Letter postmarked December 3rd, 1963, from Murrells Inlet, South Carolina, archived in the State Law Enforcement Division (SLED) of South Carolina—
Dear Governor Ridge
What happened to President Kennedy will happen to you. The Lord Jesus commands that we keep the races apart, and nigger lovers such as youself [sic] must be made low sayeth the Lord Jehovah. Repent and you shall be saved. White power forever. Amen.
October 1963, Columbia
Darren greeted him on the Monday morning following Carter’s trip to the Citadel football game with a cup of coffee in one hand and a couple of file folders in the other.
“I’ve got an idea, and I want to run it by you,” he said as they walked into Carter’s office.
He began by telling Carter that he’d read the note files for each of the newly wavering undecided representatives, and saw that they were both in line to become committee heads of the respective committees they were on, except for the fact that the committee chairmen were firmly entrenched incumbents.
“What is it that most men want, besides sex and money? Power,” Darren said. “These men have been toiling in the garden for years, but there is little sign that Chairmen Pritchard or Hatch will be retiring soon.”
“Okay, continue,” Carter said, a bit intrigued. “What are you proposing?”
“There are two judgeships open, one in Pritchard’s judicial district, and the other in Hatch’s. We were going to make our nominations after the end of the current session, but —”
“You’re saying we should nominate Pritchard and Hatch? Thereby freeing up those committee chairmanships?”
“We could run it past the two wavering representatives, see if they nibble. All in exchange for their enthusiastic support for the budget bill, of course.”
“You think Pritchard and Hatch would be interested?”
“It pays better, that’s for sure. Even if they aren’t interested, all we need is to say that we tried, by then the budget will have passed and it will be ancient history.”
Carter grinned and nodded.
“Let’s try it. Good job, Darren.”
The final flurry of backscratching, horse-swapping, and arm-twisting came to its culmination that Thursday with a marathon House session, overseen by the perspicacious Speaker Blatt, presiding in the majestic House chamber under the gaze of an antebellum painting of a scowling John C. Calhoun. Banging his gavel, asking for roll calls, gesturing to make his point, and stepping down on occasion to confer on the whip count, Blatt was a parliamentary virtuoso. Mid-afternoon, Carter left his office and walked up the grand stairway to the main floor and stood outside the House chamber, talking with various representatives, allies in the fight. He heard the bell ring inside calling the representatives to cast their votes on the final bill. Minutes passed, agonizing in their longevity as he waited for the final total to be announced. Suddenly, a burst of cheers and groans erupted from within, and his House liaison cadet opened the door and ran out, almost colliding with Carter.
“Sir! We won!” he said.
“We won? What was the count?”
“Sixty-four yay, fifty-nine nay, and one abstention.”
“Who abstained?”
“Blatt.”
Carter let out a fist pump into the air, and then slapped the cadet on his shoulder. “Fantastic news!”
Darren was ecstatic as well, and by then a large group of representatives was filing out of the chamber, coming up and congratulating Carter, shaking his hand and laughing. He saw, past the crowd and through the open doors into the House, Speaker Blatt slowly putting his papers in order. He had a look of quiet disappointment, and when he glanced back towards Carter, he nodded, then turned and walked into his office behind the podium.
After the promised celebratory scotch, Carter left Columbia for home and a long weekend, alone again, at Galanos. He found his copy of Homer’s The Iliad and Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War, and relaxed in his library reading, falling asleep, and reading some more. If inspiration for the coming fight with Thompkins and the State Senate could be gleaned from the ancients, he would pluck it and gird it about him, like Achilles with his sword.
Monday morning’s phone call from Margot, followed by reading congratulatory messages from former Governors Hollings and Byrnes, buoyed him before his strategy meeting with Darren to go over the difficult terrain of the Senate. Darren had met with his legislative liaison team, and had the latest tally.
“Well, let’s go right to the bad news, how awful is it?” Carter asked, motioning for Darren to have a seat.
“We had four last week, prior to our win in the House,” Darren said. “As of this morning we picked up Senator Chandler.”
“Lexington County? So five down, just need another nineteen.”
“Yeah,” Darren said glumly.
“In a week,” Carter said, his voice trailing off.
Darren had prepared a summary sheet for each senator. Since each senator represented a unique county, and the vast majority of the counties in the state were rural, the Barnwell Ring had a vice-like grip on the Senate.
“Thirty-six of the state’s forty-six counties are heavily rural. That’s some really tough math going against us,” Darren said. “I’m confident we can flip Greenville County today, Senator McCarren was out of town due to a family illness so wasn’t able to be reached. Optimistically, we can get ten, maybe eleven. After that it is going to be a stretch. And by stretch, I mean the kind of stretch that requires divine intervention.”
“Like a tornado?” Carter asked.
Darren smiled.
“Yes, like a tornado. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending how you look at it, there are no hurricanes churning off of the coast at the moment, and the season is almost over.”
“I was joking, I don’t wish for divine meteorological devastation merely to advance our agenda. I’ll let the Almighty wreak destruction and suffering for more noble aims, such as not keeping the Sabbath, or eating shellfish.”
Darren looked at Carter for a moment, trying to gauge his humor, “Have you contacted Thompkins at all? Do we even know if he has a price?”
“No, I haven’t talked to him in months. Not since that first luncheon we hosted outlining our plans for the deliberative caucus, he isn’t someone I seek out to have an old fashioned with.”
“What’s his liquor?” Darren asked.
Carter thought for a moment. The occasions he had socialized with Thompkins he could count on one hand, and at all of them he came across as a bit of a teetotaler. And dull. And absolutely politically craven.
“I don’t know if he drinks, to be honest. Why?”
“I think we need to begin trying to charm him, invite him over for drinks to talk,” Darren said.
“I know. It just feels like accepting defeat doing that, but I know, it has to be done. See if we can set up a meeting for later today. Let me get it over with.”
After the close of the day’s Senate session, Senator Thompkins came down to the Governor’s Office. The staff had instructions to greet him warmly, and Carter’s new cadet ushered him into his office.
“Harry! Thank-you so much for coming down,” Carter said.
He came over from behind his desk and gave Thompkins a firm, friendly handshake, adding, “I thought it would make sense for the two of us to sit and talk, so we can better understand each other going into this budget vote.”
“I appreciate the gesture, Carter,” Thompkins replied.
“Can I offer you something to drink? Name your poison.”
“Oh, just an iced tea or Coca-Cola is fine for me, thank-you.”
“An iced tea it is! Cadet Bryer, could you get the good senator an iced tea, please?”
He sat in the armchair next to Thompkins, mentally recalling the wearisome small talk he had prepared in advance while they waited for his iced tea. Questions about his wife and children, summer vacation, and the upcoming Carolina-Clemson football game on November 23rd, scheduled to be broadcast live on national television.
“You’re a Clemson graduate, aren’t you, Harry?”
“Yes I am. Class of ’46.”
“Would you and your family join me in my box for the game? I promise not to discuss politics during the match,” Carter said.
Thompkins laughed and said, “Well, that is very kind of you. We’d be delighted to join you. Will Margot be there as well?”
Carter shook his head, “No, she isn’t a big football fan unfortunately. I’ll be there with my brother Carlton and his wife and family.”
“Well that’s a pity,” Thompkins said after thanking the cadet for the iced tea.
“Oh? Well, I’m sure she’d love to host you and your wife for a dinner sometime...” Carter replied.
“So, let’s discuss the budget bill,” he said, changing the subject. “I would love to have your support, Harry.”
Thompkins smiled, and took a long sip of his iced tea. He looked around the room, the trappings of state power were everywhere in evidence, and he paused before addressing Carter.
“I appreciate that you’re meeting me,” Thompkins began. “You and I are coming from complete opposite ends of politics. You come from the land of possibilities, but along the path of ideals. I, too, come from the land of possibilities, but down the path of power. Power is what animates me, Carter, and right now, I have the power and I mean to keep it.”
Carter smiled, trying to placate Thompkins ego. He had given away his weakness, as Darren had surmised, it was one of the trifecta of vices. Power. Carter didn’t view power as a zero-sum, just as affirming the dignity and equality of the Negro did not represent a loss of stature for the white man, but rather a raising of one to parity with the other. How to translate that with Thompkins was now Carter’s goal, if he could convince Thompkins he could have his budget passed.
“So I don’t really have any problem with your agenda or budget, it seems a bit la-dee-dah to me, but you won on selling that to the people, and I respect that. But my people elected me to represent their interests, and I mean to abide by their wishes. They are what keep me in power.”
Carter nodded.
“What keeps you in power,” Carter said, “is the structural inequality built into our state’s constitution. Barnwell County has only 17,000 folks in it, but Charleston has over 200,000, yet you have the same power as Senator Ravenel. You won your election for state Senate, the Democratic primary I should say, with 2,300 votes, and your rival lost with 1,500 votes, and yet, there are over 6,000 Negroes in your county without the franchise who can’t vote. So, I’m not sure which people you are referring to, but undoubtedly the 2,300 who voted for you support you.”
Thompkins said nothing, but sat there with the self-satisfied grin of someone who had just finished a delicious dessert.
“Someday soon, the Negro will be able to vote, and if I have any say in the matter, the Republican Party will be ascendant, rising to challenge the regressive, conservatives in the Democratic Party, no offense, Harry.”
“None taken.”
“But that is not to say that there isn’t a role for opposition, for conserving, I understand that. We need to have a vibrant exchange of ideas, to have two parties that compete for everyone’s vote,” Carter said. “I hope I’m not coming across as preaching or lecturing, that’s not my intent. I know I’m not going to convince you to my agenda. I’m a liberal, you’re a conservative. So I just want to let you know, Harry, that I know what you’re doing. Let’s talk about what you want.”
Thompkins leaned back in his chair, seeming to enjoy the attempt by Carter to persuade and cajole him. Carter had gained a reputation in the past few months of being very charming, and his success in not only getting an overwhelming consensus for the deliberative caucus, but also in shepherding his budget bill out of committee and passing in the House, was the subject of conversation among the senators and representatives behind closed doors. They exchanged anecdotes of the full gamut of Carter’s menu of charisma and glamour, how one was invited for drinks at the Columbia Country Club, surprising one who was only offered a drink in the Governor’s Office, while another boasted of being one of the rare few who was invited for the weekend at Galanos (I met Andy Williams and that actress Shirley MacClaine!). All commented on how that Margot was part of the dynamic as well, acting as either Carter’s “good cop” or “bad cop,” and that she seemed to be able to anticipate what they wanted before they did.
“Carter, I’m curious,” Thompkins began. “What are you going to do when Strom Thurmond switches parties next year? You’re no longer going to be the big fish in that small pond.”
“Well, there’s no guarantee that he will become a Republican, but I take your hypothetical point,” Carter said. “If Thurmond becomes a Republican, the state party will resemble the national party, with a liberal wing and a conservative wing.”
“Hmmm,” Thompkins mused. “You ever get the feeling that maybe your days are numbered? I mean, once Thurmond becomes a Republican, all of the conservatives will migrate over as well, and where will that leave you?”
“I try to live each day as a gift, to make the most of each and every day I have here,” Carter said. “As to what may or may not happen in the future with Thurmond in the party, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. What about you?”
“Well, I gravitate towards where there is power. Which is why I am here with you today. You have power, and so do I.”
“You spoke a lot about your campaign for governor being a Christian crusade, holding up the traditions of Christianity against the modern secular, liberal society. I took that to mean me, which is fine, I will proudly wear that label. But since I’ve been elected, my office receives dozens of letters each week from concerned self-professed Christians, who use the most un-Christian words and terms against me, against the Jews, against the Negroes. I never read the letters, they’re handled by my staff, who always respond with a cordial admonition quoting Scripture, even when the originating letter contains death threats.”
“’Death threats’?”
“Yes, oh yes. I receive death threats all of the time. Those letters are sent on to SLED to investigate. Chief Harris follows up, and lets Darren know if there is anything to be concerned about. Usually it is all bark and no bite, but we take the threats seriously.”
“I’m sorry to hear about that, but of course I would never call for violence,” Thompkins said.
“No, I know you are much too clever for that. But your words inflame the passions of many, and for someone who is particularly simple-minded, picking up a gun or doing something rash might seem like the next step after getting all heated up by your calls to act against the godless liberals.”
Thompkins said nothing.
“Which brings me to Mr. Berringer,” Carter continued.
“He told me the two of you met recently,” Thompkins said.
“Did he tell you that he has written a particularly lovely letter to me?”
“I can imagine,” Thompkins said.
“Yes, well, I won’t go into the specifics, but he came just short of saying that he was going to send me to eternal hellfire himself, and he has a particular vocabulary that echoes a lot of your favorite tropes.”
“Berringer is just an acquaintance.”
“He counts himself as a Christian soldier, protecting the white race against the nigra, sounds familiar?” Carter asked.
“Sounds like most of the white folks in this state,” Thompkins said. “Some might never say it out loud, but they don’t want the Negro marrying their daughters, or mixing in their kids’ grammar schools.”
“There’s a fine line between railing against race-mixing, and calling for people to act on it. That is the kind of incendiary talk that leads to violence, and I will bring anyone who crosses that line to justice. In the case of Mr. Berringer, I am letting the State Law Enforcement Division decide whether he needs to be arrested or not, I’m staying out of it.”
“Like I said, I barely know the man.”
“And yet the two of you met and he told you about our little discussion.”
Carter rose from his chair, and walked over to his desk, sitting on its edge. “If your game, your goal, is just to obstruct my agenda, Harry, it just seems like such a strange use of your considerable talents. On the one hand you carry on with these dimwits like Berringer, and then on the other hand, you are the paragon of respectability in the Senate. I just don’t get it.”
Carter managed to maintain a straight face while saying that, even though it sounded preposterous to him.
“Carter, you may think it is absurd, but I assure you, it is what keeps getting me re-elected every election. I don’t believe half the crap that comes out of my mouth, but it is what my voters want to hear. Maybe someday I, too, will become a Republican, if that’s where the power shifts after Thurmond. But what I want is to stop you, because that’s what I promised my people. It’s nothing personal against you, it’s just the way it is.”
“So if I came out for free ice cream, and for putting a stop to racial integration, and for worshipping the Lost Cause of the Confederacy, you’re telling me you’d be against all of those things?”
“Just the free ice cream probably,” Thompkins laughed.
“The Good Life,” Carter said.
“Exactly.”
“Let me ask you, Harry, is there anything we could add to this budget bill, some sort of pet program or policy, that you think is worthy but you think I would never cotton to? Something you’d like to throw in for your vote and support?”
Thompkins shook his head.
“No, I’m sorry, Carter. If I voted to support this budget, I would lose all credibility with my voters, and I’d probably lose my next election.”
“What if I told you that you were going to lose it anyway? That if you didn’t vote for this budget bill, that I would not only campaign against your re-election, but that I would personally find a worthy candidate, finance their campaign, and make sure that they won? Would that give you pause?”
Harry stood, still smiling.
“Carter, you do what you have to do. I’ll do what I have to do. We’ll see who is still standing in 1966.”
As he left Carter’s office, he paused for a brief moment and looked around one last time.
“You have a nice day now, you hear!” he said as he walked out.