Senator Salinger?

The telephone jangled in the Fairmont Hotel's Room 75 overlooking San Francisco Bay, its waters ashimmer in the morning sunlight. A young woman picked up the phone, announced: "Salinger for Senator." In the roomful of newsmen and politicians, no one flinched more at the strangeness of those unlikely words than puckish Pierre Salinger, 39, who less than 24 hours before had been happily padding about the White House in his job as presidential press secretary.

While even Salinger was not yet used to the idea, official Washington was swept by surprise at the suddenness of his move. Pierre Salinger was one of the few Jack Kennedy intimates who had managed to adapt smoothly to the contrasting mood and manner of President Johnson. Yet at 3 p.m. one afternoon, Salinger told Johnson that he was quitting to run for the Democratic senatorial nomination in California. By 6 p.m., Johnson had named as Salinger's successor George E. Reedy, a gregarious former United Press reporter and a loyal L.B.J. aide for 13 years (see PRESS). By midnight, Pierre was headed West.

"Plucky, Not Stupid." Washington newsmen were plainly sorry to see Salinger go. Though they deplored his disdain for detail and his bothersome habit of unexplained disappearances during presidential trips, Pierre was always sharp at painting the broad picture. "He would start talking," says one veteran newsman, "and he would damn near write your story for you." On the big stories, such as the Cuba missile crisis, Salinger rolled up his sleeves, lit a cigar the size of a shinny stick and plowed into his work with admirable professionalism. Most any time he was good for some congenial argument, a $1,000 night of poker, a pungent wisecrack. Jack Kennedy made him a frequent target for teasing, and Pierre never seemed to mind it: "Plucky Pierre," they called him. When he refused to keep a pledge to hike 50 miles, Pierre explained: "I may be plucky, but I ain't stupid."

He did show some nervousness at his San Francisco press conference, but his sense of humor was still intact: "I could tell you that I have succumbed to the urging of many friends," he said, "but the truth is that this candidacy is a genuine draft--a draft inspired by the candidate himself." Answering serious questions, he insisted: "I've had a very warm relationship with President Johnson. There was absolutely no dissent with anything at the White House." Where would he get campaign money? "I'm very confident about my ability to get funds."

Big Daddy. While Salinger's last-minute haste (he filed just two hours before the deadline) made it seem that he had been seized by a sudden impulse to be a Senator, he is too experienced in the ways of politics to barge into a race without assurance of substantial support. Most California politicians assume that Salinger's real inspiration came from Jesse ("Big Daddy") Unruh, speaker of the state assembly and Democratic Party wheel, who--until Salinger showed up--seemed to be losing a backstage struggle for party power to Governor Pat Brown.

The struggle concerns Senator Clair Engle, 52, who is recuperating from a brain operation. Most California politicians feel that Engle cannot possibly conduct a vigorous re-election campaign, let alone represent a key state in Washington, and they want him to retire. Engle's wife, Lucretia, is fighting hard to keep him in the race. The liberal California Democratic Council has already rejected Engle and instead has endorsed State Controller Alan Cranston. Governor Brown, a longtime political colleague of Engle's, announced his support for Cranston too.

Where did that leave Big Daddy?

His influence as a key power in the state has waned since John Kennedy's death, and Unruh wanted his own senatorial candidate to throw into the fight. He did not want Alan Cranston. So he urged California Attorney General Stanley Mosk to enter the primary, but Governor Brown persuaded Mosk that his candidacy would hurt the party. Mosk withdrew. Unruh cast about for another candidate, failed to find a willing man. Until he hit on San Francisco-born Pierre Salinger.

The biggest question for Salinger is a technical one: as a resident of Virginia, does he meet California's residence requirements to run? Presumably his good friend Attorney General Mosk will knock down any legal barriers to Pierre's candidacy. But the whimsical Salinger should appreciate the ultimate irony in the fact that even if he clears that obstacle, he cannot vote for himself in the primary because he is not a registered California voter. He can only hope that he does not lose by one vote.

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