CONGRESSIONAL RECORD -- SENATE

October 2, 1968

Page 29154

DEMOCRATIC VICE-PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE EDMUND MUSKIE

Mr. MANSFIELD. Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent to have printed in the RECORD at the conclusion of my remarks an extraordinarily good article published in the last issue of Life magazine, entitled "The View From Here: A Man at Peace With the Hard Facts," written by Loudon Wainwright, referring to our distinguished colleague, the junior Senator from Maine [Mr. MUSKIE], who is now the vice-presidential candidate of the Democratic Party.

The PRESIDING OFFICER. Without objection, it is so ordered.

(See exhibit 1.)

Mr. MANSFIELD. Mr. President, I think the article sizes up very well the character of this outstanding man from Maine, this Senator who has comported himself with such dignity in this body, this man who has been conducting such a high-grade, dignified, and understanding campaign in the weeks since his nomination.

EXHIBIT 1

THE VIEW FROM HERE: A MAN AT PEACE WITH THE HARD FACTS

(By Loudon Wainwright)

The political season has turned, and the colors are mostly cold and drab. As if the events and passions of this incredible year had utterly exhausted them, the American people seem in a mood of rebuke, and a recent poll shows that 57% of us would prefer some candidate other than the three principals we will be voting for on November 5th. Appetite is gone, vision is soured, and the days between now and then stretch ahead in uninviting procession toward the moment when the electorate will declare its underwhelming favorite, most likely Richard M. Nixon. "I guess," a former Kennedy staff member remarked to me about that apparently inevitable happening, "if Nixon wins, that means he really does get to be President, doesn't he?" And in his wry little joke there remained a trace of disbelief that it could all end up this way.

By and large the candidates contribute to the dreary passage of time. Nixon appeals to the "forgotten American" with forgettable rhetoric and the profundity of a cheerleader. George Wallace's snarls develop a broken-record regularity, and Hubert Humphrey, never knowing when the next shaft of displeasure from the White House will strike, staggers and gabbles gamely on.

Spiro Agnew, an eager trainee in national politics, is so enthusiastic as he travels the low road for Nixon that his campaign is becoming cluttered with retractions. From now on, we are advised, Agnew, the man most likely to be that appallingly, narrow, one-heartbeat distance from the Presidency, will be muzzled against goofs and will write out everything important and read it straight off the paper.

The only candidate around who offers me the slightest relief in this dismal cast of characters is Edmund Sixtus Muskie, the low-key and lanky senator from Maine, and Humphrey must be credited with a stroke of good judgment for having selected this dignified man as his running mate. In fact, the Democratic vice presidential nominee offers such a contrast to the other strident runners in the race that some wits around Washington are referring to him as "Abraham" Muskie, and others are suggesting that it would perhaps be nice if the Democrats could just turn their ticket upside down with Muskie on top. Humphrey himself is not insensitive to the value of the growing Muskie appeal and has begun to indicate that in the event of success he will upgrade the office of the Vice Presidency and would hope to give Muskie solid controls and authority in important domestic programs.

The object of all this new attention would never let on that he was particularly impressed or excited by it. After he received a rather fulsome introduction at a recent gathering in New York, he began his speech by saying: "We reserve praise like that for funerals in Maine." and, like the air in his state, there is often a cool and dry nip in Muskie. His face, too, has a certain coastline quality with a hard peninsula of a nose, and the movements of his big body are deliberate, as if a burst of speed or a sudden turn might break something. On him a tuxedo looks decidedly rented and in such costume he glows like a scrubbed schoolboy.

Of course, the illusions of awkwardness and inexperience are misleading, for Muskie, at 54, is a savvy and seasoned politician, and he is accustomed to winning. In 1954 he was elected Maine's first Democratic governor in 20 years, and in 1958 he became the first Democrat ever to be elected to the U.S. Senate by his state. There he has built a substantial reputation as an intelligent and hard-working member, effective on the floor and skillful at reconciling the widely varying attitudes and temperaments of his colleagues. He is considered gentle but tough and was reported, as a freshman senator, to have answered Majority Leader Lyndon B. Johnson's suggestion for a particular vote with the comment: "You'll know how I vote when I vote."

Muskie's mien in this campaign is far less combative, and he appears to consider his role as one of a healer. His platform approach is restrained. Talking to one elderly audience about the prospects for a better society, he said. "There is only one way -- and that is to care for one another."

Speaking to a gathering of high-ranking police officers, he said, "There is no contradiction between a safe America and a just America .... Some will accept any answer as long as it is final and tough .... But law and order cannot be had by a slogan or a stick." These comments surely must have evoked strong feelings about recent events in Chicago for this especially sensitive audience. Yet Muskie also took pains to emphasize the difficulties of police work and the honor owed by Americans to good cops, and when he finished, the officers stood to applaud him.

In the library of his house in a suburb of Washington, Muskie leaned back in his leather swivel chair and talked. Some of his five children could be heard plunging down the stairs to dinner, and out the window one could see a Secret Service man in the backyard. Muskie said that Hubert Humphrey wanted his Vice President to be at his right hand, involved in the crucial decisions.

But, Muskie added, it must be hard for a President to pass out any of that great power. He talked of the problems of the poor and the bitter and said that when he spoke to people of his own Polish extraction, a group more susceptible than some to the racist fears aggravated by George Wallace, he often reminded them of their hard fight for acceptance and status. He mentioned his friend, Eugene McCarthy, and hoped -- without any sign of real conviction that it would happen -- that McCarthy would eventually support the ticket. Listening to him, I had the feeling I was in the presence of a man quite uncluttered by false optimism or by the urgent demands of his own ego. He did not seem the least bit angry or frightened. He seemed, as many from his region do, to be at peace with the hard facts of the weather. It really wasn't all that important, Muskie said, if he won or lost. What mattered was that the people be enriched by the debates and the confrontations and that they better understood their choices. Here, I thought listening to him, in this tired hour of shadow men and second-bests was a man strangely qualified for big things.