Political Atmosphere

Smiling down from the walls of Boston's John Hancock Hall were the faces of Adlai, Estes, Kennedy, and Foster Furcolo. The picture of the main speaker was a little gray and folded at the corners, but the crowd of some 1,500 was undismayed--they had come to hear Harry, and they hoped, to hear Harry "give 'em hell." At 8 p.m. all hell seemed to break loose, but it turned out to be the championship band from Dorchester's St. Williams.

After exactly five minutes of spontaneous enthusiasm, a woman with more courage than talent sang the national anthem. To the surprise and discomfit of everyone, she reached the final high note, clung to it desperately and retreated. There was a sign of relief from the audience.

John McCormack, majority leader in the House, thanked her bravely, and launched into an attack on appeasement in the Middle East. He was interrupted by a booming voice from the third row. "Did you want another war?" a heavy man with a bald dome surrounded by a white fringe cried. After the movie cameras had swung around, he repeated the question. McCormack continued. "Answer the man," cried a man in the first row and then another from the corner. The audience waited for an answer, so the majority leader asked if the man wanted another Munich. Two policemen walked over to the man in the third row and gave him a quick lecture before the photographers could focus. McCormack continued, "Disagree without being disagreeable."

"That's tellin' him Johnnie boy!" said the man next to me.

"Do you know the Congressman?" I asked.

"Son, I know Mayor Curley."

The next speaker launched into Mr. Nixon--"This man became Vice President. Can you imagine that," he cried.

The man next to me agreed. "Can you imagine that?" he said and poked my ribs. I shrugged my shoulders. "Can you imagine that?" he repeated with greater emphasis and a harder poke. "I can't imagine that at all," I said. He smiled, "That's the old Joe Smith spirit."

I introduced myself.

The next speaker gave a catalogue of Republican evils while my friend punctuated each with "It's true. It's true." He dozed for a while, but still mumbled "It's true" at the right moment. My friend was awakened when a state legislator boomed through the microphone, "How long, O America, how long?" There was a shudder throughout the entire audience.

There was much enthusiasm for Foster Furcolo ("symbol of democracy") and his wife (who sat on her mink stole). The high point of his speech came when he noted the high price of food and asked who got the profit. "Does the small grocer get the profit?" "NO!" cried the audience. "Does the farmer get the profit?" "NO!" "Then the question is, who gets the profit." My friend said, "That's a pretty damn good question."

The next speaker was the State Committeewoman who was noting the price of food when applause was heard outside. The committeewoman went on. The audience turned to the rear of the hall as drums boomed in the corridor. She move closer to the microphone. Then the blaring band marched into the hall; she stepped back and stared at the wilting orchid on her shoulder.

"It's good old Harry."

Hary strode down the aisle quite youthfully, posed for the press, shook hands, and smiled dutifully at the man who screamed "Give 'em hell!"

Truman's talk provoked more than thirty "That's trues," which is more than Furcolo received. At the speech's close I asked my friend how the election would go.

"We'll kill 'em," he said. He looked at my dubious expression and added, "That's true." I covered my ribs with my arms and left.