Dogi Cligin & the West

By the time his "Victory Special" rolled into California, Tom Dewey had observed one salient fact. At every whistle-stop and cattle crossing, the line that invariably drew loud applause was an attack on Communists in the Government, along with the remark: "I suggest you elect an administration that simply won't appoint them in the first place."

Los Angeles had been picked for Dewey's all-out attack on Communism. There, in the gaudy setting of the Hollywood Bowl, a line of chorus girls danced on stage, movie stars trooped to the mike, and searchlights and floodlights made an incandescent tent over all.

"Tragic Fact." Sketching the familiar pattern of Communism's march, Dewey cried: "The tragic fact is that too often our own Government . . . seems to have so far lost faith in our system of free opportunity as to encourage this Communist advance, not hinder it ... Communists and fellow travelers [have] risen to positions of trust in our Government ... On that very day when a poor distraught schoolteacher ventured death to jump to freedom . . . the head of our own Government called the exposure of Communists in our Government 'a red herring.'

"We must neither ignore the Communists nor outlaw them ... If they engage in sabotage or break any other laws, we'll jail them. If our laws aren't adequate we'll get ones which are. But in this country we'll have no thought-police. We will not jail anybody for what he thinks or believes."

The Dewey train had moved through the country with leisurely assurance. The crowds were good--but no more than good--and they reflected their candidate's calm confidence. From the back platform of his car, Dewey made the same speech again & again--an appeal for unity, a promise of honest and competent government, a denunciation of those who played group against group and a criticism of the nation's "wobbling" foreign policy. He pointed out that the 80th Congress had appropriated more money for reclamation than the preceding Democratic Congress, adding invariably: "Sometimes we don't talk so good but we perform." At the end he always introduced Mrs. Dewey, who said not a word but whose modest charm was cordially approved.

My Good Friend. In New Mexico, swarms of newly enfranchised Navajos came to see the man they call Dogi Cligin (Black Mustache). At Albuquerque, Dewey declared extravagantly: "National income is now at such high levels that we can build our military strength, reduce our debt, and still see to it that taxes are less of a burden on our people."

At every state border, local candidates climbed aboard. Dewey gave them wholehearted endorsement, carefully calling each by his first name. In Fresno, Dewey was introduced by Congressman Bertrand W. Gearhart, whom Truman had labeled "one of the worst obstructionists in Congress." Dewey told the crowd: "So there can be no mistake about it, I want to say how proud and honored I am to be introduced by my good friend Bud Gearhart." Bud beamed, and Dewey added: "I am very proud of the 80th Congress."

Openhanded California showered Dewey with presents--a crate of oranges and peaches, bunches of grapes and ten-gallon hats. "My goodness, I'm going to have enough hats to last me a lifetime," he told a donor at San Bernardino. If his welcome at Los Angeles fell short of Truman's, San Francisco received him with open arms. An audience of 9,000 interrupted him 32 times with applause.

"Great Upsurge." There he submitted his own formula to lick inflation: an efficient administration, elimination of "unnecessary" Government spending, reduction of the national debt, "a great upsurge of production."

Dewey had kept in close touch with the Berlin crisis by calls to John Foster Dulles in Paris. In Portland this week, he said: "Nothing will be said or done in this campaign by myself or the Republican Party which will do anything but strengthen our unity . . . We are pulling together for the good of the country . . . and it would be wise for all of the rulers of the world to know it."

The tone of his campaign was set. He would keep it on a high plane, refuse to be needled into a slugging match with Harry Truman. (Truman's advisers were furious over what they called Dewey's decision to campaign against Joe Stalin.) His manner was friendly, his handling of crowds masterly. Because he was ahead, he could keep to general terms, imply Administration failure without committing himself to specific remedies of his own. He gambled nothing. Some observers, like Columnist Joseph Alsop, found his manner "a trifle too ostentatiously noble," with a "faint flavor of Batten, Barton, Durstine & Osborn." But they were all agreed on one thing. He was making--and keeping--votes.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.