Success Formula

Michigan's Republican voters were treated to a wide choice of bargains in their gubernatorial primary. On one counter was the party wheelhorse of the state political machine. Across the aisle was the white hope of the old, discredited bosses. Off in a corner was Detroit's Mayor Edward J. Jeffries (who didn't have a chance). Spang in the middle of the bargain basement was a novice named Kim Sigler.

Two and a half years ago, Kim Sigler was just a wealthy, personable small-town lawyer in Hastings (pop. 5,175), noted principally for his 42-suit wardrobe and a showplace residence. A onetime Nebraska cowpuncher, he had gone to the University of Michigan to study law. When he ran out of money he switched to the University of Detroit, worked on a Ford assembly line.

He had dabbled only briefly in politics. Once he served two terms as Democratic county prosecutor. Once he switched party lines, but was beaten as a Republican. It wasn't until he was appointed special prosecutor in 1943 for a graft-hunting grand jury that he attracted attention by convicting 41 small-time politicians and racketeers. Suddenly, three months ago, he was fired, ostensibly for excessive expenditures, but just as he was sighting in on bigger political game.

That decided him. Breathing fire, he leaped into the race for the governorship, tirelessly stumped the state in a piped vest and his "crapshooters coat" (tight, double-breasted grey, with black cuff & collar bindings and pearl buttons). His platform: a thorough statewide house cleaning.

His opponents tried to brush him off as a "junior G-man," got sidetracked in feuds of their own. When election day came, Michigan voters swept him into the nomination with a 50,000 lead over his nearest rival. Their 3-to-1 majority over Democrats voting the same day made Kim Sigler a good bet to beat the Democrats' former Governor Murray D. Van Wagoner to the state house in the fall.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.