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Then, at 1:45 a.m., Brownell came down. Reporters clustered around him.
Said he: "We now know that Governor Dewey will carry New York State by 50,000 and will be the next President of the United States." Deweymen sighed in relief. Everything was all right, after all. A rumor swept the ballroom that Dewey was on his way down for a victory speech before the television cameras. But Dewey did not appear. Doubt crept back. News came that Truman was taking a lead in Ohio and Iowa, was surging up in California. Deweymen hung on, drank large amounts of whiskey with glum, unhappy concentration.
The Shambles. At 5 a.m., Dewey let it be known that he was "still confident." His mother gave up and went to bed. In San Francisco, Earl Warren told reporters wanly: "Even if the 81st Congress is called on to decide the election, the Republicans still may win."
Dawn seeped over Manhattan. The Dewey headquarters, which Republicans had expected to be the scene of a joyous celebration, was a shambles. Twenty exhausted bitter-enders slumped amidst the overturned chairs, crumpled newspapers, and half-empty highball glasses full of cigarette butts. The last chance now rested with Illinois and Ohio.
At 8:30 a.m., with the grey gloom of a misty November day outside the windows, Tom Dewey and his wife went to bed. At 10:30, Brownell woke him with the bitter news. Ohio was gone.
No man had seemed to have the presidency so surely within his grasp, only to have it elude him. With his own hand, he wrote out the telegram to Truman: "My heartiest congratulations ... I urge all Americans to unite behind you in support of every effort to keep our nation strong and free . , ."