The Crazy Quilt

Why anyone would want to govern Michigan is a wonder. The state has deep-seated economic problems, and it is riven by inter-and intraparty bitterness of a sort to make any Governor look bad. Yet there is never a dearth of aspirants, and this year is far, far from being an exception to that rule. The contenders: Incumbent Democrat John Swainson, 37, and Republican George Romney, 55, who resigned from his $150,000-a-year job as the head of American Motors to seek public office.

As every Michigan gubernatorial candidate must, Romney and Swainson have geared their campaigns to the economic problems that have kept their state stalled for the past decade. Decentralization of the auto industry has moved so many plants out of Michigan that only 32% of the nation's cars are now assembled there. During World War II and the Korean war, Michigan's auto plants received some 10% of all defense dollars. But the state has not kept pace with the demands of the electronics and missile age, now gets a meager 2.7% of defense spending. In addition, automation has thrown thousands of men out of work. Early in 1961, during a slump in auto orders, the unemployment rate in Michigan reached a shocking 14%.

Deadlock. While jobs were disappearing, a legislature controlled by rural Republicans was locked in a death struggle with six-term (1948-60) Democratic Governor "Soapy" Williams. As the state's population grew, by 22% between 1950 and 1960, the legislature reluctantly increased programs for schools and welfare. But it balked at providing adequate tax money to pay for them. Soapy was pretty abrasive, and there was considerable reason for resentment on the side of the legislature. Anyhow, it turned down Williams' proposed 5% income tax, relied instead upon inadequate sales taxes and a "business activities tax," which assessed companies not on their profits but on their total revenues, thereby discouraging new industry from entering the state. Year by year, the deficit mounted.

In 1960 Swainson campaigned for Governor on the claim that he could get along with the Republican legislators. He knew them well--as senate minority leader and as Williams' lieutenant governor presiding over the chamber--and he had always been on friendly personal terms with them. Skinning into office by 4,000 votes, Swainson at first tried playing pal with the legislative Republicans. He got nowhere. This year he turned tough, tried to ram through a fiscal reform program that included a 3% income tax. He still got nowhere. In the past fiscal year, Michigan's deficit increased by $13.9 million, to $85.6 million.

No, Thanks. While Swainson was struggling, Romney was beginning to generate some political dynamism. He had always been willing to lend his cyclonic energy to civic affairs. He led the campaign to set up a convention to rewrite Michigan's antiquated constitution. The convention was in session, with Romney as one of its vice presidents, when he an nounced in February that he was a candidate for Governor.

With that, Romney set out to woo independent votes by kicking himself free from the state's regular, right-wing Republicans--commonly known to Michiganders as "the Neanderthals." And he promptly ran into his own problems. To get the conservative-dominated convention to agree on a new constitution--which will be presented to the voters next year--Romney had to modify some of his more progressive proposals, was accused of "selling out." Since then, Romney has divorced himself so completely from the party that the word "Republican" is conspicuously absent from his campaign literature and billboards. He even turned down a chance to have Dwight Eisenhower campaign for him.

Romney still insists that he alone can pull together all the hostile factions in Michigan and work effectively with the legislature. "The key issue is leadership." he says. "We must stop pulling Michigan apart and start pulling it together again."

Romney accuses Swainson of being a slave of the United Auto Workers. As the man who popularized the compact car while president of American Motors Corp., Romney claims he knows how to expand the state's industry. "We need a million more jobs by 1970, 130,000 each year, and I know what it takes to create them."

Something Borrowed. As a campaigner, Romney is tireless. Invited recently to a union meeting, he vigorously matched shouts and charges with labor leaders. He swoops down small-town streets at a half-trot with newsmen panting in his wake, sniffs out voters like a pointer. In one city, a worker asked him: "What makes you think you can get along with the Neanderthals?" Romney grabbed his questioner by the arm: "If men are treated like Neanderthals, they'll respond like Neanderthals. I'll get along with them." He is not above borrowing a phrase from Democrat John Kennedy. Says he: "We've got to get this state moving again."

While Romney is running as Romney, Swainson is running as an all-out Democrat: "I'm proud of my party. I'm proud of its ticket, and I'm not ashamed to wear its label." As for his accomplishments, Swainson points to the state's excellent highway system, increased aid for schools and the mentally retarded, and a current unemployment rate of 4.9%--the lowest in Michigan in seven years.

In contrast to his ebullient, even evangelical opponent, Swainson sometimes seems colorless. A wounded World War II veteran--he lost both legs below the knee to a land mine in France--Swainson gets around remarkably well on artificial limbs. He has a quiet warmth that often fails to show on the public platform or on the TV screen.

Playing the Numbers. As the campaign nears its end, politicians and pundits can only be fascinated by the crazy quilt of Michigan's voting patterns. They estimate the state at 35%-40% Democratic, 25%-30% Republican--leaving at least 30% as independent. So far, the independents seem to favor Romney. In all, labor (about 2,500,000 persons, including families, with some 1,000.000 votes) is 70% Democratic. The Negro bloc (700,000 persons) is expected to give its vote to Swainson, 9 to 1. The Polish bloc (400,000) ordinarily produces a heavily Democratic vote, but there may be considerable defection to Romney this time. Detroit, of course, will go for Swainson. But its populous suburbs will vote more heavily Republican than ever, if only because Swainson vetoed a bill that would have exempted suburban commuters from paying a Detroit-imposed income tax.

By most calculations, Romney holds a lead, now widening, now narrowing, over Swainson. If he wins, he will surely wake up the morning after Election Day as a prime prospect for the 1964 Republican presidential nomination. What happens after that will probably depend on how successfully George Romney meets Michigan's vast problems.

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