Scoop Jackson—The Only Candidate Who

Hollywood, Fla.—Every Presidential trail leads at last to the fund-raising dinner, and so on a Tuesday night we were led to this one: Eight hundred paying guests, twenty free-loading members of the press, a six-piece band, a scattering of sound men, a huddling clutch of projectionists and stagehands. The grand ballroom of the Diplomat Hotel was glowing with candles, gleaming with silver. Across the tables there drifted delectable smells— smells of Chivas Regal, of Arpége, of sweet folding money.

Promptly at 8:30 the house lights came down and the crowd stood up. Great burgundy curtains swung apart. Behind the dais a billboard stood revealed, patriotically painted in red, white and blue: common sense for a change: jackson for president. From the back of the ballroom, to swelling applause, the head-table saints came marching in. The glare of a traveling spotlight suddenly disclosed an old familiar face.

JJ

About the Author

James Jackson Kilpatrick

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Democrats

Florida

Presidential Election

Richard Nixon

Campaign Fundraising

Hollywood, Fla.—Every Presidential trail leads at last to the fund-raising dinner, and so on a Tuesday night we were led to this one: Eight hundred paying guests, twenty free-loading members of the press, a six-piece band, a scattering of sound men, a huddling clutch of projectionists and stagehands. The grand ballroom of the Diplomat Hotel was glowing with candles, gleaming with silver. Across the tables there drifted delectable smells— smells of Chivas Regal, of Arpége, of sweet folding money.

Promptly at 8:30 the house lights came down and the crowd stood up. Great burgundy curtains swung apart. Behind the dais a billboard stood revealed, patriotically painted in red, white and blue: common sense for a change: jackson for president. From the back of the ballroom, to swelling applause, the head-table saints came marching in. The glare of a traveling spotlight suddenly disclosed an old familiar face.