Fruit of the System

The revolt was over, but the struggle had left the Democratic Party exhausted and gasping. Surveying the battlefield, political pundits summoned up their gloomiest parallels. Not since the South rebelled against Stephen Douglas in 1860 had the party seemed so hopelessly torn and divided. It was the inevitable climax to 16 years of one-party leadership.

Cynical Turning. Could the Democratic Party have avoided its civil war? The usual omens of political debacle were missing. The nation was prosperous at home, was working out a popularly approved program for decisive action abroad. On the face of it, Harry Truman himself seemed like a candidate who might have pleased all factions.

Despite the civil-rights uproar, the South, like the big-city bosses, could recognize him as a regular party man (unlike Franklin Roosevelt, who was regular only when it suited him). The old New Dealers might have been expected to applaud a President who had plumped hard for price controls, civil rights, and a big housing program. Labor might have been expected to rally around the man who had vetoed the hated Taft-Hartley law, had thrice vetoed what he called a rich man's tax bill.

Ready for a Change. Why had they all deserted? The reason was as old as American politics. They knew that too many voters agreed with New Jersey's ex-Governor Charles Edison, a Republican-turned-Democrat who announced his return to the G.O.P. with the cry: "Our governmental house is choked with litter and rubbish. We must have a complete change of management. The two-party system was evolved to accomplish just that."

A Franklin Roosevelt might have been able to outshout that call. But under F.D.R.'s absolute control of the party there had never been a chance for another real leader to rise to the surface of the Democratic Party. Harry Truman was clearly not such a man. So the rebels bayed frantically off in all directions in search of a winner--and succeeded in pulling the roof down about their ears.

That was why the Democrats had been unable to postpone the inevitable. Now they were in the unenviable plight of staking their chances on a candidate they had themselves publicly repudiated. Said ex-National Chairman Jim Farley: "I'm thoroughly disgusted with the attitude and actions of some of our leaders ... If they'd think a little more of the party and the country and a little less of their own personal position, the party would be in a position to wage an aggressive campaign." Harry Truman, who had handled himself with admirable restraint and good sense through all the bickering, was still confident. He was sure that he had found a sound campaign argument in the record of the 80th Congress. In his own homely style he would pound it home across the nation. And his fortunes and popularity would probably rise a bit. They could hardly sink lower.

The real questions for the Democrats now were who would inherit the receivership of the party, and who would be charged with the job of rebuilding for 1952? Those questions would not be decided at the convention. But rebellious Southerners were still threatening to hold their long-planned Birmingham meeting to discuss the future ownership of the party. That new struggle would occupy the efforts of wrangling Democratic politicos for the next four years.

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