Read Online The Boys on the Bus by Timothy Crouse - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Timothy Crouse
Ads: Link
difference.
Nevertheless, when the national political correspondents—PWDS members and a few others—checked their scratch sheets at the end of 1971, Muskie looked like the only man who really had a chance. Johnny Apple had written a series of exclusive articles in the
Times
about various big Democratic politicians endorsing Muskie, and these articles helped to build up an impression that Muskie had it made. If he took New Hampshire he would be hard to stop, but because he looked like the one and only contender, he could not afford to do poorly in that first primary.
On January 9, 1972, David Broder, the most influential political writer in Washington, wrote from Manchester, New Hampshire: “As the acknowledged front runner and a resident of the neighboring state, Muskie will have to win the support of at least half the New Hampshire Democrats in order to claim a victory.” At the beginning of the campaign, that was the wisdom of the screening committee of national political journalists. And when Muskie’s big Scenicruiser bus rolled out of Manchester in January, most of them were on it—writing down every fact that might prove useful six months later when they did the big piece about how Muskie had won the nomination. Thanks to the screening committee, no other candidate in sight had half the press entourage that Muskie had.
The screening committee had never held a meeting to appoint Muskie the front runner. They had never even discussed it at great length. If there was a consensus, it was simply because all the national political reporters lived in Washington, saw the same people, used the same sources, belonged to the same background groups, and swore by the same omens. They arrived at their answers just as independently as a class of honest seventh graders using the same geometry text—they did not have to cheat off each other to come up with the same answer. All signs pointed to Ed Muskie as the easy winner, and as thewisdom of the national political men began to filter down through the campaign reporters and the networks to the people, victory began to seem assured for the Senator from Maine.
Of course, Muskie made no such predictions for himself. All he wanted to do was win, he said, and with all the time he had to spend shuttling back and forth between Florida and New Hampshire, he’d consider himself
lucky
to get fifty percent. Nobody listened to him. And when the returns came in on the night of March 7, leaving Muskie with only 46 percent of the vote, the press started muttering about a Muskie setback.
The next morning Muskie held a press conference in the dingy ballroom of the Sheraton Carpenter Hotel in Manchester, and several members of the screening committee turned out for it. David Broder and Tom Ottenad kept asking him about the percentage of his victory. Why hadn’t he done as well as predicted? What had happened? Suddenly Muskie’s temper exploded and he launched into a tirade, lashing out at Broder and Ottenad, who were two of the gentlest and most soft-spoken men in the business. The percentage, said Muskie, had nothing to do with anything. The press was misinterpreting it because the press was out to get him.
Nothing daunted, Broder asked him how, specifically, the New Hampshire results would affect his chances in Florida and in the other primaries. “I can’t tell you that,” Muskie snapped. “You’ll tell me and you’ll tell the rest of the country because you interpret this victory. This press conference today is my only chance to interpret it, but you’ll probably even misinterpret that.”
Broder just shrugged, but Marty Nolan, who was sitting directly behind him, raised his hand and said sternly, “Senator, will you answer the question?” Muskie simply looked at him and went on to some other subject. Nolan asked him again, and got the same response.
After the press conference, Nolan stalked over to Dick Stewart and some Muskie aides who were talking in a corner.
“Calm
Nevertheless, when the national political correspondents—PWDS members and a few others—checked their scratch sheets at the end of 1971, Muskie looked like the only man who really had a chance. Johnny Apple had written a series of exclusive articles in the
Times
about various big Democratic politicians endorsing Muskie, and these articles helped to build up an impression that Muskie had it made. If he took New Hampshire he would be hard to stop, but because he looked like the one and only contender, he could not afford to do poorly in that first primary.
On January 9, 1972, David Broder, the most influential political writer in Washington, wrote from Manchester, New Hampshire: “As the acknowledged front runner and a resident of the neighboring state, Muskie will have to win the support of at least half the New Hampshire Democrats in order to claim a victory.” At the beginning of the campaign, that was the wisdom of the screening committee of national political journalists. And when Muskie’s big Scenicruiser bus rolled out of Manchester in January, most of them were on it—writing down every fact that might prove useful six months later when they did the big piece about how Muskie had won the nomination. Thanks to the screening committee, no other candidate in sight had half the press entourage that Muskie had.
The screening committee had never held a meeting to appoint Muskie the front runner. They had never even discussed it at great length. If there was a consensus, it was simply because all the national political reporters lived in Washington, saw the same people, used the same sources, belonged to the same background groups, and swore by the same omens. They arrived at their answers just as independently as a class of honest seventh graders using the same geometry text—they did not have to cheat off each other to come up with the same answer. All signs pointed to Ed Muskie as the easy winner, and as thewisdom of the national political men began to filter down through the campaign reporters and the networks to the people, victory began to seem assured for the Senator from Maine.
Of course, Muskie made no such predictions for himself. All he wanted to do was win, he said, and with all the time he had to spend shuttling back and forth between Florida and New Hampshire, he’d consider himself
lucky
to get fifty percent. Nobody listened to him. And when the returns came in on the night of March 7, leaving Muskie with only 46 percent of the vote, the press started muttering about a Muskie setback.
The next morning Muskie held a press conference in the dingy ballroom of the Sheraton Carpenter Hotel in Manchester, and several members of the screening committee turned out for it. David Broder and Tom Ottenad kept asking him about the percentage of his victory. Why hadn’t he done as well as predicted? What had happened? Suddenly Muskie’s temper exploded and he launched into a tirade, lashing out at Broder and Ottenad, who were two of the gentlest and most soft-spoken men in the business. The percentage, said Muskie, had nothing to do with anything. The press was misinterpreting it because the press was out to get him.
Nothing daunted, Broder asked him how, specifically, the New Hampshire results would affect his chances in Florida and in the other primaries. “I can’t tell you that,” Muskie snapped. “You’ll tell me and you’ll tell the rest of the country because you interpret this victory. This press conference today is my only chance to interpret it, but you’ll probably even misinterpret that.”
Broder just shrugged, but Marty Nolan, who was sitting directly behind him, raised his hand and said sternly, “Senator, will you answer the question?” Muskie simply looked at him and went on to some other subject. Nolan asked him again, and got the same response.
After the press conference, Nolan stalked over to Dick Stewart and some Muskie aides who were talking in a corner.
“Calm
Similar Books
