(8 of 9)
"Fearless Frank." His critics have accused Lausche, with some justification, of political timidity. (Opposition newspapers have sneeringly dubbed him "Fearless Frank,'' and even Loyalist Louis Seltzer editorially blasted him for compromising on a truck tax bill.) He runs the state with just two aides, and spends hours arguing with himself over difficult decisions (in such moments he frequently plays the violin). Like a chess player, he is always thinking three moves ahead, weighing the political consequences.
Lausche is habitually reluctant to support other politicians. He has given only faint endorsement to all his party's presidential candidates, from Roosevelt to Stevenson, waited until the last stages of the 1948 campaign before giving a hesitant blessing to Harry Truman (his support, nevertheless, is credited with swinging Ohio to Truman by a breathtaking 7,000 votes). Both Mike DiSalle and Tom Burke got a limp pat on the back from the governor in their unsuccessful campaigns for the Senate. Lausche's refusal to back "Jumping Joe" Ferguson and his openly expressed admiration of Bob Taft in their 1950 race won the governor the undying hatred of many party-first Democrats in Ohio. To most Democrats who ask for a helping hand, the governor has a stock answer: "I don't have time." He found time, however, to push his way through a Columbus mob in 1952, and give G.O.P. Candidate Dwight Eisenhower a ringing official welcome to Ohio.
The Tender Trap. During the 1952 campaign, Lausche went on the road with a group of touring Democratic candidates. In Oxford, Hamilton and Middletown, he failed conspicuously to mention his platform companions a single time. On the way to the final meeting in Dayton, a freshman candidate for Congress sat next to Lausche in his car. "Governor," he said, "I'm new to politics, running for the first time. But it seems amazing to me the way you've been talking. I thought we were all in this together."
Lausche threw back his head and roared. "You're a fine fellow," he said. Then, still chuckling, he reached into his pocket, and, drawing out a Lausche button, pinned it on his companion's lapel. "Everybody for Lausche." he roared.
Lausche does not like to play a losing game or to back a risky candidate. In his lonely, canny way he has decided not even to support Candidate Frank Lausche for the presidency. At a dinner party last summer, he calculated his chances at 1% ("Remember me," retorted Jane Lausche. "Make it one-half of 1%"). Though the odds have gone up in recent months, Lausche is still disinclined to bet on Lausche. "I will do nothing to reach the goal," he says. "The honor doesn't come from one's desire to attain it. A man should not seek office." A politically wise friend sees the Lausche strategy in another light. The governor, he thinks, has laid a tender trap. "He's a little like the bachelor who has made peace with the opposite sex. He's not going to send a dozen roses, or a 5-lb. box of candy, or buy box seats at the opera. He has decided that the only thing to do is just to let 'em know he's available."