National Affairs: Arial Warfare

Ohio’s senatorial campaign consists largely of Republican Candidate George Bender’s being here, there and everywhere; whether that is good or bad for the G.O.P., nobody can quite decide. While Democratic Senator Thomas Burke has plugged quietly away at building up organizational support, Bender’s baritone has boomed out in every Ohio gas station and crossroads store. Win or lose, by last week George Bender had proved that he knows only one way to run for public office: loudly.

Bender recently bounced out on the platform of Dayton’s Wayman African Methodist Episcopal Church, beamed down on perhaps 75 persons, and said hoarsely: “Don’t worry. I’m not going to sing.” He read a couple of pages of his prepared text, stopped and asked: “You don’t want to hear this, do you?” At best, the audience seemed indifferent, so Bender scrapped his script, began pacing around, pounding on the rostrum, on the walls and on a nearby piano. He talked extemporaneously, mostly about singing. Said Cleveland-born Bender: “We don’t hold meetings in Cleveland without singing and praying and shouting.” But he added: “I sing horribly.” Under Bender’s exhortations (“What’s the matter with this audience? This isn’t a funeral parlor.”), the spectators began to warm up. Bender eyed them wistfully. Said he: “If my throat was in good shape, I’d sing.”

At long last, Bender sat down, after nary an aria. The meeting’s chairman arose, tried to get in a few words, and was promptly interrupted. George Bender was sorry, but he wondered if someone would come forward to lead the singing. He waited all of two or three seconds for a volunteer, then lifted his arms−and his voice—in a rendition of God Be With You Till We Meet Again. It was a typical Bender performance.

Against such arial warfare, flat-toned

Democrat Tom Burke does not even try to compete—and he may not need to. Burke has concentrated on Ohio’s industrial centers, hopes to come out of them with enough organization votes to offset Bender’s advantage in the rural districts and Cincinnati’s Taftland. Burke dislikes to campaign. As the four-time mayor of Cleveland, he rarely had to try hard, and he much prefers to spend his evenings in cozy spots with a few old political cronies. His campaign speeches have been studded with such unexciting lines as “Canton has more replevins for merchandise on credit than any time in its history.”

Burke does, however, have one big fact in his favor. He is running under the aegis of Democratic Governor Frank Lausche, who appointed him to the Senate as Bob Taft’s replacement. And, in Ohio, the Lausche coattails are second to none—not even Dwight Eisenhower’s, to which former Taftman George Bender has clung with might and main. As of last week, Ohio looked like a coattail tossup.