The Songs of the South

In the summer of 1957, Arkansas Governor Orval Faubus called out the National Guard to block the integration of Little Rock's Central High School, and overnight the city became a symbol of the South's estrangement from the rest of the nation. Last week, 30 years later almost to the day, Little Rock evoked a radically different image: as a symbol of the kingmaker role that the South hopes to play in the selection of the next President. Eight candidates (six Democrats and two Republicans) traveled to the Arkansas capital to address the Southern Legislative Conference, a convocation of 1,600 legislators from 15 states. This was merely the opening rehearsal for the real show: Mega-Tuesday, coming next March 8, when voters in 14 states below the Mason-Dixon Line will select roughly one-quarter of the delegates to the Democratic and Republican conventions.

None of the candidates in Little Rock could rightfully claim to have captured the mind of the South. Jesse Jackson, with his characteristic charismatic cadences, triggered the most enthusiastic response. Senator Albert Gore of Tennessee, the only Southerner in the race, won a meaningless straw poll. Missouri Congressman Richard Gephardt was rewarded with a standing ovation, and Massachusetts Governor Michael Dukakis provoked the most curiosity. But it was Republican Senator Robert Dole of Kansas who got off the most telling line. Referring to the never ending quest of Southern Democrats to find the ideal moderate candidate, Dole observed, "The perfect candidate never runs. And when he does, there's always somebody to take issue with you if you step in the arena."

At that very moment, the perfect candidate for many Southern Democrats was traveling with his wife and 20-year-old daughter in Europe. In mid-August, Senator Sam Nunn of Georgia left Washington with his brown leather briefcase filled with memos and briefing papers discussing a putative presidential candidacy. Thoughtful and highly respected in the Senate for his mastery of defense issues, Nunn had announced in February that he would make no move to organize a campaign for six months, until after the summer congressional recess and the conclusion of his service on the Iran-contra panel. "Nunn believed that by now the parade would have passed him by," said one of his closest political advisers. "But when he looked back up, it hadn't."

Nunn was keeping his own counsel about his willingness to march, even as many legislators in Little Rock were ready to play Strike Up the Band. Some placed in their name-tag holders small preprinted cards that read SAM NUNN, WHERE ARE YOU? The cards were the handiwork of Alabama State Representative Claude Walker, a Nunn supporter, who claimed, "If he were here, he'd be recognized as the front runner." Arkansas Governor Bill Clinton, who flirted with his own presidential candidacy, said, "Sam Nunn would be a bona fide candidate. He would make a difference."