THE CAMPAIGN: Get Out the Cues

With toothy smiles all around, the national chairmen of the Democratic and Republican parties met last week in Washington's Mayflower hotel, shook hands almost as though they meant it, signed a pledge against playing dirty campaign pool this year—and immediately began whacking each other with the pool cues.

Brought together by the well-meaning Fair Campaign Practices Committee Inc. and its well-meaning chairman, Cincinnati's Mayor Charles P. Taft (brother of the late U.S. Senator Robert Taft), Democrat Paul Butler and Republican Len Hall signed, with telegenic flourishes, a fair-play code: "I shall condemn any dishonest or unethical practice." etc., etc. Then, while Republican Chief Hall stood quietly to one side, Democratic Leader Butler faced the bank of television cameras, reached into his pocket and whipped out a prepared statement. Cried he: "Fraudulent and baseless charges like 'party of treason' and 'traitorous conduct' not only violate the code but endanger our whole political system."

Republican Chairman Hall at first seemed startled, then laughed uncomfortably and finally snapped: ". . . fair campaign." As a pomegranate red seeped above his tight collar. Hall continued: "I offered to pay $1,000 to charity if anyone could prove Mr. Nixon ever made that statement. There have been no takers. The offer still stands." Retorted Butler: "It's just a play on words . . . It's clearly a violation."

With visions of his truce session going up in smoke, Fair Player Taft tried to intervene, tut-tutted: "That subject has been exhausted. Each side has stated his position." He explained that complaints of unfair campaign tactics would be screened by his committee, then referred to newspapers for public airing. At that, Butler wondered about the treatment his party would get at the hands of "editors whose papers are 85% in favor of the Republicans."

Hall (groaning): Here we go again. I think the press is fair.

Butler (interrupting): You should.

Hall (breaking in): I don't like this cry-baby stuff.

Taft (floundering): Just a moment . . .

Amid the uproar, Charlie Taft tried to read a statement, failed to get far, scrapped it, and admitted of his committee's ambitious project: "I wouldn't say that we are going to accomplish all that we want." That, at least, seemed to be a fair (if somewhat optimistic) campaign-year statement.