Milwaukee, Wisconsin, October 4, 1952
The press corps looked eager as the train pulled into Milwaukee. Some reporters had already composed headlines: “Ike to McCarthy: Marshall’s the Patriot,” “McCarthy’s Milwaukee Spanking,” “General Eisenhower Takes McCarthy to the Woodshed.”
Eisenhower’s motorcade wound from the rail yard along the Menomenee River east of Hawley Street, past Lake Michigan and into the city center, where crowds broke through the police line and forced the six black Cadillac stretch limousines to a sharp stop. Senator McCarthy, relegated to the last car, took the opportunity to hop out and shoulder his way into the car behind Eisenhower’s. The crowd enveloped the motorcade, grabbing and waving the American flags that flapped on the dual flagpoles installed standard on the front fenders.
“Let’s hope your Milwaukeeans keep this up in the stadium,” Adams said to Governor Kohler. Ike had been having more luck attracting cheering crowds in the streets than interested ones at his speeches. That spring, the Milwaukee Braves had gotten a new baseball stadium that could hold twenty thousand fans. In a city of half a million, Adams hoped to pack the place, but he was disappointed again. As they walked through the tunnel and out to the bunting-covered platform, he guessed two thousand people were in the bleachers. He also guessed that he was being optimistic.
After the presentation of the colors, the singing of the “Star-Spangled Banner,” and the Pledge of Allegiance, a German band played. A dancing flock of girls, some as young as five, with hair plaited like milkmaids and boys in lederhosen held toothsome smiles and stared at the empty nosebleed seats despite their missteps. Next came the presentation of a bathtub-sized basket reeking with Polish sausage. Finally, a crate wrapped in an enormous blue ribbon was carried in on the shoulders of four beefy, mustachioed men, their hair parted in the middle and pasted to their heads. Inside was Milwaukee’s pride—Pabst Blue Ribbon beer.
“That’ll fill the beer fridge for the next month.” Ike laughed, as McCarthy got up to introduce him to roars of “Joe, Joe, Joe.”
“Thank you, thank you. Please, I’m here for one job only—to introduce our next speaker. He is a great American who’ll make a great president.” Applause echoed in great waves across the ball field, but it intensified as McCarthy added, “But I want to tell you that I will continue to call them as I see them, regardless of who happens to be president.”
Ike got up, his arms raised in full wave, and walked to the microphone without a glance at McCarthy. Word had spread within the media that the speech would be a sensation. The array of radio and television microphones bent toward Ike on snaking necks like cobras with engorged black, brass, and silver heads. ABC’S mike was wrapped in the latest innovation—a wire hood that served as a windscreen, although the air was calm.
Ike laid his speech on the podium and pulled out his glasses. Two rows behind him, McCarthy leaned back in his chair, arms folded. Kohler sat next to him, looking nervous.
The two men had surprised Ike in his campaign car two nights before, telling him that if he criticized McCarthy in Milwaukee, he could kiss off any chance of winning Wisconsin on election day. Then McCarthy met with Ike in private, coming out of the compartment with a set and angry look on his face. Kohler figured the meeting hadn’t gone well, and he was expecting an ugly scene onstage.
Ike moved past the standard greetings to local officials and quickly began laying into the Truman administration.
“This administration is honeycombed with Communists. This we know. We lost China, and we surrendered whole nations in Eastern Europe to the Communists because of the Reds in Washington.”
He paused and gave a fierce look toward the stands. “A government rotten at the core means—in its most ugly triumph—treason itself. In every proven case, we have the right—we have the duty—to call a Red a Red. I will apply the strictest test of loyalty and patriotism to federal employees.”
The crowd’s cheers forced Ike to pause, and McCarthy beamed, straightening his elephant-spotted tie and refolding his arms like a proud father.
“Communism has insinuated itself into our schools,” Ike went on, “our public forums, some of our news channels, some of our labor unions, and most terrifyingly, into government itself. This penetration has meant treason itself.”
Ike had moved on to other issues, although, after the Nixon fiasco, the corruption theme had been dropped. “Taxes must be cut overall by 55 percent; we will reduce inflation and bring down high prices,” Ike promised. “And I will be sure we win the peace in Korea by ending the drift and makeshift, make-believe policies of the past.” As the crowd started to cheer, Ike raised his arms, begging for another moment to finish.
“Senator McCarthy and I have our differences, but we both want to rid the government of the incompetents, the dishonest, and the subversive and disloyal. If you agree with me, you must not only send me to Washington, you must elect every Republican on the ticket so that I will have the means to succeed.”
As Ike finished, the crowd jumped to its feet. From the stadium speakers, the “I like Ike” campaign song bubbled and bounced its simple rhythm over the crowd, and many people sang along. Photographers raced to the edge of the stage or jumped to the platform, and flashes sparkled like mini-fireworks as a grinning McCarthy stretched his arm across a row of chairs and gripped the hand Ike seemed to be extending as far from his body as possible. Kohler was caught by the cameras standing behind the men’s moment of contact, looking on with jovial approval. With one quick shake, Ike pulled away.
The press corps, sitting in a cordoned area to the side of the stage, raced to find telephones. Scotty Reston couldn’t get the words out fast enough as he talked to his editor.
“That’s right, not a word about Marshall. Not a word about McCarthy or his tactics. No, it was more than that; he made a point of praising McCarthy. Okay, here’s the lead: ‘If the government of our country is the real hope of any moral basis for political action in the world, then today, on a stage in Milwaukee, General Eisenhower did much to damage his right to sit in the White House. Having trumpeted this as the day when Senator Joseph McCarthy’s reckless accusations would be challenged on his home soil, the man who commanded all Allied forces in Europe could not keep command of his own good intentions. Instead, Eisenhower deleted from his speech, which had been handed to reporters yesterday, a critical paragraph defending the patriotism of his mentor, General George C. Marshall.’”
The Times story was echoed in papers across the country. The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel ended an enraged editorial with an endorsement of Eleanor Roosevelt. “Eisenhower,” they wrote, “had committed a wholly unexpected, but undeniable act of political cowardice.”
When the story broke, Eleanor was in Detroit having breakfast with her friend Walter Reuther, head of the United Auto Workers’ union. They sat at a table in the grimy Capitol Coffee Shop. In Detroit, Reuther was nearly as recognizable as the former First Lady, but most of the patrons were rushing off to work and gave the two a quick nod. A couple of men with union pins on their jackets stopped to say, “We’re with you, Mrs. Roosevelt. We’ll turn out the vote, don’t worry.”
“I like to come here, Eleanor,” Reuther said. “It’s close to the plant. We cited this place for not hiring Negroes two years ago as part of the Antidiscrimination Department’s activity, and now look.” Reuther pointed over the counter to the pass-through window from the kitchen. Two Negro men were wearing white aprons, busily cracking eggs and flipping pancakes.
“We need more action like that Walter, and less talk about ending discrimination,” Eleanor said.
“Excuse me, Mrs. R.,” Maureen sounded short of breath as she hurried up to the table. She had been traveling with Eleanor more and more, at Tommy’s insistence. “I just checked in with headquarters and Mr. O’Brien said he needs you to call right away. There’s a big story about Ike on the front pages today.”
At three o’clock that afternoon, Joan jockeyed reporters into the Wayne Room at the Statler Hotel on Washington Street in Detroit. Eleanor stood in front of a single microphone, as Joan urged the reporters to find seats and looked nervously at the two-story vaulted ceiling. It was never a good idea to have Eleanor speak where her “turkey gobble,” as she called it, would bounce back like a tin Ping-Pong ball off the ceiling.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” Eleanor began. “I take no delight in this moment, for it is a low moment in this campaign. I cannot tell you I am anything other than profoundly disappointed, and frankly astonished, at General Eisenhower’s actions in Milwaukee, which have been well detailed by you.
“This kind of political backsliding and calculation only serves to further obscure the general’s true positions, and reinforce the most cynical view of political campaigning. Where does the general stand on the assault of McCarthy and his ilk on our democratic principles? Where does he stand on the role his mentor, George Marshall, might play as we move forward with critical foreign policy decisions? Was this unfortunate display of capitulation a sign that he agrees with the isolationist sentiment of McCarthy? If so, what of Korea? As candidates, we owe the American people a full, honest, and searching discussion of these and other issues.”
Eleanor paused, so conscious of the moment that she could feel her heart begin to pound. How proud Franklin and Louis would be that she had seized the opening. O’Brien had nearly jumped through the telephone as they talked, and when she reached Rayburn in Missouri, she appreciated his knowing chuckle. “I guess their nationally advertised product of a general didn’t live up to his packaging.”
“As you all are well aware,” Eleanor went on, “I have asked many times for the general to agree to a historic event for this election—a televised debate. Two major networks, NBC and CBS, have offered us free airtime for this event. We all saw the American people’s interest in the nationally televised party conventions. I believe that that innovation helped strengthen our democracy. It allowed people, young and old, to see their democracy at work. We have a chance to do even more with the frank, open, and respectful give-and-take of a formal debate.
“I do not know why the general has refused this idea. But I do know this; he cannot expect the American people to elect him president if they do not know where he stands on the crucial issues of the day, and one of those issues is the true danger posed by Senator McCarthy and his cronies.
“I call on the general to have that discussion with me. I stand ready at any time and any place. If he was irresolute yesterday, unable to stay firm in his position, he has a chance to stand up today and show purpose by agreeing to this proposal. If his reputation for courage abandoned him yesterday, let him put his courage on display once more by answering the questions of his fellow citizens through a fair and full debate with me.”
Hagerty’s head dropped into his hands as he listened to Eleanor’s words come from the radio. The debacle that Ike’s staff was calling the blackest day of the race had just gotten blacker.