Berowne's 142

(For Three-Word Wednesday and ABC Wednesday: "Q" is for "Qualified")

What with the U S presidential election so close, I thought the above looked like a typical political loser. :-)
Which got me to thinking about a very special event of a few decades ago.
In my heavy-handed, portentous way, I hereby state that the presidential election of 1948 was the greatest political upset in American history.
And - yes, I know it’s getting repetitious, but – Berowne was there. :-)
Virtually every prediction and poll had indicated that incumbent Harry S. Truman would be defeated decisively by Republican Thomas E Dewey.
We all – voters of every political party – seemed to feel that Harry Truman was about the least likely, least qualified presidential candidate anyone could think of.
He had, of course, not been elected; he had been thrust into the office by the death of President Roosevelt.

His previous record wasn’t all that awesome. He had run a haberdashery – men’s ties, gloves, hats, etc. - in downtown Kansas City, but had gone bankrupt. He had only a high-school education, no college.

The picture of him used during his campaign showing his service in World War I made him look more goofy than heroic.

But the biggest mark against Harry was the fact that FDR had obviously thought so little of him. Truman had been the vice-president but Roosevelt rarely even spoke to him, never informed him of decisions, met with him only twice.

So the Democratic campaigner in 1948, the haberdasher, stepped up to the plate with quite a number of strikes on him even before he began.
But all the foregoing wasn’t nearly as important as the disaster, the shipwreck that the Democratic Party, which Harry was supposed to lead, had turned into. It was like the Titanic and the iceberg, but with a twist.
If the Democratic Party was the Titanic, the iceberg had sliced it into three parts.
A huge chunk – the Southern wing - couldn’t stomach Truman; they just got up and walked out. They formed a new party, the Dixiecrats, dedicated to the racist idea of movimg forward with their beloved system, segregation, forever alive.
So Truman’s political right was gone. So was his left.
Another huge chunk, politically-left Democrats, who felt that HST was too middle-of-the-road for them, also took off and formed the Progressive Party.
That left Harry as the Dem’s presidential candidate, all alone by the telephone, heading up the tattered remains of the Democratic Party. There was some question that its wounds would ever heal. But anyway, everyone, including me, was convinced Harry Truman didn’t have a chance at winning.
For the Republicans, however, things looked bright, couldn’t have been brighter.

It’s true that their candidate, Thomas E Dewey, didn’t look all that impressive as presidential material. (One commentator wrote that “He looks like the little man on top of the wedding cake”.)
But Dewey, watching with pleasure the amazing disintegration of the Democratic Party, was convinced that all he had to do was avoid shooting himself in the foot and he’d be in. It made sense.

He traveled here and there around the country, giving speeches that were boringly predictable, with platitudes aplenty. He informed his audiences that agriculture is important. We must move forward. Our rivers are full of fish. You cannot have freedom without liberty. Our future lies ahead of us. That kind of thing.
Now, I was working in radio in New York at that time. On election night our announcers would go to the various headquarters to report back in. The choice assignment was the Republican HQ because the newspapers reported that they had been stocking up for an unprecedented party – a victory shindig with numerous buffet tables loaded with a spectacular collection of delectable viands and victuals, along with, of course, a wide variety of potables. The attending news media would be welcome to dig in.

At our station, we announcers all drew straws; the short straw got to cover the Republicans. I wasn’t a member of that political group, but I would compromise and put aside my prejudices if I could get at those buffet tables.
Believe it or not, I got the short straw; I eagerly headed for the big party.
Well, I was there for twelve hours, from 7 pm to 7 am, and there was no decision, no definite election results; it kept being too close to call. And all that glorious food stayed in the kitchen.
I gave up and went home at 7 am, not knowing – no one knew at that time – who had been elected, and I collapsed into bed. When I woke up around 2 in the afternoon, I learned that Truman had won.

Here’s the famous picture of that time: the Chicago Tribune, humorously referred to as “the world’s greatest newspaper,” couldn’t wait for the actual results.
Seems that Harry had spent his campaign with a solid discussion of the issues while Dewey stayed with his platitudes, and that had paid off for Truman.
(Also submitted to Sunday Scribblings.)