Nation: The Head Honchos

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Most of Barry Goldwater's top political aides are hardy types who can cuss in Navajo or quaff bourbon with the best of them. Among these, Denison Kitchel, 56, a wispy, introverted, hard-of-hearing mining-industry lawyer seems as out of place as a Boy Scout on a bronco. Yet Kitchel served as Goldwater's pre-convention campaign manager and will undoubtedly continue to be, in Barry's own words, "my head honcho."

Sense & Judgment. The son of a prosperous lawyer, Kitchel was born in Bronxville, a New York City suburb, was educated at St. Paul's, Yale and Harvard Law School, set up practice in Arizona in 1934. At first, the young lawyer had "every intention" of returning to Manhattan. "But every time I did," he recalls, "I rode the subway for five minutes and was confirmed in my decision to stay in Arizona." In Phoenix he met Goldwater, then general manager of the family department store, and by the time Barry was elected to the Senate in 1952 the two were fast friends.

"For a long time," says Kitchel, "I'd been interested in what he stood for—stopping the centralization of federal power and firming up our foreign policy. When he got to the Senate, we began working together quite a bit. I'd try to give him advice on legislative problems he was facing." In May 1963 Kitchel left his lucrative Phoenix law practice to join the Goldwater staff, later set up in a small Washington office as Barry's manager. Many of Candidate Goldwater's backers were aghast at the appointment of a political amateur whose sole experience had been as counsel to the Arizona state Republican committee. Says Kitchel of such criticism: "I'm inclined to think that the term 'professional' in politics has been a little misunderstood, or misused. As I see it, this is mostly a matter of common sense and judgment."

Ready to Resign. In his exercise of common sense and judgment, Kitchel's sensitivities are sometimes staggered by the folkways of American politics. During Barry's New Hampshire primary campaign, Kitchel watched disgustedly as an eager mother pushed her baby into the candidate's arms. He murmured: "If he kisses that baby, I resign." (Barry didn't kiss and Kitchel didn't resign.) He has also developed a simple expedient for avoiding political arguments that offend him; he simply tunes down his hearing aid.

When Goldwater's campaign seemed to be going badly, Kitchel received much of the blame. He readily admits that he is not much of a political administrator, that much of Goldwater's grass-roots organization sprang up and operated with little help or coordination from his office. But it was Kitchel who made the decisive campaign decision that Goldwater should stop sloshing around like a candidate for alderman, devote his major energies and funds to major appearances, thereby lessen the opportunity for the off-the-cuff remarks that were landing Barry in trouble.