DEMOCRATS: Candidate in Orbit

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In Annapolis, Joe Curnane, a Massachusetts undertaker who looks after Jack Kennedy's political interests in Maryland, hooked his forefingers in his vest and put the heat on 48 Tidewater ward lords for sizable campaign contributions. "It gets better every day," he said. "I'd hate to see Maryland end up in the wrong column the day after the election. Don't miss the boat, gentlemen. Don't miss the boat."

In New Jersey, a Kennedy lieutenant received his instructions to stand by in heavily Democratic Hudson County on election night, grab the predictably heavy pro-Kennedy first returns and flash them to the West Coast, where (because of the time difference) polls would still be open for three hours and there still might be time to exploit a last-minute psychological flurry for Kennedy.

In Manhattan, a dazed girl stood in the torrent of humanity that swirled around a black convertible. "She touched him!" shrieked her companion. "Quick, Mary, let me touch your hand, and then Sally can touch mine, and then . . ."

As he took a breather in Scranton, Pa., Jack Kennedy was grey with fatigue, and his right hand was sore from being grabbed, squeezed, clutched at in some twelve hours of campaigning. It had been a day to remember: all through the mine-scarred countryside of Pennsylvania, from Bethlehem to Allentown to Wilkes-Barre, the people poured out, half a million strong, screaming, tossing food and gifts into Kennedy's open Ford, waving flags.

"These people look to this fellow like a Messiah," muttered old Governor Dave Lawrence. "There's never been anything like this in the history of Pennsylvania—including Roosevelt." What Kennedy said made no difference: he could have recited the Boy Scout oath and brought forth ovations. Everywhere it was the same last week: through Republican heartland from Iowa to Michigan, the throngs eddied around him. Each campaign day topped the previous 24 hours. When he flew into Manhattan for a rally in the garment district, a wall-to-wall carpet of humanity spread out for 12 blocks around him.

"Why doesn't he go back to Hyannisport and do the rest from his front porch?" asked a weary reporter. Instead, Kennedy stepped up the tempo, exhorted his fagged aides to renewed action. "This is no Dewey operation," he said to them in a husky voice. "We're not going to take any time off from now on. Nixon could still win this campaign."