The Campaign: Good & Bad

At times last week — but only at times — President Johnson sounded like his old, exhilarated self.

Embarking on a grueling 8,000-mile campaign tour, the President stopped off in his opponent’s home town to go to church, made a stop-and-go trip through downtown Phoenix, and did a little of his own preaching along the way. “Let’s go to church and thank the good Lord for the U.S., for sunshine and freedom in the world,” he told a Phoenix street crowd. “Love thy neighbor!” In Reno, he struck out at Goldwater, drawling that “we here in the West aren’t about to turn in our sterling silver American heritage for a plastic credit card that reads, ‘Shoot Now, Pay Later.’ One candidate is roaming around the country saying what a terrible thing the Government is. He seems to be running against the office of President instead of for the office of Presdent. Somebody better tell him that most Americans are not ready to trade the American Eagle in for a plucked banty rooster!” “Forgive Them.” In Northern New Jersey, Johnson proclaimed that the American people “are weary of those who preach that America is failing in the world and faltering at home. The people are tired of being told that their character is in question, that their moral fiber is riddled with rot and decay. The American people want leadership which believes in them, not leadership which berates them.”

In Rochester, he extolled the virtues of bipartisanship in foreign affairs. “How can we unite the world and lead it if we divide among ourselves?” he demanded. “Let’s say to these men of little faith, the doubters and the critics, who sometimes become frustrated, and other times become bitter—let’s say, ‘Let’s turn the other cheek’ and say, ‘God forgive them, for they really know not what they do!’ ”

Security Scares. But by midweek the fatigue in Johnson’s face was plain to see. His fingers had become bloodied and were bandaged from shaking so many hands. He had also gone through some security scares. In Phoenix, one young man had been arrested when police found him carrying a loaded .22-cal. revolver under his coat. Another young punk bashed the President with a Goldwater sign. The sign creased Lyndon’s hat; the President thought it was an accident, but others were not so sure, and the fellow was arrested.

In the outskirts of Los Angeles, the President was standing on the back of his car, making a speech, when police got a tip about a man with a gun. Johnson abruptly got in and sat down; a Secret Serviceman jumped up, brandishing an automatic rifle in the rear seat of the presidential follow-up car, and the motorcade moved away. In Buffalo, police picked up a man holding a rifle at a place where the President was expected to pass.

“You-Know-Where.” In New York City, Johnson got word of the Jenkins case, delivered his toneless speech and next night, after a day of upstate campaigning with Bobby Kennedy, went to

Madison Square Garden for another spiritless performance. Toward week’s end, in Dayton, the President got a thunderous greeting from street crowds. But he also found people carrying crude signs alluding to the Jenkins story.

“I am not here to indulge in muckraking or mudslinging,” the President declared testily. “Those are always weapons of desperation and of fearful, frightened men. You can always tell them by their words if not by their signs. A campaign can tear open new wounds, and it can pour fresh salt on fresh wounds. It can divide America instead of uniting it!” Then he delivered an emotional defense of his Administration’s program and added: “If you don’t believe in it, you can go you-know-where!”