Last-Place Tie

If the TV viewer had gone to bed early on Election Night and awakened at 2:10 a.m. E.S.T. to follow the returns, his TV screen would have presented quite a surprise. In many parts of the country, the screens were simply blank; in others they carried sign-off sermonettes or such ancient movie reruns as The Valley of Decision, starring Greer Garson and Gregory Peck. Never before in a presidential race had so many stations retired so early. Even during the Johnson landslide they had kept Dracula's hours, but this time all three networks wrapped up their coverage by 2 a.m.

To the network men, and to their viewers, the abbreviated evening of Richard Nixon's landslide resembled a first-round knockout in a scheduled ten-round match. After 9 p.m. the anchor men seemed stunned; there was little left to say. The projections were in, the landslide gaining momentum; all that remained were the interviews and the instant analysis. Frustrated, facing empty hours with few ingredients, ABC, NBC and CBS retired almost as if they were a bit ashamed of the size of the Nixon swamp.

The election coverage had not begun that way. To listen to the promotion was to believe that one of the Western world's great emotional experiences lay at the twist of a dial. The networks ran as hard as the presidential candidates. One considered itself an analgesic. "For best results," read its ad, "take NBC News." Another took to the hustings. "Vote straight CBS News. Re-elect the most trusted man in America . . . Walter Cronkite." ABC modestly reported that Howard K. Smith and Harry Reasoner would tell what went on in the polling booth "and what's coming out." All three networks emphasized citizenship and the tireless highmindedness of electronic journalism. None mentioned the high-pricedness. This year the combined coverage cost some $10 million, roughly what the presidential candidates together spent on TV commercials--with about the same results. Adman Stanley Tannenbaum, chairman of Kenyon & Eckhardt, was forced to cry electronic tears. "If I had as little effect with $10 million of my clients' money, I'd shoot myself," he told the New York Times. "After all that advertising, [the candidates] haven't moved the needle."

Accuracy. The viewer could have registered the same plaint. For all their frantic promotion, their booming patriotism and self-congratulation, the networks gave a fatigued and indifferent performance. During the warmups, there was a moment of suspense; then the computers ratified the polls and all was over. At 8:30 p.m., NBC won the presidential prediction match by calling Nixon the victor. CBS followed about 20 minutes later. At 9:20, ABC chimed in with its prediction of a landslide.

All three networks offered disclaimers of a rat, horse or broadcast race. "It's accuracy that counts," insisted NBC Executive Producer Robert Northshield. "I didn't give one goddam who won the race. The minute I walk into the studio I always enjoy a suspension of citizenship." Still he was quick to recall that NBC had been the first to predict the Johnson victory in 1964. ABC News President Elmer Lower also demanded accuracy over immediacy--and put his network where his mouth was. Ronald Reagan, among others, had asked that broadcasters hold predictions until Western polls closed. ABC alone honored the request, thereby losing the first-with-the-least sweepstakes.

CBS had more on its mind than mere competition. Four days before the election, the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers struck the network, blacking out three N.F.L. football games and an important Face the Nation broadcast (guests: George McGovern and Spiro Agnew), and threatening to obliterate election coverage. Fearing labor troubles at the worst of all possible times, Jean Westwood, chairman of the Democratic National Committee, asked CBS to keep away from any Democratic functions; several candidates also gave excellent imitations of persons badly frightened by a picket line. CBS got the message and canceled its "remote" pickups from some 20 locations. The network was thus forced to stay within a restricted area, leaning even more heavily upon the services of an oaken but somewhat weary Walter Cronkite. Despite this, when the early Nielsens came in, they showed CBS ahead by 15% in New York City's viewer vote. In later tallies, NBC came out ahead. "I dunno," said a CBS executive, shaking his head. "Maybe they tuned in to see us goof up. Or maybe they just got tired of all those remotes on the other networks." Actually, there were no real goof-ups; supervisory personnel did all the work with scarcely a moment of dead air.

Orotund. With the exception of a few local reporters, the coverage on most stations proved as numbing as six hours of Gilllgan's Island reruns. The tot boards endlessly reeled off numbers that were rendered ciphers by the landslide. Reporters talked aimlessly with such pundits as Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. Late in the evening, even Eric Sevareid was at a loss for his specialty, the orotund, empty phrase. In desperation he began to pick the brain of Luigi Barzini, author of The Italians and a dilettantish follower of McGovern's campaign.

If the difference in networks was so slight, if the night was so brief, if the minutes of prediction were so close, why did the broadcasters dispatch so much personnel and hardware? After all, even with the unprecedented tri-network sponsorship of J.C. Penney--manifestly hoping for gilt by association--all three networks maintained their honorable tradition of losing money on the Big Night. The answer does not lie behind the screen but before it. "Every man speaks of public opinion," wrote G.K. Chesterton, "and means by public opinion, public opinion minus his opinion." No matter what the polls said, the viewer had to see it for himself. What he saw was not only the President winning by a landslide but three networks involved in a tie for last place.

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