(2 of 3)
Eleanor Roosevelt, who broke the First Lady mold by enlisting in causes that raised people's eyebrows and sometimes their blood pressure, nevertheless was reluctant to campaign for Franklin. "I never felt it was good taste to go out and electioneer for my husband," she wrote. On the famous whistle-stop tour with her father in 1948, Margaret Truman refused all interviews unless a reporter turned out to be a sorority sister who gave the proper grip.
It was the 1960 presidential campaign that brought the family out in the streets. The Kennedys recruited an astonishing assortment of relatives who swamped voters with tea and sympathy. Only the candidates' wives, Jackie Kennedy and Pat Nixon, remained relatively aloof—Jackie because she was pregnant, Pat because she usually served as a prim decoration on the speaker's platform. In 1964 a President's wife first emerged as an aggressive campaigner. Lyndon Johnson had troubles in the South because of his support of civil rights measures. Lady Bird went to Dixie for him. Her eight-state, 1,700-mile whistle-stop tour salved Southern wounds and demonstrated that a wife could perform in the political big leagues. The precedent was set. Muriel Humphrey took to the stump for Hubert in 1968. Even Mrs. Nixon, unfairly known as "Plastic Pat," began to unbend. Eventually she could tour on her own and work airport fences with the best of them.
Now that the presidency has become so powerful and so personalized, voters are understandably curious about the woman the Chief Executive has married and the children he has raised. But with all the family fanfare, the public may end up knowing less than more. It makes as much sense to take candidates' children seriously on issues as it does to criticize them for their slipups. When Jeff Carter made a derogatory remark about Billy Graham in Oklahoma last week, it proved nothing beyond the fact that Jeff is still a political innocent. His sister Amy, 8, may have the right idea. After she was erroneously accused in the press of hiking prices at her lemonade stand, she refused any more interviews. Amy has her charm, but the public's right to know has not been irreparably damaged by her silence.
Occasionally, families are not as helpful as they are made out to be. During the 1972 primary contest, Jane Muskie was criticized for liking salty language. When press accounts appeared, Senator Edmund Muskie looked tearful as he defended his wife's honor—a scene that spoiled his Lincolnesque image and hurt his election chances. Eleanor McGovern was so forthright on the issues that she became the first candidate's wife to appear on Meet the Press. But her success may have been too much to handle; she was unable to work in harmony with her husband's campaign staff.