Original Publication: The Village Voice – July 20, 1972
Miami Beach – At a strategy session of the California delegation the phone rang. “It’s Pat Brown,” someone said. (Brown is the last Democrat to have beaten Nixon.) “He thinks he can get a messenger’s pass and wants to know if he can be our page or something.”
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Rumor had it that Frank Mankiewicz put in a 3 a.m. phone call to Mayor Richard Daley to attempt a last minute compromise over the embattled Illinois delegation. “Fuck off,” Daley was supposed to have replied, “I’m going to bed.”
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Captain Crunch, infamous phone freak, was an even bigger loser than Daley. At Abbie Hoffman’s invitation he flew into Miami to head a phone freak convention, panicked, and flew out again right into the arms of two FBI agents who arrested him at the Jamaica, Queens, YMCA for failing to inform authorities he was leaving California where he’s awaiting trail. The unkindest cut of all – Crunch had to call his lawyer collect.
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The New Politics attracted the New Hollywood Art Garfunkel was on my plane coming in. Andy Williams was the first person I heard paged at the airport. Jack Nicholson and Warren Beatty floated around Convention Hall. Joe Alsop, disdainful of all his hoi polloi, kept prophesying doom for McGovern, especially to the tight little knots of savants like Eric Sevaried and Nicholas Von Hoffman who whispered together in front of the Fontainebleau elevators. Everybody’s favorite warrior ignored the grins of Art Buchwald, and constantly wiped off his sweat-soaked shirt whenever anyone under 30 rushed by.
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Mayor Lindsay, resplendent in red and white shirt opened halfway to the navel, white duck pants, patent leather belt and matching Guccis, no socks, thought McGovern would have a hard time carrying New York. “He’d probably have to strafe the Arabs to do it.”
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Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin were everywhere. Spurred by a $33,000 advance, they and Ed Sanders are writing a book about the convention, and everywhere Jerry and Abbie went the Secret Service went too. Finally on the last night of the convention, just as Muskie was about to ascend the platform to finally wish McGovern well, Abbie went running to the nearest Secret Service man. “Hey, I just saw a bulge in Muskie’s jacket pocket. Maybe you ought to investigate. You know, he’s a real sore loser.”
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The Senator from Maine was even agonizing over his decision to pull out of the race the last days of the convention when everyone knew McGovern had it sewn up on the first ballot. In desperation, Hadley Roth, Muskie’s faithful press secretary throughout the stormy campaign, bellowed out, “My god, Senator, we’ve come to bury you, not to praise you.”
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Germaine Greer was in agony too, so distraught at what she considered “the gibberish of the whole thing: she was weeping at the bar of the Fontainebleau. “I hate Americer with my whole heart and soul. I really do.” Suddenly someone spotted Norman Mailer out in the lobby. “Oh I must have a word with Norman,” Germaine said, and promptly went running after him. Aquarius himself was pretty bummed out. He lost two notebooks filled with pithies.
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One Miami cabbie claimed to have written gags for Nixon. “Nixon’s great in a bar. He really knows how to act. About 10 years ago he bought me a drink. No Kennedys never bought me a drink. Here’s one I made up: A fellow goes into a House of Assignation, lays $100 bill down and says, ‘Give me the worst piece in the house,’ ‘But sir, for $100 we’ll give you the best.’ ‘Naw,’ he says, ‘I’m not lonely, I’m just homesick.’ I told Nixon he could use it any time.”
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The flight to New York nearly crashed from the weight of the glitterati. William Buckley in first class and Max Lerner in coach were both typing their columns. Max introduced Buckley to Abbie. “Oh hello there,” waved Buckley just as if they were about to step onto a tennis court. Abbie sat across from Max, his old professor of American Civ at Brandeis, though Max doesn’t like to be reminded Abbie may have picked up some of his notions about America in his civ class. “I’m a Constitutional lawyer,” Lerner told Abbie, “and I don’t agree with all your interpretations of the Supreme Court rulings.” “Yeah Max,” Abbie replied, “all you liberals go to the courts to worship.”
