(See Cover) The sharp, rhythmic tattoo of a fast buck and wing ricocheted off the tile floor of a Sacramento bathroom one day last week, and echoed through the door. Visitors in the adjoining suite of offices heard distinctly the merry foot-tapping and understood the message it telegraphed: The governor of California was happy.
At 58, Goodwin Jess Knight had most of the things that make men happy: a handsome young wife, two beautiful daughters, a pleasant home, money in the bank. Although half his stomach was removed in an ulcer operation three years ago, he had the health and strength of a Poland boar. He had the job he had always pined for, and was happy in his work.
And, despite smog, earthquakes, problems of water supply and the japes of Democratic and Republican politicians, "Goodie" Knight was proving himself a successful, if unusual, governor. California had never—even in the golden age of Earl Warren—been in better shape.
Bats at Twilight. The drum-thumping, backslapping governor had another reason for dancing. For weeks, the rumors that President Eisenhower might decline to run again in 1956 had flittered through Washington like bats at twilight. At the governors' conference, early this month, Goodie had heard them—whispered in Washington corridors, murmured over the transoms of closed doors—and, while he doubted the rumors, he was vastly disturbed. But Goodie Knight, never glum for long, found a silver lining. Last week he made a big decision: if Ike declines the Republican nomination, then Goodie Knight will seek it for himself. "I would certainly like to be President," he told a TIME reporter. "Any politician who is forthright, honest and candid must confess that it is the greatest honor which can come to a citizen. I'm not going to lie to the people, and I'm not going to be coy." In the political sawdust of California, Goodie Knight is not the only or the leading presidential possibility. Vice President Richard Nixon and Senator William Knowland both have ambitions for the highest office too. The Senator, preoccupied with Asian policy and sometimes out of step with the Eisenhower Administration, is—for the moment—the least favorite son. At his age (46) Bill Knowland can afford to wait until 1960 or 1964. Nixon's hopes are pinned on a possible endorsement by the President in 1960; he is wholeheartedly hopeful that Ike will run again in 1956—and will urge Republican leaders to pick Nixon again for Vice President. Knight, virtually unknown and with no visible support outside California, is a very big question mark. But of the three, he is in the most strategic position: with control of California's delegation, he could severely damage any nomination moves by Nixon or Knowland. If Ike is not a candidate next year, Governor Knight may well become to the 1956 Republican convention what Pennsylvania's Governor John Fine was to the 1952 convention.