Eisenhower by Jim Newton Page A

been under way for weeks, he gave his first official speech in Abilene, delivered at the conclusion of a drenching rainstorm—a “gully washer,” as Ike recalled it. With it, he sketched the broad themes of his candidacy. “America must be spiritually, economically and militarily strong, for her own sake and for humanity,” Eisenhower told a damp, sparse crowd. “She must guard her solvency as she does her physical frontiers.” For a public waiting to hear more about his specific policies, the speech was as disappointing as the weather.
    Henry Cabot Lodge, an old friend and early political supporter, tried to tutor Ike in politics. Soon after Eisenhower announced, Lodge sent him a list of sixty questions for him to be prepared to answer, as well as some general observations on how he might be viewed. “I think I have no quarrel with your general observations,” Eisenhower wrote. “I merely want to make the point that I am wary of slogans, and if I have a real conviction I am not to be deterred from expressing it merely because I am afraid of how it will read in the headlines.” Lodge had suggested no such thing, but Ike, sensitive at the outset to being above politics, insisted that he did not “intend to tailor my opinions and convictions to the one single measure of net vote appeal.”
    Those were the grumblings of a man new to campaigning for office. By contrast, Eisenhower’s primary opponent was a seasoned, experienced politician with a deep, loyal base of supporters. Indeed, despite Ike’s great appeal as an American hero and strong showings in the early primaries, smart political money that summer favored Robert Taft, who had a narrow lead in delegates and thorough command of the party apparatus. The son of a president and chief justice—William Howard Taft being the only man ever to hold both those offices—Robert Taft was a leader of the U.S. Senate and an ideological archetype, a sharp critic of labor unions and the New Deal, an isolationist so committed to American nonintervention that he opposed war against Nazi Germany until the United States was attacked at Pearl Harbor. Clever, vindictive, and tough, double chinned and yet curiously dapper, Taft possessed “the almost evangelical loyalty of his followers.” His reach through the party ranks was unequaled. Taft allies picked the convention’s key speakers and even controlled the seating, relegating rivals to distant corners of the hall. Not for nothing was he known as “Mr. Republican.”
    That gave Taft a strong advantage on an obscure rules matter that ultimately proved decisive: the seating of delegates from Louisiana, Texas, and Georgia, where competing slates of Eisenhower and Taft delegates were vying for voting slots at the convention. The conflict grew from the general’s late entry into the campaign and the efforts by the Taft forces to impose caucus rules intended to favor their candidate. In Texas, for instance, the Taft-sponsored rules held that only Republicans who had been registered as Republicans in 1948 were permitted to participate in the 1952 delegate-selection process. That had the effect of excluding new party members drawn to Eisenhower’s candidacy. The result was a strongly pro-Taft slate. Eisenhower’s supporters responded by electing a slate of their own, and the two camps stomped into their respective corners. The question before the Republican Party was which delegation to seat—and whether the contested delegates would be allowed to vote on that contentious question.
    Eisenhower had the support of an intelligent campaign apparatus, led by Brownell. Having helped persuade Ike to run—and convinced of his electability—Brownell now plotted the strategy to secure the nomination. His role was largely unappreciated at the time, as he stayed out of public view for most of the campaign, careful to avoid pricking the animus of those who blamed Dewey for letting the party down in 1944 and 1948, when Brownell managed