Hour-by-Hour

Here, hour by hour (in Eastern Standard Time), is how the ballot boxes told one of the big political stories of the generation:

8 to 9 o'clock. Nixon winged ahead in early-bird returns scattered east of the Rockies (he led 2 to 1 in Kansas alone). But barely had the ABC and CBS electronic brains prematurely predicted a G.O.P. sweep than the Republicans conceded Connecticut by some 90,000--a magic figure that Democrats read as a sure sign of a sweep in the big marathon industrial states. But perhaps some of the Connecticut vote for Kennedy was sheer neighborliness.

Kennedy was wrapping up two-thirds of the early vote in Philadelphia and Chicago--more, it seemed, than he appeared to need to breast the expected rural Republican tides.

In the South, Nixon showed strength along the border, holding slight leads in Tennessee and Kentucky. The Democrats claimed North Carolina and South Carolina--two states that Nixon had been counting in his column--and signs were mounting that Southern Negroes, who had been strong for Ike, were swinging back to the Democrats (in Durham, N.C., one bellwether Negro precinct that went 66% for Ike in 1956 went 66% for Kennedy).

NBC's computer, last of the big electronic brains to punch in, put the odds on a Kennedy victory at 22 to 1.

9 to 10. Gulping down mounting returns, network computers giddily upped the odds on Kennedy. But the predictions only made Nixon Campaign Manager Len Hall huff that the computers ought to be tossed into the junkheap. The election, he claimed, was "a squeaker."

Nixon could indeed take heart from his continuing lead in Tennessee and victory in Florida and Kentucky. First Texas returns were a tossup.

Turning out huge votes, many northern big cities polled mounting Kennedy margins. Jubilant Pennsylvania Democrats saw victory by 300,000 in Philadelphia. In steelmaking Bethlehem, a precinct that had voted for the winner in every 20th-century election went for Kennedy, 576-380, and the news was flashed to Hyannisport by direct telephone wire. Kennedy was building toward a 600,000 lead in Chicago's Cook County--presumably more than enough to sew up the state. New York City was going predictably Democratic. And not even in upstate New York, where Republicans hoped to offset Kennedy's expected city bundle, was the news good for Nixon. After liking Ike in both 1952 and 1956, Syracuse was giving Kennedy an early lead.

Exceptions to the Kennedy good news: Ohio, New Jersey and Michigan were not falling his way as fast as predicted.

10 to 11. With about 21% of the national vote tallied, Kennedy loped ahead by a popular million, and was the leader in states with an electoral-vote count of 365 (to Nixon's 151).

New York's Mayor Robert Wagner promised a million-vote margin for Kennedy in his city; and sure enough, Kennedy was coming close to that (Adlai got a mere 92,000 plurality in 1956). Philadelphia not only smashed Roosevelt's all-time record high of 1936, but suburban Upper Darby voted for a Democratic presidential candidate for the first time in history. Baltimore's decisive plurality for Kennedy gave him Maryland.

But suddenly there were signs of a horse race. Nixon added Virginia and Oklahoma to his Southern count but saw Texas begin to slip away. He showed surprising strength in New Jersey's strongly Democratic and Catholic Hudson County, which put New Jersey in doubt, and in Colorado's Denver County. Nixon led 5 to 3. In vote-heavy Ohio, Nixon got big help from Columbus, Dayton and the rural areas to gain a surprising lead; Kennedy forces put their trust in heavy labor areas and Catholic Cuyahoga County (Cleveland) still to be counted. In Michigan and Wisconsin, Kennedy limped weakly ahead. In Illinois he was well ahead--but far behind the huge majority piled up by Governor-elect Otto Kerner.

11 to 12. A confident smile creasing his broad face, G.O.P. National Chairman Thruston B. Morton took to the air to insist that Nixon had just begun to fight. "It's going to be all right." said Morton. "We've got this thing, and I know we're going to celebrate if we have to carry on here until the dawn kills the moon." But the dawn was coming up in the East like thunder for Kennedy. The pro-Nixon New York Daily News (which had called Kennedy the "British-tailored nominee of the America Stinks Party") was already whirling out early editions giving the race to Kennedy. Down South, where Kennedy's Catholicism was proving to be no crippling handicap, the Democrats chalked up Texas. Michigan's U.A.W.-dominated Wayne County was going 72% for Kennedy. Kennedy's one big blow came when Ohio slipped to Nixon.

The early word from California gave Nixon his home town of Whittier by 2 to 1. But the rest of Southern California news seemed Sunkist for Kennedy: he was even taking Los Angeles by 3 to 2. Cranking up its computer, CBS decided that Kennedy was surpassing Stevenson's vote in 1956 by 12% in industrial areas, 4% among farmers, 8% in the suburbs and a whopping 12% among Negroes. Climbing by the hour, Kennedy's popular-vote margin soared to a highpoint of nearly 2,000,000.

Midnight to 1. Henry Cabot Lodge marched into Washington's Sheraton-Park Hotel Republican headquarters with an ominous pronouncement: "I think that anything that is to be said now should come from Dick."

Back East, Adlai Stevenson, who had agonized through the same thing twice before, came onto the TV screens to declare his delight over the apparent Democratic sweep. Then he added wistfully: "My own future remains in doubt."

Fresh returns from the West kept alive the G.O.P. spark of hope. Nixon stormed into the lead in Oregon and Washington. The Mormons of Utah, the potato and sugar beet farmers of Idaho, the Goldwater conservatives of Arizona--all voted for Nixon. Dick Nixon turned over predictions by taking Colorado. He was narrowing Kennedy's lead in California. For the first time in any presidential election, Hawaii flashed in its aloha--with Nixon on the top end of a seesaw.

In the Midwest, Nixon picked up Iowa's ten electoral votes, as expected. He was on Kennedy's heels in Michigan and out in front in Wisconsin. Jack Kennedy seemed to be pulling Minnesota out of the fire, helped by a 60% plurality in St. Paul. Far back in the East, Kennedy nailed down little Delaware. His electoral-vote count rose to a sure 241 as he captured Louisiana and West Virginia.

1 to 2. With majestic mien the New York Times proclaimed Kennedy's election. An answering echo came from California where Kennedy was maintaining a steady 50,000 lead: the pro-Nixon San Francisco Examiner announced that Kennedy had carried the state and the nation. Even so, the result still was not official, and Nixon was conceding nothing. Ohio's Democratic Governor Mike Di Salle, who went hook, line and sinker for Kennedy, still could not believe that Kennedy (and perhaps Di Salle) was sunk in Ohio. Kennedy rallied to take the lead in the fight for Minnesota's 11 electoral votes--enough to put him over the top according to most calculations, come what might in California. But then Kennedy's margin began to fade in Illinois as downstate votes came in. Nixon refused to quit.

2 to 3. New York's Senator Kenneth Keating became the first big Republican to concede to Kennedy, wired him congratulations. In Moscow the Soviet radio announced a Kennedy victory.

But doubt still gnawed at top Democrats in Washington. "Scoop" Jackson said the race was narrowing. The Midwest held the balance of power, and the balance was seesawing. Wisconsin fell to Nixon, as the Democrats' disappointingly small turnout in Milwaukee failed to overcome the outstate G.O.P. avalanche. Kennedy's Illinois lead dwindled further. Minnesota turned into a no man's state. Kennedy was still in front by 14% in Michigan, but Democrats declined to proclaim victory until the final third of the vote was counted.

With Kennedy only half a dozen votes away from victory, the small states of the nation took on great importance. Kennedy won Montana's four electoral votes. He pulled ahead slightly in Hawaii. Down South, the Democratic rebels who had cast their votes for independent electors conjured up visions of becoming kingmakers. Among them, Mississippi, Alabama and Georgia had 31 electors--only five for Kennedy, and 26 "unpledged." The predawn dream: perhaps neither candidate would get a majority, and the Deep South could throw the election into the House of Representatives, where each state would have one vote, and the South could swing to the candidate who offered the softest deal on civil rights.

3 to 4. When Nevada finally went Democratic, Kennedy was within a handful of the necessary 269 electoral votes--but that handful was turning out to be a tough one to grab. What was more, predictions of a Kennedy victory assumed that he would win Illinois. But in Illinois, farmers were slicing down the fat lead that he had piled up in Chicago. In pivotal Minnesota, Kennedy's lead was down to a bare 30,000. With these developments obviously in mind, Vice President Nixon refused to make a flat concession when he went off to bed. Kennedy announced through Press Aide Pierre Salinger that he, too, was off to bed. That left a bleary-eyed nation sipping coffee by its television sets and noting, as the hour drew to a close, that Kennedy's popular vote lead was down to 1,000,000.

4 to 5. Kennedy's popular plurality slid below the million mark for the first time in hours. NBC figured that Kennedy was only one electoral vote short of the 269 needed to win. It was so close that the nation could just possibly go the way Alaska went--and Alaska, with 25% of the votes counted, was 7,383 for Kennedy, 7,007 for Nixon. California vote counters struggled with map-sized paper ballots and warned that the final score might not be posted for another 24 hours. The TV pundits began to talk of 1916, when the U.S. awakened to the startling news that California had elected Woodrow Wilson.

5 to 6. When Associated Press gave Michigan to Kennedy, CBS boosted the Senator's electoral-vote total to 285, more than enough to get him into the White House. But CBS was assuming that Illinois' 27 votes would go to Kennedy, and, hour by hour, his lead there was dwindling away until it stood at a mere 46,000. If Kennedy lost Illinois, his last big chance to clinch the election was California. But even there, with half of the state still to be tallied, Kennedy was just plugging along in front by 80,000. Dawn was beginning to break over Manhattan when the experts, who earlier in the night had been blithely predicting a Kennedy landslide, were cautiously agreeing that the Senator should win--in a squeaker.

6 to 7. Throughout the land, the black banner lines on the morning editions all read: KENNEDY! At 7 o'clock, John Kennedy crossed the 30 million mark--some 750,000 votes in the lead. Kennedy had 50.71% of the popular vote, Nixon 49.29%. It was the closest election since 1888, when Democrat Grover Cleveland edged Republican Benjamin Harrison in the popular vote but lost to him in the Electoral College.

7 to 8. By light of a new day, the Kennedy drive began to creep forward again. With some 90% of the votes counted, Kennedy led Nixon by just 770,000, but he led where it counted. Illinois was in doubt, but Kennedy seemed safely ahead in key California. Finally, even the most cautious proclaimed John Fitzgerald Kennedy the President-elect.

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