A Universal-International Newsreel from the National Archives, dated October 1962:
[Banner title: Changing Times in American Deep South narrated by male voice-over as music swells to black and white film image.]
“Changing Times in American Deep South as the fall election season sees a new generation of leaders rise to the challenge in the face of increasing racial and civil rights tensions...[video of a small town in the South showing whites and blacks going about their day]... in South Carolina, Republican candidate for governor Carter Ridge is campaigning for every citizen’s vote, promising to usher in “The Good Life”...[video of Ridge exiting from his dark-colored Citroën, waving to a throng of supporters, as he wades into the crowd, shaking hands and smiling. Cut to next scene of he and Margot O’Neill walking up to a stage at a large outdoor fair, with Ridge saying —‘We need to move forward, past the divisions of the past, and towards the good life of freedom, of happiness, and of prosperity for all’]...voiceover of announcer as video shows Ridge and O’Neill smiling and waving, and bending to pick up a flower bouquet from a young white child at the fair, “Mr. Ridge, a successful businessman and philanthropist, is the sunny, smiling face of the New South and the hopes of a new generation of Americans, both Negro and white”... music changes for the next segment of newsreel and video cuts.
Fall 1962, Columbia
In mid-September the campaign leadership met to review the latest polling results with the Lou Harris team. The results were not expected.
“The good news is that Carter’s name recognition is nearly universal across the state now,” Betty began. “But we’re seeing a tightening of the campaign. Our overall favorable ratings have remained constant, but Thompkins is gaining strength. Whereas a month ago we had a ten-point advantage, now it is four points.”
“What? Why?” Carter exclaimed, genuinely surprised.
“The quick answer is that Thompkins is eliciting an emotion, perhaps wrongly, but he is connecting in a very strong, albeit very negative way, with his core group of potential voters. His message is passionate, and he is getting an equally passionate response from the voters.”
They all sat in silence, letting the message sink in.
“What do the polls say about me?” Carter asked, as if he were kneeling before Pythia, the ancient Greek oracle of Delphi.
“People like you. Some more than others. You poll strongest amongst the Negroes, the young, and the educated, but we knew that already. The challenge for us is still that malleable middle slice. They hear what Thompkins is saying about fighting, standing up to the Federal government, and they like it. They want a fighter.”
“Oh well, that’s easy,” Margot said, sounding relieved. “We can get that message out, send out a mailer of the upcoming Life magazine article of Carter ‘the fighter.’”
Lou Harris rubbed his chin and said nothing. Carter had noticed that this was never a good sign.
“Let’s wait a bit on the Life mailing,” he said. “That’s our silver bullet, and I don’t want to shoot it quite yet.”
“Okay, but that’s a six-point shift in a month,” Margot said. “We need to do something.”
“I don’t disagree,” he replied. “But let’s adjust the message a bit. If Thompkins is connecting on an emotional level, let’s do the same. Let’s show Carter’s sense of humor, his human side a bit more. A bit less regal, and a bit more common.”
“He has a sense of humor?” Margot joked.
“Hey, I’m sitting right here, I can hear you.” Carter replied, deadpan.
They all chuckled, and then Lou continued.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Betty, but it seems from the data that voters genuinely like Mr. Ridge, but in the intensity of emotion, Thompkins rates higher, in both dislike and like. With Carter, the dislike is low, but the like is moderate.”
“That’s correct,” Betty said.
The campaign decided to do another media buy for the next two weeks, with a new ad that was nothing but candid, behind-the-scenes footage of Carter interacting with both his staff and the public. Laughing, listening, and connecting. There was no sound at first, but slowly, gradually, like thunder in a springtime late afternoon, came the first hints of music, a piano playing, which was joined by a guitar, and then a drum, and then reaching full volume, a joyful tune that ended with the same voice actress from the previous ad in a lilting Southern accent as she said, “Carter Ridge. The Good Life. Vote November 6th.”
The success of the summer cadet leadership internship program with the Citadel easily convinced both parties to continue it into the fall academic semester. Once a month Carter had a private one-on-one lunch with the cadet major to review the past month, discuss each cadet’s work, how they found the program, and whether it met their expectations as to involvement and mentoring within each of the sub-committees.
The cadet major was always serious and formal when playing the role of team leader for the cadets, but informally, with Carter he was earnest, wanting to learn as much as possible about Carter’s past, how he became involved in politics, and always solicitous of Carter’s advice for his own future. He was an only son, his mother had been widowed during the Korean War; his father was a Citadel graduate who had been killed in combat while serving in the Army. He always knew he wanted to go to the Citadel, and took great pride in the traditions and discipline of the school. He struggled academically, and found that he learned best by doing instead of reading, which was why he felt as if he was really excelling as a part of the campaign. He enjoyed listening to strategy debates within the sub-committee he was assigned, and knew that he was gaining in knowledge, summarizing concisely to Carter what the issues were that the team had discussed earlier that morning.
“So would you recommend to your Citadel president that the program continue if I win the election?” Carter asked before he bit into his sandwich.
“Absolutely, sir,” the cadet major replied.
“What changes to the program do you think would benefit not only the office of the Governor, but the cadet corps as well?”
The cadet major paused for a moment, reflecting.
“I know that every cadet, to a man, agrees that their favorite aspect of the program is when they can spend time with you, in your car riding along during the campaign trips. I would hope that could continue once you are governor, to create a post that acts as a kind of personal adjutant for you.”
Carter nodded, and smiled.
“I enjoy getting to know each of the cadets as well, they are all fine young men.”
“Personally, sir, I think it would be appropriate to have a bit of pomp to the office of governor as well. To incorporate a platoon of the Summerall Guards in full parade regalia for special occasions, to act as sentries at the governor’s mansion, would bring additional tradition to the office.”
“The Summerall Guards are the elite honor guard, correct?”
“Yes, sir. Academically solid and exhibiting strong leadership qualities as well. It is only for second and first class year students.”
Carter pushed over the bowl of potato salad.
“Eat up, son,” he said. “We’ve still got a few months to go before I make it to the governor’s mansion.”
Late in September, while on the highway somewhere between Chesterfield and Lancaster, the radio played a Thompkins commercial over the country music station. It featured a caricature of a black man’s voice, in the infamous minstrel Amos & Andy manner, saying “I’s a can’t wait to gets my free housin’ and new gov’mint job from Mister Carter Ridge and The Good Life! Yes sir! I’s a gonna vote for Mista Carter!”
“Good Lord,” Carter said as he turned down the radio. “Can you believe that?”
“He must be feeling desperate,” Shelby said, looking back in his rear view mirror to see if the Buick was signaling. Typically Jimmy would flash his lights on/off if they wanted to stop, as would the bus with the entertainment, as would the truck pulling the fake country house.
“I hope you are right,” Carter said, gazing out of the window.
Finally, a cold front moved in from the Mid-Atlantic and it started to feel like fall. The end of the summer meant that the original cadets would return to their studies back at the Citadel, not to return until the following January assuming that Carter won the election, and that the Citadel had deemed the program a success. A new batch of cadets would take their place, working during the crucial final months of the campaign. With Carter having been on the road nearly non-stop since his formal announcement in mid-June, he had been back at the old library except for the occasional meeting with Lou Harris and the polling team. His opportunities to see Cadet Sawyers had been severely curtailed, and the rare moments they were in the same room, Carter could feel his spirits being instantaneously recharged just from seeing him. He stored those instances preciously, like a squirrel gathering chestnuts for a long winter, not knowing when he might see Gabriel again.
The start of autumn not only brought the return of children to school, but also the renewed attention of parents to the newspapers, to the new fall television season in the TV Guide, and, this being the South, the start of the football season. Friday nights and Saturday afternoons were now consecrated for the all-important tail-gating festivities at high-schools and colleges across the state, and Margot used her scheduling team to research home football games in the various towns and counties they were looking to shore up. With the new television commercial, dubbed the “Man of Character” ad by Margot, the campaign had a renewed sense of energy, and the team met again for their monthly meeting with the Lou Harris team to take a pulse of their efforts.
“I have an inside source at the polling firm The State newspaper uses, and they are going to release the results of their first poll for the campaign this weekend,” Lou said as he sat at the table. “Keep in mind that their methodology and sampling is different than ours, but because their poll is public, it will undoubtedly influence public perception and opinion. Having said that, I believe our poll is far more accurate, and will continue to use our data to fine-tune our message as we go into the final lap of this marathon.”
Margot said, “You’re killing me. Tell us what you have!”
Everyone laughed, and Lou said, “Well, it is good news. The State is going to report on the front page, in their Saturday weekend paper, with all of the football preview news and high school football results, that Carter is ahead fifty-seven percent to forty-two percent.”
Carter let out a whoop, and began clapping.
“Finally!”
Lou smiled and said, “Yes, it’s great news. It is the first time many people will have even begun to think about the upcoming election, and now with your new commercial hitting the airwaves, I think we are in a very strong position for the home stretch.”
Margot then asked, “And what about your own polling? What news does almighty Betty bring to us from Laurens County and beyond?”
Lou gestured to Betty. “Our own polling is largely in alignment with The State’s numbers. The top-line has us at fifty-five percent to Thompkins’ forty-three percent. We’ve begun narrowing down fifteen electoral precincts to track on election day that we feel are key indicators of how the election will unfold, based on demographics and the past twelve years of electoral history. If you will turn in your packets to page five.”
Following the South Carolina State Fair at the end of September, it was a full-on sprint for the campaign, with large rallies scheduled nearly each day, and attendance was in the hundreds and thousands in many instances. The mass-mailing of a copy of the Life magazine Fighting Carter article was sent to every household in the state, and as Election Day neared, Carter was exhausted. He spent Election Day sleeping at Galanos, and made one special phone call late in the afternoon, when he knew the recipient would be available.
He could hear the phone ring on the other end, then twice, and on the third ring he heard, “Hello.”
“Hello, is this Coach Garrett?” Carter already had recognized
his voice.
“Yes, speaking.”
“Coach, I just wanted to give you a call today. This is Carter Ridge,” he said, and as he said his own name, he felt his voice catch. The flood of emotions that were unleashed, sent him back in time twenty years earlier, to when he was first becoming a young man.
Coach Garrett stammered a bit, “S-s-son, good lord, you don’t know how many times I’ve thought of you these past few months! My word! Carter, how are you? Oh! I voted for you this afternoon!” He laughed.
Tears streamed down Carter’s face, he had no control now over what was happening with his body. He sat on the floor, cradling the phone, and wiped his eyes with his hands.
“Coach, thanks, that’s not really why I’m calling...I...um...I just wanted to let you know that I followed your advice, and I left it all on the field. I gave it my all. Whatever happens today, well, I’m at peace with it. So thanks, sir. Thanks for everything you taught me about competing.”
Carter heard a sniffle on the other end, and a long pause from the coach, before he finally said, “Thank-you.”
They both sat on the phone for a few more seconds, neither man saying a word, but for Carter it seemed like heaven even if only a few brief seconds, remembering those happy, golden days of his youth, when everything seemed possible.
At last, Coach Garrett broke the silence, and cleared his throat saying, “Well, good luck tonight, Carter. I’ll be cheering the hell for you from here.”
Carter smiled, and sniffled, before saying, “Thanks, coach. Take care.”
He hung up the phone, and stood. Looking out of the window he realized that it was his old magic hour, with the sun having set behind the tree line, and the entire lawn and garden in hushed tones of amber and gold.
I wish I weren’t so alone.
“Jimmy!” he called down the stairs. “I’ll be ready to head out in half an hour!”
“Yes, sir,” he heard from below. Knowing it was going to be a late night, he had given the day, and by extension, the night off to Shelby. He took his bath and got dressed in the midnight-blue suit he’d had tailored for the evening, tying his black tie as he came down the stairs. Jimmy was waiting for him at the door, and before he opened the door, Jimmy reached out to shake his hand.
“Governor Ridge,” he said, smiling.
“Don’t jinx it,” Carter said.
“I wanted to be the first to congratulate you before it gets crazy tonight. Thank-you for the opportunity to work on your campaign.”
Carter shook his hand and said, “Let’s go make history.”
By the time they had arrived in Columbia, the Horseshoe was like a circus grounds. State police and City of Columbia police were guarding the alley entrance to the old library. Jimmy pulled in to let Carter out, and he entered through the back garden. In the front, tens of thousands had begun gathering. A large stage had been constructed in front of the old library, along with a state-of-the-art sound system. Margot had choreographed a complete program for the evening, including a full slate of entertainment. Hosting the evening as the Master of Ceremonies was the local WIS-Radio morning show host, Gene McKay, who introduced the musical acts, and with his gentle humor, would bring various crowd members up to stage to interview them and play quick games. Besides the Carter Family, who had been touring with Ridge since May, Margot had also booked the doo-wop act, The Shirelles, who had performed with Carter when the entourage had been doing a day of stops at Negro communities. The evening would culminate in a concert by Patsy Cline, followed by, Margot hoped, the victory speech Carter would give once the results became clear.
A large stage thirty yards away in the center of the Horseshoe had been erected for the dozen television cameras and news film agencies such as Pathé and Hearst. A special press section had been carved out near the stage adjacent to the street, allowing journalists easy access. In the back garden a private dinner reception had been prepared for special V.I.P.s and invited guests. When Carter entered the back garden from exiting his car, the dozens of guests erupted in applause and cheered him as he waved, slightly embarrassed, and made his way into the relative calm of the library.
After bounding up the stairs, he arrived into the main hall, where the staff was assembled, the cadets on the left side, and the campaign team on the right, all applauding and cheering. Many were in tears, and he paused, standing there, silent, his eyes wet and expressing his deepest affection for them all. He raised his hands to show his appreciation and beg them to stop, and when they finally did, he said in almost a hushed whisper, “We did it, y’all.” Then louder, “We did it!”
He walked down the line, thanking each member of his team. At the end of the line was Margot, beaming, with Bradford, and Lou Harris with his team. When Carter reached the end of the receiving line, she motioned for everyone to come over to the conference table where she had coupes of champagne at the ready, with bottles chilling in iced buckets.
“I certainly don’t want to jinx tonight by celebrating too early, but however tonight turns out, I, too, wish to thank-you all for all of your hard work, your dedication, and your professionalism. We still have a couple of hours before us, but before the night slips away, know that none of this would have been possible without all of your help. Thank-you.”
They all clapped, then she added, “Okay, y’all, plug the phones back in, and let’s get back to work!”
The secretaries scurried back to their round desk, plugged in the phone line jacks, and almost immediately the phones began ringing. One of the phones was dedicated to outgoing calls, while the other two lines were sharing the incoming line, fielding requests for comments from journalists, quick calls from precinct watchers in the key districts Lou had identified, and general well-wishes from both friends and strangers alike.
Carter walked over to the big window looking down on the festivities outside. It was dark by then, but one would never have known; the entire Horseshoe was lit up with massive Klieg lights for the television cameras. He stood off in the corner slightly, a bit shaded from the intense glare, and watched the Shirelles perform, and the crowd of black and white students, families, and couples dancing and enjoying themselves. Many were wearing one of his campaign buttons. Margot had the idea to launch a new button each month starting in June, so that they would become a kind of collector’s item, a token of how serious a supporter the person wearing them was. If they had all six buttons there were colloquially called a C4C — Crazy For Carter.
“I see a lot of C4C’s out there,” Carter said to Margot who was standing just behind him.
“Did you get any sleep today?” she asked him.
“I did, amazingly enough. My body was completely limp by the time I climbed into bed last night. What about you?”
“I think so,” she laughed. “I don’t know, I’ve been so wound up getting this set up today, I vaguely remember going home for a few hours this morning to sleep.”
“We can sleep when this is all done,” he said, patting her shoulder.
“Or when we’re dead,” she joked.
“Or that,” he said.
The phones were ringing incessantly, and Lou came over with some paper in his hand.
“I just got off the phone with our two key precincts in Charleston,” he said, looking at his notes he had taken. “Voter turnout is markedly up from four years ago, approaching the level from the Kennedy-Nixon election. Which is great news for us, that means our target voters, the educated, white liberals, are coming out in force today.”
Margot sighed, letting out all of the tension she had been carrying through the day. Carter rubbed her back, and gave her a quick neck massage.
“Fantastic,” he said.
Betty came over with another two pages of notes. Lou read it, and then said, “Another two of our precincts are reporting, this one from Laurens County, our bellwether precinct, and the other just down the road in Lexington County. Let’s see. Laurens County is seeing above average turnout as well, and remember with this precinct we are doing an exit poll, asking the voters how they actually voted, and it looks like it is fifty-five percent Carter!”
“Y’all,” Jimmy called over from the row of television sets arrayed at the other end of the hall, “it looks like WNOK is getting ready to call the election!”
Everyone walked over to the television, turning up the volume, and let out a cheer when the news anchor announced that they had called the election for Carter Ridge. One of the cadets began singing “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow,” then not long afterwards, WIS called the election as well.
Suddenly, a roar was heard outside, as the tens of thousands of supporters gathered on the Horseshoe were told by Gene McKay that the results were in and Ridge was the new governor.
“Mr. Ridge,” one of the secretaries called over, “Mr. Thompkins is on the phone for you.”
Carter walked over and picked up the receiver, “This is Carter.”
“I just wanted to call and wish you congratulations in your victory, Carter.”
“Thank-you Harry, I appreciate it.”
“I know that you worked hard for it, and despite our many differences, I wish you well. I hope that we can let bygones be bygones, and move past this election in the months and years ahead.”
“Well, I would like that as well, thank-you, again, Harry. I imagine you are quite tired, such as myself, so I’ll let you go, but thanks so much for your kind call.”
He turned back to the room, and then said, “let’s have some champagne!”