, repeated like an incantation, to clear the aisles. Gabrielson delivered his opening speech, his eyes glued to a gadget on the speaker's stand known as the teleprompter (which spells out a prepared speech line for line on a moving band). Said he, in a political cliche with a hard core of truth: "The fate of the world is in the hands of these delegates . . ."

He ripped into the Democrats, and the delegates roared dutifully, but they clearly wanted to get down to business, i.e., the rules fight between the Taft and Eisenhower forces (see above), which brought the convention's first tense hours of drama and caused the air-conditioned atmosphere to heat up fast.

The Hero. In their hotel rooms, before TV sets, the candidates watched the proceedings that determined their future. Up to the last minute, they had been shaking hands, making speeches, exuding confidence.

Ike's trip across the country from Denver and his arrival in the convention city had been something of a triumph. At station after station, thousands of people gathered to catch a glimpse of him, hear him denounce Taft's steamroller methods. For a while, after his arrival, Eisenhower forgot politics and attended the annual reunion of the veterans of the 82nd Airborne Division. Amid flickering candles and muffled drums for the dead, Eisenhower wept. He recalled how he had visited the 82nd on the eve of its drop into Normandy, how the men had smiled at him and told him in effect: "Don't worry." Now, at Chicago, the men of the 82nd cheered his words and, again, smiled..