Eleanor vs. Ike by Robin Gerber

Author:Robin Gerber
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780061844331
Publisher: HarperCollins

CHAPTER 19

Rough-and-Tumble Politics

Jonathon Chamberlain’s problem started at the Hotel Commodore, which served as Citizens for Ike headquarters, or “CFI,” as everyone called it. Chester Turnbull, Sherman Adams’s top aide, came by Jonathon’s desk to ask if he wanted to go for a drink. Kingston Brand, Dewey’s liaison to the campaign, was already waiting at the elevator.

Maybe I’ll get a chance to talk some substance tonight, Jonathon thought, as the three took a corner booth behind some of the thick-fringed plants that gave the Palm Room its name. As they slid into the booth, Jonathon had the fleeting thought that Turnbull would get wedged between the booth and the table. Something about the man put Jonathon on edge, but he had enough political instinct to know that who you knew often counted more than what you knew. He needed these men to think well of him, especially Turnbull, if he wanted to get more responsibility in the campaign.

Brand loved the Yankees, and he was anxious to moan about the previous night’s game. Chicago White Sox pitcher Lou Kretlow had thrown his second consecutive two-hitter, and the Sox beat New York, 7–0.

“Do you believe that hurler Kretlow?” Brand asked as soon as the men were settled. He looked disgusted. “Well, they did have to play in Comiskey Park, I suppose.”

Turnbull replied, “Kretlow’s a journeyman. The Yankees won’t be down for long. Anyway, I want to talk about the campaign. I’ve got some new ideas I want to discuss with you two.”

Jonathon caught the word “two” like a soft pitch right to his glove and settled more comfortably into the booth. Maybe he’d read this guy wrong. He had overheard Turnbull discussing the campaign message at the headquarters. He basically agreed with the man’s argument that the campaign should play up Ike the war hero and Nixon the commie hunter to best contrast with Mrs. Roosevelt. “We’ll appeal to the security concerns of the lay-dees,” Turnbull had said. Taking a quick gulp of his martini, he launched into this latest campaign theory.

“It’s taken the females of this country thirty years to realize they got the right to vote, but by God, this election they’re going to vote in droves. I’m sure of it. And the most important thing to remember is they don’t see Mrs. R. as a female like them. They do not. She’s another animal entirely. In fact, I’m betting they don’t like the idea that a woman is running at all, former First Lady or not. So we’ve got to get ready to reel them in and make full use of them.” He punctuated the last four words as if his impatient index finger was punching hard on a stubborn elevator button just in front of his face.

“We need to make them feel comfortable and confident that Ike’s going to do the job the way they want it done.” Turnbull’s fleshy face went a ripe red, and his thin lips disappeared in a broad grin. Holding his glass up, he

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