Reporters at Hyannis Port Spend Long Night Before Jack Accepts

"This is the most fitting conclusion for this crazy campaign," said Charles von Fremd of CBS News at 5 A.M. Wednesday. The press headquarters at the Hyannis National Guard Armory was nearly deserted; most newspapermen had gone off for a couple of hours of sleep, leaving the scene to the television network men and a few diehard writers like Murray Kempton of the New York Post.

Almost everyone felt that Hyannis Port was the home of the newly elected president of the United States, but few were willing to say they were sure. Both candidates were reportedly in bed, Nixon in Los Angeles and Kennedy in Hyannis Port. The election night watch had been on for 10 hours since the first post closed and for the first time in recent memory, the result was not yet known.

The Hyannis armory, built in 1958, is an attractive building of its rather repulsive kind. The Kennedy people used it purely functionally for the newspaper and television press. This election night headquarters, unlike those of most other candidates, was not the place for the party faithful to gather, hear the returns, and either celebrate or grieve. The armory was reserved entirely for the press, and the local and state police kept out the public (which was not terribly enthusiastic, anyway, for the town of Barnstable, of which Hyannis and Hyannis Port are parts, is almost 5 to 1 Republican).

The only concession to the holiday atmosphere of a normal election headquarters were the flags draped over most of the walls. Otherwise, the entire building was devoted to communications. The television networks and local radio stations occupied the left side of the main hall; just to the left of the speakers platform, representatives of the three networks could watch their respective election programs and keep in touch with their central offices. The radio stations had tables on the left toward the back of the room. The rest of the tables belonged to the newspapers and magazines; they were divided by a center aisle of television sets, three facing left and three facing right. Another four sets were placed next to each other in an adjoining room; here also were the pastel phones giving direct access to long distance operators that have been almost a trademark of the Kennedy press facilities this year. Another room contained Western Union headquarters, while an Associated Press ticker downstairs hammered out the special election wire. Sandwiches, donuts, coffee and soft drinks (and, early Wednesday morning, hard liquor) were available at the extreme rear of the hall; behind a platform where television, newsreel and still cameras were mounted.

The Hyannis press corps was there primarily to cover one event: Senator Kennedy's statement of victory or concession of defeat. Until this happened, the reporters checked on the returns and absorbed bits of human interest material culled by a pool of reporters stationed at the Kennedy homes about five miles away. From time to time, both Tuesday night and Wednesday, press aide Don Wilson read a "pool report" on the activities of various members of the Kennedy clan. Early Tuesday evening, reading the list of Senator Kennedy's dinner guests, Wilson (actually, the reporter who had written the story) managed to get all three names, which Wilson carefully spelled out, wrong.

Another Tuesday pool report noted that the Kennedy girls were watching the returns in toreador pants. Before Wilson had finished reading the report, he had to issue a correction; they were not wearing toreador pants, they were wearing slacks. Later, when Wilson announced that the Senator was still in sports clothes, one reporter called out, "Is he wearing toreador pants?"

Still another item disclosed that actor Peter Lawford Senator Kennedy's brother-in-law, was roaming the second floor of Bobby Kennedy's home in his stocking feet, tearing off the latest returns on the AP and UPI tickers.

Between these little tidbits of color, the assembled press had to find other diversions. Ray Scherer of NBC News sat in the press telephone room, watching himself on tape on three of the four sets. Only important television developments commanded universal attention: one was Nixon's almost-concession at 3:15 A.M. before an animalistic California crowd which one reporter said turned his stomach. The delay tried the pateience of everyone.

The other television highlight, coming a while later, was the appearance of an ebullient Henry Cabot Lodge from Washington. His performance drew the only loud laughs of the night's entertainment.

When Wilson announced shortly after Nixon's appearance that Kennedy would have nothing to say until he had heard further from the Vice-President, the press corps settled down to a long siege. Most of the newspapermen went to neighboring motels for a few hours' rest. The television men had to stay on hand for possible short reports: Scherer sat on the platform for an hour waiting for his network's call, which finally came while he was in the middle of a sandwich and a cup of coffee.

By 8:30 Wednesday morning, the newspapermen began drifting back into the armory for the second day of the vigil. This morning, the mood of the corps (which seemed overwhelmingly pro-Kennedy) was optimistic, as opposed to the caution that characterized the hour following Nixon's near-concession. Kennedy staffers like Larry O'Brien and J. Leonard Rentsch wandered about a bit more freely and looked confident, as did Wilson, who the night before had been merely harried.

O'Brien, conferring in subdued tones with little knots of reporters and looking the image of a politician, explained that Nixon's edge in Illinois (which he had just obtained) was not disturbing, because Mayor Richard Daley had 200 late-counting Cook County precincts in reserve. A little later, when Daley threw in 100 of these and Kennedy regained a 20,000 vote lead, a few report betrayed their leanings by cheering. "Thank God for the bosses," said one.

A concession was clearly a matter of time, of when Nixon awakened on the Coast and finally made up his mind. At 11 a.m. Wilson predicted a move within an hour and a half; it came at 12:45 p.m., when Nixon's press secretary, Herbert Klein, made public the Vice-President's telegram of congratulation to Senator Kennedy.

Meanwhile, the pool reports from the Kennedy homes became even more trivial in another sign of the Kennedy camp's confidence. The reports, prepared this morning by Mary McGrory of the Washington Star, referred to Kennedy as the "President-elect," and showed that the Kennedy clan was relaxing and merely waiting for Nixon to admit defeat.

Wilson read the trivia with almost mock care: "Senator Kennedy went out on the front lawn with his daughter Caroline and her dog, Charlie--C-H-A-R-L-I-E." Various members of the clan, he said, had been hiking and playing touch football, next to politics, the favorite Kennedy sport. He read exact direct quotes of the most inconsequential nature: Jack to his brother Teddy, "What do you say, Teddy? Do you want to take a walk on the beach?" Neighbors to the Senator: "Hi, Jack. We're awfully proud of you."

When the break came, the reporters listened to Klein attentively, unexcited but relieved that the long wait was over. Kennedy, with his whole family in tow, appeared about as hour later, and re-R-1