A Natural Force on a National Stage

Few men in American public life have sought the presidency with more fervor than Nelson Rockefeller. "When you think of all I had," he once explained, "what else was there to aspire to?" Nothing would divert him from his ambition, least of all the vice presidency, which he twice spurned when the nomination was offered to him. "The Vice President is stand-by equipment," he complained. "I don't think I'm cut out to be a No. 2 guy." But last week, pending Congress's approval, that is what he finally accepted. At 66, after three decades of bruising combat in the political and bureaucratic wars, he seems prepared to enjoy his new role.

Restoring Confidence. Whatever personal reservations he may have had, the country was plainly relieved and approving. After a series of numbing shocks to the system, a new team was in place in the White House. To restore national confidence, it was necessary to pick the best man for the vice presidency, and few would deny that Rockefeller fitted that description. After reviewing his record in private enterprise, diplomacy, the Federal Government and as Governor of New York, President Ford put him at the top of his list. "The President was not looking for the survival of the Republican Party but for the survival of the Republic," explained his chief aide Robert Hartmann. "The overwhelming criterion was whether the Vice President could step into the top spot if he had to."

Ford's selection of Rockefeller is an indication of his own political maturity. A less secure President might have been fearful of naming so dynamic a personality. But Ford is apparently more than ready to share the powers and perquisites of his office. "He isn't the kind of man who tries to hold the reins in tight and keep all the powers to himself," says a former Senator who knows him well. "That certainly wasn't the way he operated as minority leader. I think he feels the President has such immense power that there is no need to pull things in that tightly."

Rockefeller, in fact, should make it easier for Ford to govern. He appeals to those elements of the party that have never been a significant part of Ford's constituency: liberals and big-city ethnic groups. He also enjoys uniquely close relations with both business and labor and can attract the kind of talent needed to cope with Ford's biggest problem: inflation. Despite past battles with party conservatives, he is not likely to offend many people today. He has made at least a token peace with the right. Moreover, he is no longer the political threat he used to be. Age is fast removing him from contention; Ford plans to run for the presidency in 1976, and Rockefeller will be 72 in 1980. In the meantime, Ford has ample leisure to groom a successor and eventually install him as Vice President if Rockefeller moves on to a Cabinet post. Rockefeller, on the other hand, would probably be the last to admit that he is too old to run. Refusing to tell reporters last week whether he intended to make another try for the presidency, he reminded them of a couple of very elder statesmen. "Did you ever know Golda Meir?" he asked. "Konrad Adenauer? I knew them well. Great people."

Though Ford had Rockefeller in mind from the start, he kept his opinion to himself. He wanted to draw party leaders into the decision, and he was anxious to keep his options open in case Rockefeller, for some reason, did not work out. The first faint sign that the President was thinking of Rockefeller was given even before Richard Nixon left the White House. Ford's old House associate Melvin Laird, now a Reader's Digest executive, announced that he supported Rocky for Vice President if Ford took over as President. Though Ford had not asked Laird to float the trial balloon, he did nothing to stop it.

Silent Guns. Once it would have been swiftly punctured by the party's right wing, which was outraged when Rockefeller refused to support Barry Goldwater in the 1964 presidential race. This time there were a few random shots but no fusillade. The balloon stayed afloat, and so did Rockefeller's chances. A few conservative diehards grumbled, but the big guns were relatively silent. Texas Senator John Tower said that Rockefeller would be O.K., though not his first choice. Senator Goldwater doubted that Rockefeller would go over with the G.O.P. rank and file, but would not oppose the New Yorker. Said a top White House adviser: "The President discovered, somewhat to his surprise, that the ancient bile among conservatives had diminished. Rockefeller was no longer able to make the dragon show its teeth."

To test opinion further, Ford called upon some 300 assorted Senators, Congressmen, Governors, state party chairmen and committeemen to list their top three choices for Veep. Rockefeller topped the Governors' list, while George Bush, the G.O.P. national chairman, led among Congressmen and state officials. With the support of G.O.P. conservatives, Richard L. Herman, Nebraska committeeman, opened a drive for Bush. But Ford noted that Rockefeller had not been given a thumbs-down by any group polled. Along with Laird, two other Ford intimates, Michigan Senator Robert Griffin and Presidential Adviser Bryce Harlow, supported Rockefeller--and so did Henry Kissinger.

The decision had virtually been made, though Ford was still considering a list of five possibilities: Rockefeller, Bush, NATO Ambassador Donald Rumsfeld, who is a member of Ford's transition team, and Tennessee Senators William Brock and Howard Baker. The President asked the FBI to run a check on Rockefeller, Bush and Rumsfeld. The agency reported that there was no derogatory information in FBI or IRS files. Then Ford submitted all five names to the special prosecutor to find out if there were any Watergate connections. Rockefeller, in fact, had been slightly bruised when he was falsely accused a week earlier of providing campaign funds for dirty tricks in the 1972 election. The five candidates were all declared clean.

Relaxed Desire. Over the weekend, the President phoned Rockefeller, who was vacationing at his summer home in Seal Harbor, Me. For an hour, Ford quizzed him about personal matters. Says a White House aide: "He asked Rocky the questions you'd ask anybody after the Eagleton and Agnew affairs." By Monday, Ford was prepared to go ahead. He asked Alexander Haig to phone Rockefeller and instruct him to be at the White House at 9 the next morning. When Rockefeller arrived, he and Ford made a joint call to Nixon to inform him of the decision. Replied the former President: "A big man for a big job."

Then Ford and Rockefeller strode into the Oval Office, where congressional leaders awaited the new Vice President-designate. Said Ford of his choice: "He is known across the land as a person dedicated to the free enterprise system, a person who is recognized abroad for his talents, for his dedication to making this a peaceful world." In a plain, brief statement, Rockefeller declared that because of his "openness," the President had "already reawakened faith and hope." He made it clear that he is reconciled to his new post: "I am now in a position of relaxed desire to be helpful to this nation in any way I can."

Reaction among congressional leaders on both sides of the aisle was as favorable to Rockefeller as it had been to the earlier selection of Ford as Vice President. "I think he's a good choice," said Senate Majority Leader Mike Mansfield. "A recognized national leader and world figure," echoed House Speaker Carl Albert. Added House Majority Leader Thomas P. O'Neill, "He has ability and charisma." Rocky turned on some of that charisma as he made a quick campaign tour on the Hill. "Keep your fingers crossed," he said, referring to his prospects for confirmation. "Maybe I won't be able to live up to expectations."

Rockefeller does not really expect to have trouble getting confirmed, but the process could be long and grueling. His personal fortune (see box) will be exhaustively investigated. Nothing unseemly is expected to turn up in his tax returns or campaign expenditures. "The Rockefeller financial records are extremely well organized," says New York Senator Jacob Javits. "He's very orderly about that sort of thing." With his family wealth to draw on, Rockefeller would scarcely be tempted to cut financial corners. Asked if he planned to accept the Vice President's salary, he responded wryly: "I don't see why not. I don't know what the salary is, but I'll find out."

There are political reasons, however, for prolonging the hearings. The longer Rockefeller is tied up on Capitol Hill, the less time he will have to campaign for G.O.P. candidates this fall--and Democrats properly respect his clout on the hustings.

Facing Terror. Already Rockefeller's staff is taking shape, although no appointments have been officially announced. Hugh Morrow, for 15 years Rockefeller's speechwriter and press spokesman, will be the press secretary for the Vice President. James M. Cannon, a onetime political reporter who helped lobby revenue sharing through Congress, is expected to become Rockefeller's liaison with Congress. Joseph Persico, a former USIA staffer, will be the Veep's chief speechwriter, though he admits to experiencing "blank-page terror" when he starts composing a speech. "I now have trouble writing a business letter without making it sound like Caesar haranguing the Etruscans," he says. Ann Whitman, who was once President Eisenhower's secretary, will continue to be Rockefeller's personal secretary, a job she has held for twelve years.

Once he is confirmed, the Rockefeller style will at last have national scope. Even the Empire State has at times seemed too small a stage for Rockefeller's vast ambitions. There is no question that his plans are as extensive as his family fortune, stretching boundlessly in all directions. He was the chief promoter, for example, of revenue sharing, one domestic innovation of the Nixon Administration that seems destined to survive. If he is not a politician of remarkable depth--not especially eloquent or incisive--he is one of extraordinary breadth. His impulse is expansionist: where there is a need, fill it--and the sooner the better. Let routine administrators tidy up afterward. Rockefeller has exuberantly strewn New York State with his political largesse. Most of it has been beneficent (schools, hospitals, mass transit, antipollution facilities), but some has been dubious (his massive $1 billion concrete and marble Albany mall, which will rehouse much of the state government when it is completed hi 1975--five years late). To critics of the mall, who have labeled it "instant Stonehenge," Rocky replies: "Mean structures breed small vision."

Downgrading Charisma. In his first years in office, Rocky was thought to be a liberal; subsequently, he seemed to grow more conservative. But he shrugs off labels. "Politics is not really my metier," he says. "My real interest is in solving people's problems." He is totally impatient with ideologists who hold "positions which may have no relation to reality, the don't-confuse-me-with-facts kind of people." Though he has plenty of that quality described as charisma, he downgrades it. "We're getting away from charismatic politicians, which is a good thing, because they don't perform." When pressed, he refers to himself as a "pragmatist," but that is a bland description for the multitude of political drives that make up Nelson Rockefeller. He is the political equivalent of a natural force.

A sampler of recent Rockefeller views:

On government: "A key issue before the American people is whether government closest to the people will be submerged by overcentralized power in the hands of an all-powerful Washington bureaucracy. I believe in our federal system of shared sovereignty between the Federal Government and the states."

On the economy: "We've got a national and worldwide crisis of considerable proportion. Inflation has a disastrous effect on various groups in this country, particularly on those who can least afford it. Unemployment gets involved in the problems of energy, food and balance of payments. I'm very optimistic about the future if we face the hard realities."

On Watergate: "At this critical time in the history of the nation, politics is irrelevant. The question of Democrats or Republicans should have no place now. We've all got to work together. At the same time, the American people are bound to have had a renewal of faith in themselves. Here we have had a change of Presidents, and there were no troops or tanks in the streets."

On his wealth: "I've got to be perfectly frank. I've never felt the disadvantages. The money brought with it tremendous responsibilities and great opportunities. I'm also aware of the fact that it is like a tool, a sharp tool. If you misuse it, you can get cut, and you can also hurt other people."

String Southpaw. In public or private, Rockefeller has an exuberant lifestyle, as if great wealth has stimulated hyperbole of word and deed. He constantly says "terrific" and "great" when he really means "O.K." Everybody he greets becomes, momentarily at least, his friend. "Hiya fella!" he shouts, often because he does not remember the fella's name. He buys art the way he shakes hands: ebulliently, rather indiscriminately. Then he continually rearranges his paintings, shuffling them from home to home to suit his mood, sometimes putting up a new display just before the dinner guests arrive.

Quite in keeping with his character --and some would say his politics--he is somewhat ambidextrous, using his right hand to write, playing tennis with his left. He was lefthanded as a boy, but his father tied a string to his left wrist at the dinner table. When Nelson tried to eat southpaw, his father gave a yank. Rockefeller does not smoke and only occasionally has a Dubonnet on the rocks or some wine. There is no way of telling that he is a Rockefeller from his dress. His nondescript suits are invariably rumpled, his ties unmemorable.

From an early age, Nelson was a different kind of Rockefeller, more outgoing, less cost-conscious than his four brothers. While they tended to reflect their father John D. Jr., a shy philanthropist and devout Baptist, Nelson was closer to his mother Abby, the daughter of the powerful Rhode Island Senator Nelson Aldrich. It was Abby who imbued her son with a tender social conscience and a lifelong love of art.

Reading Backward. Nelson's health as a boy in a way condemned him to be an extravert. He suffered from dyslexia, which caused him to read letters and numbers backward much of the time. During his political career, he has been forced to memorize his speeches so that he would not stumble over the words. With a scholarly life pretty much closed to him, he had trouble getting good grades at the progressive Lincoln School in Manhattan. But he worked hard enough at Dartmouth to graduate Phi Beta Kappa.

His first act after graduation was to marry a childhood companion, Mary Todhunter Clark, member of a Philadelphia Main Line family that spent summer vacations near the Rockefeller home on the coast of Maine. The couple's ten-month, round-the-world honeymoon was more like a state visit, as members of both prestigious families vied to introduce them to sheiks, princes, poets and artists.

Over the years, the Rockefellers had five children. Rodman, 42, is the president of International Business Economy Corp., a family concern that helps local businesses get started in Latin America and other countries. Steven, 38, a religion instructor at Middlebury College in Vermont, caused a stir when he married a household maid, Anne Marie Rasmussen, in 1959. They were divorced a decade later. Ann, 40, now legally separated from her second husband, works for the Rockefeller Family Fund in Manhattan. Mary, 36, divorced from her first husband, is married to Thomas Morgan, onetime press secretary to former New York City Mayor John Lindsay and now assistant to the publisher of New York magazine. Mary's twin brother Michael disappeared at sea on an anthropological trip to New Guinea in 1961. When his catamaran capsized, he attempted to swim to shore and was never seen again.

Nelson's honeymoon convinced him that he was not cut out for a business career. He had written his father from Sumatra: "It [business] seems to squeeze all other interests out of the men's lives that are in it." Nevertheless, for want of a better idea, he went to work for a family project, Rockefeller Center in midtown Manhattan. It was the depth of the Depression, and Nelson was put in charge of finding tenants. He won the support of his employees by recognizing the American Federation of Labor as their bargaining agent. In the early 1930s, when most of the business world was fiercely resisting labor unions, it was a bold step. Labor never forgot and returned the favor by giving Rockefeller support when he later ran for public office.

It was in his area of expertise that Nelson stumbled. He decided to cover a wall of the main building at Rockefeller Center with a mural worthy of St. Sophia, and he commissioned the Mexican artist Diego Rivera, a celebrated Communist, to paint it. All went well until an unmistakable likeness of Lenin turned up in the mural. That was not acceptable in the citadel of capitalism in the 1930s. "As much as I dislike to do so," Nelson wrote Rivera, "I'm afraid we must ask you to substitute the face of some unknown man where Lenin's face now appears." When Rivera demurred, he was paid $21,000 and dismissed. The mural was finally chipped off the wall and replaced with a more conventional, sepia painting that featured Abe Lincoln and Thomas Edison.

Ousting Nazis. When Nelson visited Venezuela in 1937 to check out the family's oil holdings, his humanitarian instincts were stirred. He was repelled by the sight of the barbed wire that cordoned off the Rockefeller property from the impoverished natives. On returning to New York, he lectured a meeting of executives of Standard Oil of New Jersey on the "social responsibility of corporations." After World War II broke out in Europe, he went to President Franklin Roosevelt with a plan for the U.S. to restore the trade that Latin America had lost in Europe. F.D.R. liked the idea and its promoter. Characteristically, he created a new agency for Rockefeller to head, the Office of the Coordinator of Inter-American Affairs.

Nelson cranked out anti-Axis propaganda for Latin America, forced U.S. concerns in Latin America to fire Nazi sympathizers who worked for them, and launched a program to combat disease and malnutrition. The President was impressed enough to appoint him Assistant Secretary of State for Latin American Affairs in 1944. Rockefeller seized the opportunity to convene a conference of all Latin American countries in Chapultepec, Mexico, where they signed a mutual security treaty agreeing to come to the aid of any member that was attacked. Six months later in San Francisco, Rockefeller successfully fought for the inclusion of the pact in the charter of the United Nations. His victory set the framework for future regional treaties such as NATO. But he had made too many powerful enemies. The new President, Harry Truman, found the scion of a Republican family expendable and fired him.

Nelson supervised his family's development programs in South America until President Eisenhower summoned him back to Government service in 1953. Ike asked him to help put together a new Department of Health, Education and Welfare out of a hodgepodge of bureaucratic fragments. Rockefeller performed so capably that he was made Under Secretary of HEW. But his recommendation of health insurance and aid to education was too advanced for the Administration. He was moved to the White House as a special assistant for national security. Once again, he wanted to spend too much money to suit the taste of the conservatives around Ike. He was vetoed for the post of Under Secretary of Defense and quit the Government in frustration. He had learned his lesson: without a political base of his own, his voice would never carry sufficient weight in the councils of Government.

He set out to build that base. The New York gubernatorial nomination was not his for the asking in 1958, but almost. It was judged to be a bad year for Republicans, and party officials figured that at least Rockefeller could pay for his campaign. To their surprise, the candidate turned out to be a political natural. Not since Theodore Roosevelt had a Republican made such a hit on the cynical sidewalks of New York. Manfully munching anything thrust into his face--knishes, blintzes, hot dogs, pizzas --he waded into noonday crowds, even into the Coney Island surf, in search of every available hand. Voters of every age and ethnic group responded to this effusive emissary from the remote Rockefeller family. The stunned incumbent, Averell Harriman, helplessly watched his massive lead dwindle. Rockefeller won in a landslide.

Building Spree. As Governor, he hit the ground running. He expanded the state university from 38,000 students on 41 campuses to 244,000 on 72 campuses--his proudest achievement. He added 50 state parks, 100,000 new housing units, 109 hospitals and nursing homes, 200 water treatment plants and three model communities. Highways were built, the Governor estimated, at the rate of 4% miles a day. Very little that he wanted built did not get built. He was wisely rebuffed when, in the urgent atmosphere of the early 1960s, he proposed state-supported fallout shelters for every home.

Rockefeller was an expensive Governor. He started out in office courageously raising taxes to balance the state budget. But as the budget kept rising, from $2 billion when he took office to $8.6 billion when he left, he devised a novel way of paying for his programs. Rather than going to the balky state legislature or to the voters, who might turn him down, he set up a host of quasi-independent agencies--the Metropolitan Transit Authority, the Urban Development Corporation, the Housing Finance Agency--that issued bonds on their own initiative and repaid them with fees collected from users of the facilities that were constructed. "The greatest system ever invented!" he exclaimed.

Offering something for almost everybody, he had little trouble getting reelected. Invariably, he outspent and outcampaigned his Democratic opponents, who never quite knew what hit them. Yet he could not translate his state success to the national scene. His liberal New York constituency differed too markedly from the conservatives who controlled the G.O.P. convention. Though he was probably the popular favorite for the presidential nomination in 1960, Vice President Nixon cornered a majority of the delegates, and Rocky backed off--prematurely, some people thought. The Governor exacted a humiliating concession from his victorious rival. Just as the convention got under way, he publicly denounced the G.O.P. platform for not taking strong stands in favor of civil rights. Nixon left the convention floor to meet with Rockefeller at the Governor's apartment. In an effort to neutralize Rockefeller, he agreed to make changes in the platform.

Rockefeller seemed to be a chief contender for the 1964 nomination--until he handed the conservatives the ammunition they needed. He divorced his wife of 31 years in 1962 and a year later married a younger woman, Margaretta Filler Murphy, whose former husband was a virologist at the Rockefeller Institute. "Happy" Murphy was forced to give up custody of her four children after she married Rockefeller. (In a sign of changing U.S. mores, three of the foursome making up the new presidential and vice-presidential couples--Gerald Ford being the one exception--have been divorced.)

Though he had little chance of being nominated, Rocky made a gallant fight against Goldwater, culminating in an appearance at the G.O.P. convention that many think was his finest moment in public life. While right-wingers hurled abuse at him, he stood unruffled on the podium, refusing to budge until he was allowed to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen," he reminded his tormentors, "this is still a free country."

He tried for the presidency once more in 1968, but again Nixon had pocketed the votes of too many delegates, and his rebuff of Goldwater still rankled with many. Beyond that, Rockefeller had been nationally wounded by a fellow liberal Republican, Mayor Lindsay. During the winter, New York City sanitation workers went out on strike. As mounds of garbage piled up on the streets, the irate mayor demanded that the Governor call out the National Guard to clean up the mess. Mindful of the disasters that used to occur when Standard Oil employed strike breakers, Rockefeller refused. Ignoring Lindsay, he sat down with the union and worked out a settlement. Lindsay denounced him for "cowardice ... capitulation to extortionist demands ... giving in to blackmail." Though Rockefeller had done what was necessary, Lindsay managed to emerge as the victor in the public image contest. From then on, the two Republicans quarreled frequently and contumaciously.

War on Drugs. In his last term in office, Rockefeller made a calculated shift toward conservatism. He knew that if he was ever going to become President, he would have to anchor his right. He began condemning "welfare cheaters" and appointed a state inspector to weed out fraud on the relief rolls. He declared war on drug pushers by winning passage of a bill mandating a life sentence for anyone convicted of selling hard drugs. When a revolt broke out among convicts at Attica state prison in 1971, he refused to meet with the rebels as they demanded. When they failed to surrender, he permitted a brutal charge that cost the lives of 29 prisoners and ten guards who were held as hostages. As Watergate unfolded, he never offered a word of criticism of Nixon. But in his last months in office, Rockefeller demonstrated that his humanitarian instincts were not permanently interred. In succession, he vetoed bills that would have repealed New York's liberal abortion law, prevented busing to achieve racial balance in schools, and prohibited low-cost housing in comfortable Forest Hills.

Rockefeller resigned from office last December largely because he felt that he would have a better shot at the presidency as a private citizen. Another exhausting campaign would rekindle his enemies' anger; if his margin of victory fell dramatically or if he lost, he would be finished nationally. So he turned over the Governor's job to his partner of 16 years, Lieutenant Governor Malcolm Wilson, and busied himself with his newly constituted National Commission on Critical Choices for Americans, which was created to grapple with the major issues of the day. The commission would give him the opportunity to think big without political trivia getting in the way. It might help launch him into national office, and if he got there, it could provide valuable assistance. The commission was modeled on an earlier endeavor, America at Mid-Century, a study set up in 1956 with young Harvard Professor Henry Kissinger as one of its directors.

Nautical Gait. For the first time in years, Rockefeller enjoyed a summer reminiscent of childhood. He passed leisurely days at Seal Harbor with Happy and their two children, Nelson, 10, and Mark, 7. To those who know him, Rockefeller had never seemed more fit. His 185 Ibs. are evenly distributed over his 5-ft. 10-in. frame, and there is no hint of a paunch. With his rolling, nautical gait, protruding brow and drooping eyelids, he has the perpetual look of a man facing a severe northeaster--or could it be constant political gales?

At Seal Harbor, he awaited news of his political fate with equanimity. "It makes no difference to me whichever way it breaks," he told friends as Ford pondered his choice. "If the call comes, fine. I'll do my best. If it doesn't, so be it." When the call came, he became "very thoughtful," says Hugh Morrow. "I've got to tell Happy," Rocky said somberly as he wandered off to a pine grove where his wife was walking her dog. Exactly how she responded is not known, but probably with, at best, muted enthusiasm: Happy is a deeply private person who does not relish the role of a political wife. "As a concerned citizen, I'm thrilled," she told reporters later. Then she added with a thin smile: "As for me personally, it's the beginning of a new adventure."

Frankly concerned that his new post may put a strain on his family, Rockefeller returned to Maine as soon as he could. He and Happy put out to sea in a sailboat they have dubbed the Queen Mary, Rocky at the tiller, Happy handling the sails. Later in the week, Rockefeller appeared at a tent party in Newport, R.I. During his speech, he was interrupted by hecklers. When the crowd tried to eject one of them, he protested. Then he quieted his antagonist: "Courtesy requires you to wait until I complete my speech. One of the great traditions of this country is freedom of speech and another is courtesy." Right under that Newport tent, Nelson Rockefeller began the healing process for which he had been chosen.

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