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| ISBN-13: | 9781611861136 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Michigan State University Press |
| Publication date: | 02/01/2014 |
| Edition description: | 1 |
| Pages: | 394 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 8.90(h) x 1.10(d) |
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CONFESSIONS OF A PRESIDENTIAL SPEECHWRITER
By Craig R. Smith
Michigan State University Press
Copyright © 2014 Craig R. SmithAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-61186-113-6
CHAPTER 1
Meeting Richard Nixon and Robert Kennedy
Nineteen sixty seven was another magical year for me. I would complete my master's degree and begin work on my PhD. In March, quite by accident, I would have drinks with Senator Robert F. Kennedy. As fall ended, my request for a meeting with Richard M. Nixon would be granted. When I met with Nixon to present him with a copy of my master's thesis, he had come out of his winter of discontent. He was a rich and comfortable lawyer in New York City, but he still lusted for the presidency that had eluded him. He had lost it to John Kennedy by only 112,000 votes in 1960. Nobly, he did not contest that election. Then he lost the governor's race in California to Pat Brown in 1962, promptly held his "last press conference," and moved to New York to join John Mitchell's law firm.
When I came by his Broad Street office in Manhattan, Nixon was interested in my take on Ronald Reagan, the subject of my thesis. The year before, in 1966, Reagan had become governor of California in a landslide vote. Nixon wanted to know how this actor had done it. My thesis on the speechmaking of Reagan explained how he won, right down to a precinct analysis of the vote.
Reagan wasn't the only Republican winner in 1966. They had scored an incredible comeback from the Goldwater debacle of 1964. Charles Percy of Bell and Howell fame won a Senate seat in Illinois. George Romney of American Motors became governor of Michigan. Nelson Rockefeller was reelected governor of New York. And Reagan, who had given a magnificent television address on behalf of Goldwater in 1964, had become governor of Nixon's home state— a governorship Nixon had lost to the man Reagan beat. However, all was not lost for Nixon, because along with these new names on election night 1966, you also heard the name of Richard Nixon. He had predicted the results to Walter Cronkite, because he had campaigned all across the country for congressional candidates, and because President Lyndon Johnson had made the mistake of questioning Nixon's patriotism in a televised news conference right before the election. Nixon demanded and got response time just before election night. At the end of his half hour, he excused himself from the public and turned to a second camera to address his closing remarks directly "to the President." It was a brilliant strategy. Pure Nixon. The man was back.
In 1967 I did not know that running into and working for politicians would become my fate. I merely wanted to finish a PhD and become a professor. However, the tension between Nixon and Kennedy would alter my path. The story begins in 1966 when Nixon made his comeback, rising from the ashes of his double defeat. There he was again, the same self conscious look, the hands held awkwardly in front, a pose assumed for the cover of Newsweek, which ironically was owned by his old and future nemesis, the Washington Post. There he was again. Yes, Richard Nixon, shaking hands with Katharine Graham, the owner of the Post, at the American newspaper publishers' convention. And again, on Meet the Press for an unprecedented hour-long interview. Then came a special "Profile" in Time, accompanied by a full-page color picture.
How is it that this man was able to make more comebacks than Judy Garland and yet never achieve the adulation of his archrivals, John and Robert Kennedy?
The answer lies deep not only in Nixon's psyche, but in the psyche of the nation. For Americans, myths guide perceptions, and once we elevate people to the level of hero, we tend to forget the reality of their lives. We've done that with John and Robert Kennedy, but never with Nixon. The reason is that Nixon was perceived to be a rhetorical man, constantly concerned with the specific audience and the specific issue, while the Kennedys were perceived to be more poetic, seeming to look for universal truths and mythic status. They attached themselves to poets, from the Greeks to Robert Frost. They were princes, Nixon was Machiavelli.
While Nixon would go into the '50s remembered for uncovering Alger Hiss, John Kennedy would be remembered for writing Why England Slept. While Nixon would go into the '60s remembered for his "Checkers" speech, John Kennedy would be remembered for Profiles in Courage. During the first debate between them in 1960, Nixon addressed Kennedy and the specific issues; Kennedy addressed the nation and often ignored the questions he was asked to give the answers he wanted the public to hear. Kennedy went on to reign in Camelot; Nixon lost an election for the first time, then lost again in 1962, and went into exile on Wall Street.
Furthermore, fate seems to have dealt John and then Robert Kennedy mythic lives, particularly if you look at them from Nixon's perspective. Nixon's fate always seemed to be in his own hands. He ordered the Watergate cover-up on June 23, 1972, and for a while it worked. One can see Nixon on election night in l972, having finally won a landslide, triumphantly uttering, "I told you so!" He carried every state but Massachusetts; it was the sweetest moment of his political career. And it was followed by a blue funk that led him to demand a resignation letter from each of his Cabinet members, allowing him to shuffle it.
Nixon's political suicide was not completed until 1974, but almost every step was his own. He could have gone public numerous times and saved the day. Or as Barry Goldwater suggested, he could have just burned the tapes on the White House lawn, claiming he was protecting state secrets and exerting executive privilege. What motivates such nonstrategic thinking in such a sophisticated mind? Perhaps he believed he was unworthy of the landslide of 1972. Or because of his saintly mother, maybe he never felt right unless he felt guilty. Or, as he claimed, he wanted a documented record with which to refute the inevitable critics he would face after he stepped down from power. As we shall see, that pattern shows up in several of the men for whom I've worked.
Every time I met Nixon in person— once in l967, once in the summer of l972, and once in San Clemente after his fall— my feeling of empathy was strong. The rise from poverty, the discovery of Communist infiltrators, the triumph in China, the withdrawal from the war, the electoral losses and victories, etched Nixon into our collective consciousness. In my case, a young man growing up in the subtle seasons of Southern California identified with the debater, the ambitious student, the man who would be president.
But if Nixon is the consummate rhetorical politician, his mythic counterpart was Robert Kennedy. I met him on St. Patrick's Day, l967, through a strange set of circumstances. I spent most of that day, as did my roommate, working on a master's thesis, the very one I would turn over to Nixon a few months later. That night we went into Manhattan on a double date with a couple of intercollegiate debaters from USC. As Shea Stadium receded into the black depths and the subway sank into Manhattan, the soul I thought had died came back to life.
We met our dates at the Copter Club atop the Pan Am Building. As the escalator delivered us to the plush red lounge, important people at dozens of tables came into sight. The place had a fantastic view, accompanied by the muffled noise of helicopters rising and descending on the roof. In 1967, that sound filled us with dread because it was the sound of Vietnam, and my roommate and I were waiting for the inevitable draft notices.
The "girls" (that's how we talked in those days) had already ordered drinks before we arrived; they worked for Pan Am and were familiar with the lounge. Just as we began to discuss where to eat, I noticed Jesse Unruh, then Speaker of the California Assembly, standing near a phone booth. Penny saw him too and, much to our embarrassment, went to ask him if he would join us.
In those days, Jesse Unruh was physically large; he wasn't called "Big Daddy" for nothing. His big face sagged around his wide, friendly mouth. We were surprised when he accepted Penny's invitation and bought us another round of drinks. He asked us for our "political philosophies." We shocked our dates and they surprised us, not to mention Unruh, when we all admitted to being conservative Republicans. Unruh wanted to know why so many young people were turning to Republicanism. We gave him different judgments, which amounted to "the Democrats got us into a war and the Great Society doesn't reward hard work."
Throughout the ensuing conversation, Unruh periodically left and paced in front of the phone booths. The lines were long, so he would return, defeated. Finally, Mary asked if she could help. He told her he had to call Robert Kennedy and that no one at the phones believed him. What was worse, no one recognized him "even after I told them who I was!" We laughed at his honesty. Mary took Unruh down to her office so he could use her phone.
Unruh returned with a wide, warm grin. He was more comfortable now and began to attack our Republicanism. Finally, he looked at his watch and asked, "How far away is the Waldorf Astoria?"
"Only a few blocks," I chimed in. Would we take him there? We'd be happy to.
When we reached the Bull and Bear Room of the Waldorf, Unruh surprised us by asking us in for another round of drinks. Because it was St. Patrick's Day, the tables all had potatoes wrapped in Irish green ribbons and stuck with white plastic picks. (I still have the ribbon and picks; the potato was last seen growing behind a shabby apartment house in Flushing, New York.)
As we sipped our drinks and talked, we were suddenly stunned into silence. Then we bumped and balanced to our feet. Robert Kennedy had appeared from nowhere. He was dressed in a navy-blue suit and wore a navy-blue and red striped tie. His hair, slightly mussed, characterized the frenzy that was his personality. Unruh introduced us as "student aides"; no one gave him away. Kennedy, in a quiet voice, said, "Hello, how are you?" to each of us, repeatedly taking a swipe at his forelock.
No sooner had we reseated ourselves than a whiskey on the rocks— Old Fitzgerald, we later learned— arrived for Kennedy. He nursed it through the forty-five-minute meeting, which concerned whether or not he should run for president. I have never strained so hard to hear any conversation. Unruh gave him several arguments in favor of running and supported each one with poll data and assurances from other political bosses: Run in '68 or forget '72.... If you don't take an ideological stand against Johnson in '68, it will be used against you in '72.... Move now, I have California lined up.... New York is yours.... You can get Daley.... The Republicans can all be taken.... Romney is shallow.... Rockefeller has the same base as you, only they're more loyal to you, and he'll never be nominated after what he did at the l964 convention.... Another Kennedy-Nixon battle would put you in for sure.
Kennedy would not commit. He was worried about splitting the party, about the fact that his own brother had made Johnson vice president, about moderate Republicans winning in '68 and controlling things for the foreseeable future. And he worried about Nixon, who had been so effective in engineering the Republican congressional comeback of l966.
Unruh skillfully answered each of these concerns. He concluded with a joke about Nixon being from sunny Southern California: "He's a man for no seasons." In the end, neither man left the table satisfied. Kennedy agreed to let Unruh start an organization that would emerge at the opportune moment, but Kennedy was in no mood to tip his hand just yet. Unruh wanted Kennedy to get in the race as soon as possible but settled for the tentative agreement. Suddenly, Kennedy was shaking my hand and saying goodbye. He was shorter than I had expected, his nose more hooked than I had remembered; he looked older than he did on television. He was gone.
Though I have forgotten where we took our dates to dinner, I have never forgotten what it felt like to be near a political pulse like Robert Kennedy's. My dislike for him— arising out of his role in the l960 campaign, his attorney-generalship, his defeat of the gentle Senator Keating of New York in 1964, and his equivocations— was put aside for the better part of an hour. In those moments, I saw his style and was attracted to it. His opportunism matched Nixon's, but somehow he seemed more alive. Perhaps it was because Kennedy knew tragedy and Nixon only knew melodrama. It is one thing to lose a presidential election and quite another to lose a brother who is president.
A few months later, when I delivered my thesis to Nixon's office at 20 Broad Street, I remembered the meeting with Kennedy. Somehow the warmth of the Bull and Bear Room was as appropriate to Kennedy as the coolness of the Wall Street neighborhood was to Nixon. It was my first face-to-face meeting with the man I had come to admire. Nixon surprised me with his warmth and the enthusiasm he had for what I had written. He was really interested in the concepts and the evidence I had generated for them.
On the first anniversary of my having met Kennedy, he stood in the Senate Cloakroom finally activating the network he and Unruh had discussed. In June, after his assassination, and while watching the Kennedy funeral train, I thought back to St. Patrick's Day in l967 and the subway ride home that night. My roommate and I just stared out the window of the dirty subway car, dreaming about potentialities. In the summer of l968, I worked as a graduate intern for CBS at the conventions. In August in Chicago, when I saw Unruh on the floor of the chaotic Democratic Convention, I wanted to remind him of that special night, but couldn't bring myself to break through the huddle of delegates around him. They were singing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" and crying.
Robert Kennedy was the kind of man who won the crowd over the minute he entered the room. Nixon had to persuade them. Neither was above flouting the rules a little to achieve his aims, but because of who they were, the press, which was pretty liberal in those days, held Nixon to a tougher standard. The press gave the impression that many ideas walking through Nixon's brain had been chewed up by a dark political robot. The same press found Robert Kennedy's mind occupied by a fresh, lush garden blooming in passionate reds, electric blues, and ecstatic oranges against a neon-green mass. But that set of impressions was unrealistic if not dishonest. Robert Kennedy was a public man. Because he extended his imagination, he captured ours. Richard Nixon was a private man. When you penetrated his privacy, the excitement of ideas in conflict came into view: the lust for power, the international plotting, the dreams for a better day, the projections of self.
In the pages that follow, I want to pursue the thesis that the important thing is not the reality, but the myth that allows us to live with and bear the reality. Kennedy's talent made him a myth, and that, for all of his rhetorical talent, Nixon could never be. And so he never tried and was never disappointed. Instead he spent his mind on the pragmatics of reality and in the process did some good things for the nation and the world. Freed of his burdens of power and guilt, he told us valuable things in remarkable speeches, interviews, and books that make us long for the days when such insight was more common among our leaders. For that, despite his sins, he has been welcomed into the pantheon of our political legends.
My meetings with Robert Kennedy and Richard Nixon in 1967 triggered something that forced me to test my political abilities. By the summer of the next year, I was a writer for CBS News for convention coverage, and that would allow me to complete valuable research for my dissertation. Eventually, I would become a professor, and a full-time speechwriter for the president of the United States, the president of Chrysler Corporation, and candidates who wanted to be president. I would become a campaign manager for a major United States senator who would eventually be brought down by scandal. I became president of a major foundation that changed the laws that govern the telecommunications industry. It has been a heady life. However, there is one oddity about it: through it all, I remained in the closet at the center of power.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from CONFESSIONS OF A PRESIDENTIAL SPEECHWRITER by Craig R. Smith. Copyright © 2014 Craig R. Smith. Excerpted by permission of Michigan State University Press.
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Table of Contents
Preface ix
Acknowledgments xi
Chapter 1 Meeting Richard Nixon and Robert Kennedy 1
Chapter 2 Geography Lessons 9
Chapter 3 From Student Body President to CBS News 31
Chapter 4 First Job Syndrome 61
Chapter 5 Working at Mr. Jefferson's University 85
Chapter 6 Writing for President Ford 101
Chapter 7 Writing for President George H. W. Bush 123
Chapter 8 Working for the United States Senate 143
Chapter 9 Running a Senate Campaign 165
Chapter 10 The National Republican Senatorial Campaign Committee 187
Chapter 11 Living Large with Lee Iacocca 205
Chapter 12 President of a National Foundation 225
Chapter 13 Protecting Broadcasters' First Amendment Rights 245
Chapter 14 The Rise and Fall of George Bush 265
Chapter 15 The Fall of Bob Packwood 283
Chapter 16 There's More Politics in Education Than Education in Politics 305
Chapter 17 Last Lessons out of the Whirl of Events 329
Notes 347
Bibliography 371
Index 375
What People are Saying About This
The fourth century ended with Augustine's Confessiones, the first memoir in Western literature. It has survived throughout the centuries because its profundity is nested within the context of a personal narrative and acclamations of faith, values and virtues. Dr. Craig R. Smith's Confessions of a Presidential Speechwriter is similar, a rare contribution to recent American history because the author has been a major contributor to our history and one of the most acknowledged and distinguished communication leaders of our times—the story is so much more than what goes on in the Oval Office, as important as that may be.
In this book the reader will relive and gain first hand insights into the Presidencies of Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Clinton and George Herbert Walker Bush, in tasteful and direct narrative by one who knows what he is talking about because he was there in central roles which have impacted all of our lives.
The story begins with his meeting with Robert Kennedy in the Waldorf a few months before Dr. Smith would deliver a copy of his Master's thesis to Richard Nixon in his Broad Street Law office. That night he did not know his life would revolve around the Oval Office and the halls of Congress; he concluded that night that Kennedy's opportunism matched that of Nixon's but Kennedy "seemed alive". "Perhaps it was because Kennedy knew tragedy and Nixon only knew melodrama." "It is one thing to lose a presidential election and quite another to loose a brother who is President."
The reader can not be expected to understand the crucial function of those who guide and design the public messages of our leaders. By reading this book one discovers: what is involved, who does it, why it has to be done by wise professionals, and the amount of dedication and energy it demands.
The tradition of public rhetoric was first canonized in Rome by the first century BCE (Marcus Tullius) Cicero (d.43). The Ciceronian standard for public leaders' messages was four virtues: prudence, temperance, justice, and courage. Not only did Craig R. Smith's speeches for President Ford and President George Herbert Walker Bush manifest these virtues, but this book manifests them.
One so close and intimate with history must tap dance between honest disclosure and decorum, between confidences and competencies, between truth and tact. There is nothing in the Confessions of a Presidential Speechwriter which is banal, cheap, bitter, selfish, or supercilious. This is a book by a patriot who now shares in extensive detail, verbatim dialogue, assiduous dedication, and deep reflection the inside of public service. It counters much of the skepticism, ridicule, and acid in the public opinion of our times.
The author's unique talents were not only in the service of the Oval Office and Congess, but in service to Lee Iacocca, CEO of Chrysler Corporation, who Chaired the restoration project of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island in 1982. Smith also served as campaign manager for Senator Bob Packwood's 1980 re-election campaign, as Director of the Senate Services for the Republican caucus of the US Senate along with years of service with CBS, especially during Presidential conventions, election nights, and Inaugurals. Yes, Walter Cronkite read his words on the air.
As if this was not remarkable enough, Dr. Craig R. Smith finished his Ph.D. in one of the most prestigious programs in the world (Penn. State), and taught at San Diego State University, The University of Alabama, Birmingham; The University of Virginia, and California State University, Long Beach, where he has lead The Center for First Amendment Studies and Chaired four departments; he served as a member of the Board of Trustees of the 23 California State Universities. The author of 18 books and 60 scholarly article, he is the most respected scholar of Daniel Webster in the world and the recipient of highest teaching awards in Academe.
The reader comes to love and admire the author's knowledge of Americana, his personal sublimations (by staying in the closet) and spiritual transitions; his commitment to maintaining decent and productive political parties, and his constant caring and mentoring of his colleagues, friends, family, and always, his university students. Three developmental life experiences can account for the author's prestige as a public communicator: the hours his dad spent every night discussing, arguing, listening, and interacting with his son, the extensive travel necessitated by his dad's relocations in the U.S. Navy, and the tough mentoring of his high school debate coach.
Every aspect of this book testifies to the importance of public communication and the need for excellence in the theory and practice of it. It's an incredible story written from a lucid memory in delightful style—its honest, interesting, factual, fast, and the best autobiography one could read about America and about a distinguished American. Its a story told with: prudence, justice, courage, and temperance.
The book ends with Dr. Craig R. Smith's six point template for the Republican Party and a prayer that, "You can expand the sense of spirit in the world, diminish the pain of living in a troubled environment, and thereby make this world a better place, one that nurtures and inspires."
The reader will encounter a replete registry of famous names in this memoir: Richard, Robert, Walter, Dan, Leslie, Karl, Gerald, George H. W. , Bob, Jimmy, Teddy, Condoleezza, Clarence, et al. The laborious processes involved in the drama of the First Amendment's provisions and our national elections will give the reader reason to celebrate in pride. The first century rhetorician Quintilian (d.95 AD) said public communication is all about "The Good Man (Person) Speaking Well" or ethos. Producing such citizens is costly, time consuming, and requires unquestioning support for all educational institutions. The result is a society of dedicated citizens committed to the elaborate processes of ethos. When the reader finishes this book, ancient and lasting truths about public communication will consume their contemplations together with gratitude to Craig R. Smith for writing this magnus opus.
Confessions of a Presidential Speechwriter "nurtures and inspires".
George Diestel, Ph.D. is Professor Emeritus of Communication and Humanities at California State University, Fresno.