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There was no denying that Wallace's victory had thrown the Democratic nomination wide open, and that he looms as a chaotic influence in the jumble of primaries that lie ahead. For each of the candidates who trailed in Wallace's dust in Florida, there were lessons to be learned, reappraisals to be made, strategies to be reconsidered.
MUSKIE. Clearly most stunned by the results was Edmund Muskie—and all of the professionals in press and politics who had seen him as almost a cinch for the nomination only two short weeks before. He had been the front runner, the sincere, often eloquent Abe Lincoln with the rockbound Maine integrity —who contrasted so sharply with the expedient, unlovable Richard Nixon. The image campaign urged everyone to "trust Muskie." But when he turned weepy and peevish and no one could figure precisely what to trust him on, that image turned as fuzzy as Lincoln's beard. By ignoring Wallace in Florida and downgrading busing as almost irrelevant, Muskie ascended to a plane somewhere above reality.
Belatedly, his aides became aware that the approach was not working. They decided that Muskie must get more specific and tough. Muskie thereupon stoutly backed Florida Governor Reubin Askew's stand against the antibusing forces, opposed the space shuttle—and lost votes heavily on both issues. He bluntly attacked Wallace, calling him "a worn-out demagogue," charging that a vote for Wallace was "a vote for fear." The "message" that Floridians must send out, he argued, ought not to be "that this is where the New South died; that the party of John F. Kennedy speaks with the voice of George C. Wallace." It was a courageous stand, but it proved to be highly unpopular in Florida.
After the election, the Muskie camp was in a state of crisis. Not even his closest aides were certain how Muskie would take his defeat, whether he would sulk or come out fighting. At week's end, Muskie seemed to erase their fears. He barged into Indiana and Illinois with unusual snap, apparently relishing his new underdog role. He attacked Wallace as a "preacher of prejudice," and Nixon as the servant of special interests.
Muskie realized that his struggle was desperately uphill now (see box, page 27). His money was spread thin, and his two initial primaries had discouraged some potential donors. He was doubly hurt in the Florida fuss over revealing financial support. When McGovern, Lindsay and Humphrey voluntarily agreed to open their books, Muskie was criticized for holding back. When he promised to reveal his sources, it looked as though he had been forced into it—and some Republican donors will likely be embarrassed. Business leaders who like to hedge their bets by giving to the leading contenders in both parties may hold back now.