Atlantic City Without the Girls

Atlantic City, Sunday: The action hasn’t started, and probably won’t. There is suspense on the question who will be Vice President, but unless President Johnson selects Bull Connor, the Convention is not likely to come to life. So what if it is Humphrey? So what if it is Senator McCarthy? So what if it is Mike Mansfield (they are talking about him in the corridors). Goodness knows, although we all try, it is not possible to tell what kind of a President a man will actually be, based only on his past record. Only four years ago Lyndon Johnson, hero of the forthcoming event, was being roundly denounced by many of the people who are here acclaiming him, because he was ideologically underdeveloped. In January of 1960 Senator Gore tried to wrest the leadership away from him in Congress. A few months later the labor leaders said they would not have him. Today they love him. Tomorrow they may or may not love Humphrey, McCarthy, Mansfield: it does not make very much difference, and it is generally thought that with Bobby Kennedy out of the way, there is no chance at all that any Vice Presidential candidate will wag the dog at the Convention. It is LBJ’s show, and his will will be done here in anticipation, it is thought, of his will’s being done in the rest of the country.

Atlantic City is well suited for the coronation of Uncle Cornpone. It is a resort without flavor, but with a well developed flair for celebrating its mediocrity. The Convention Hall is so large, it might have been grown in Texas. The organ is the largest. So will be the oratory. And needless to say the Platform will, as ever, be the usual cornucopia, serving the needs of every appetite of man, and where appetites are caught lacking, they will be stimulated. A lengthy preamble to the platform lists the infinite series of accomplishments of the Democratic Party, and the infinite list of things yet to be done. My favorite is “Expand the Peace Corps.” And why not? One must bear in mind that the expansion of federal activity is a form of eating for politicians. And in an affluent society, one does not tighten one’s belt, although it is something else again to tighten the other man’s. No one will suggest at the Convention that the other man, in our incestuous society, is you.

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William F. Buckley Jr.

William F. Buckley Jr. founded National Review magazine in 1955.

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William F. Buckley Jr.

Atlantic City, Sunday: The action hasn’t started, and probably won’t. There is suspense on the question who will be Vice President, but unless President Johnson selects Bull Connor, the Convention is not likely to come to life. So what if it is Humphrey? So what if it is Senator McCarthy? So what if it is Mike Mansfield (they are talking about him in the corridors). Goodness knows, although we all try, it is not possible to tell what kind of a President a man will actually be, based only on his past record. Only four years ago Lyndon Johnson, hero of the forthcoming event, was being roundly denounced by many of the people who are here acclaiming him, because he was ideologically underdeveloped. In January of 1960 Senator Gore tried to wrest the leadership away from him in Congress. A few months later the labor leaders said they would not have him. Today they love him. Tomorrow they may or may not love Humphrey, McCarthy, Mansfield: it does not make very much difference, and it is generally thought that with Bobby Kennedy out of the way, there is no chance at all that any Vice Presidential candidate will wag the dog at the Convention. It is LBJ’s show, and his will will be done here in anticipation, it is thought, of his will’s being done in the rest of the country.

Atlantic City is well suited for the coronation of Uncle Cornpone. It is a resort without flavor, but with a well developed flair for celebrating its mediocrity. The Convention Hall is so large, it might have been grown in Texas. The organ is the largest. So will be the oratory. And needless to say the Platform will, as ever, be the usual cornucopia, serving the needs of every appetite of man, and where appetites are caught lacking, they will be stimulated. A lengthy preamble to the platform lists the infinite series of accomplishments of the Democratic Party, and the infinite list of things yet to be done. My favorite is “Expand the Peace Corps.” And why not? One must bear in mind that the expansion of federal activity is a form of eating for politicians. And in an affluent society, one does not tighten one’s belt, although it is something else again to tighten the other man’s. No one will suggest at the Convention that the other man, in our incestuous society, is you.