(7 of 10)
Not many of his proposals are original. His answer to poverty boils down basically to jobs, which is roughly what everyone else is saying, but unlike many other liberals, he opposes a guaranteed annual income. "To give priority to income payments," he argues, "would be to admit defeat on the critical battlefront of creating jobs." He wants to raise social-security benefits and finance part of the increase from general revenue. He wants better housing and welfare programs. His ideas about how to finance all this are debatable. Tax loopholes must be closed, he says, starting with a minimum 20% levy on all income over $50,000. He favors a tax increase, but not a heavy reduction in federal spending. The billions now being spent on the Viet Nam war are the key to the nation's fiscal and economic problems; he argues, perhaps too optimistically, that once the war is over, domestic needs can be met.
Moonlight Meeting. At this stage of the campaign, the crowds seem to be looking at the runners more than listening. On domestic issues, little of substance divides the three Democratic candidates. On Viet Nam, McCarthy and Kennedy are in basic agreement; and while the Paris talks are going on, debate with Humphrey is blunted. It is easier to differentiate them by their style. Kennedy's is tense, urgent, gritty. When the crowds are not attempting to steal his clothing, he will often take off his jacket and roll up his sleeves before talking. He shoots statistics that occasionally misinform but more often impress. His gestures jab and chop; sometimes his hands and lips betray in little movements the taut nerves within.
McCarthy is sardonic, still of hand, low or octane, occasionally obscure, nearly always cucumber-cool. He is so relaxed that when he reached one stop in Los Angeles a little early, he gave his talk immediately and was on his way out when most of his listeners were coming in. Humphrey is the old-school orator: expansive, ringing, grand and open in gesticulation. It is ironic that Kennedy, despite his scorn for Humphrey's "politics of joy," frequently generates a carnival atmosphere that approaches frenzy.
Blue-Eyed Soul Brother. When Bobby arrived in Columbus, last week, ostensibly to meet with Ohio's convention delegation, the scene was near-anarchy but fairly typical. Advance radio plugs had invited the populace to the airport for a "moonlight meeting" with Bobby and Ethel. A mammoth traffic jam resulted. Finally arriving in the city, Kennedy stood on his convertible's hood with his Irish cocker spaniel Freckles at his feet. At Mt. Vernon and North Champion Avenues in the Negro Near East Side, friendly crowds engulfed the car. Admirers fell over each other and into the motorcade's path; Kennedy aides had to scoop children from harm's way. One mother plunked her baby on Ethel's lap, trotted alongside for ten blocks while Ethel held the child. At one point, Bobby, his shirttails flying, his hair mussed, his cufflinks gone,* was hauled off the car bodily and had to be dragged back from the crowd's embrace. Ethel, two months pregnant, became faint and nauseated.