THE PRESIDENT COMES TO TOWN

The President of the United States, Harry S. Truman, was coming to Bonham, Texas, my hometown, to make a campaign appearance in his race against Thomas Dewey in late September of 1948. I was 8 years old at the time and had absolutely no interest in seeing the President and even less interest in listening to his campaign speech. Truman was about as unlikely a person as has ever held the office of U.S. President. Starting with his run for the U.S. Senate in Missouri as a complete unknown with no experience whatever in public office, to his improbable re-election to the Senate against incredibly formidable odds, to his selection at the Democratic National Convention in 1944 to run for Vice President on the ticket with Franklin Roosevelt, who was seeking a 4^thterm in office in the middle of the Second World War,  Truman seemingly stumbled his way into the presidency when Roosevelt died a few months after his fourth inauguration.

None of this was known to me at the time of Truman’s proposed visit, but even if it had been, I doubt it would have changed my attitude about the event. My brother Ray, 3 years older and wise way beyond his 11 years, had a completely different view of the presidential event. He was dead set on going, even though we both knew we would not be allowed, without parents, inside the high school football stadium where the event was to be held. He knew several ways to get into the stadium undetected, some of which I had learned about in the past year, once he started letting me come along on some of his adventures. Neither of us gave any thought to the possibility of increased security measures which might be employed to protect the President. 

So, despite my general lack of interest, when Ray said he was going, I was determined to tag along. Actually, tagging along is not a good way of describing how we travelled together. At the time, we owned only one bicycle and it was not equipped to allow me to ride on a back seat or fender. Instead, I would sit on the bar between the seat and handle bars with my feet on the inside edge of the pedals while Ray sat on the real seat with his feet on the outer edge of the pedals. Thus, we could both pump the pedals at the same time, theoretically allowing each to carry his own weight. Although I braced myself with hands on the bar near the middle, Ray did all the navigating with his hands on the bar grips. I was only allowed to manipulate the handle bar when Ray would sit back, arms akimbo, and specifically instruct  me when to take control. It was in this manner that we travelled the few blocks from our house to the football field on the night in question.

Our first two efforts to gain entrance to the stadium were frustrated by the appearance of men in suits (whom we did not recognize) near holes in the chain link fence in a dark area where we had planned to crawl through. Undeterred, we pedaled around to the other end of the field where a large chain link gate had been left unguarded, except for a man in a suit who had moved several yards in toward the speakers and who was listening intently to the words coming over the public address system.  The gate was locked by means of a large chain looped through the gate and around the stationary fence post. There was enough play in the chain so that, when stretched to its limits, a gap was provided through which a couple of very thin boys might slip. Ray went in, circling around the man in the suit, but I decided to remain at the gate where I had a decent view of the proceedings. I could only make out a few of the words blaring over the stadium PA system, but the word “public” was repeated several times. I later learned that what I most likely heard was the word “Republican” with emphasis on the second and third syllables. 

What I observed by the lights of the football field – it was well past dark – was a makeshift platform which had been erected on the track that circled the playing field and separated the field from the stands. A man was standing at a podium, presumably Truman, talking to a large, but quiet, crowd in the wooden bleachers. Behind him on the platform were several men in suits sitting uncomfortably on some metal folding chairs forming something of a semi-circle. Of course, I didn’t know at the time that, included in this group were Lyndon B. Johnson (in the midst of a campaign for his first U.S. Senate seat), Beauford H. Jester, the governor of Texas, Roy J. Turner, the governor of Oklahoma , Sam Rayburn, former and soon to be again, Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives, Wright Patman, a U.S Congressman from a nearby district in Texas, and other local politicians.

Ray had made his way to a spot behind a stand-alone, permanent building that served as a concession stand for school sporting events, located very close to the end of the bleachers, offering him an excellent vantage point. The building was not being used for this event and stood dark with its serving windows shuttered. While trying to spot Ray, I noticed some movement on the roof of the concession stand which I was ultimately able to identify as a man crawling on hands and knees with something slung over his shoulder. I couldn’t quite make out what he was toting, but I would learn soon enough. Shortly, my attention was drawn back to the roof of the stand, first by a muzzle flash from a large rifle, and then by the audible report of the shot, sounding like a loud thunder clap. The shooter dropped his rifle, which slid off the roof and landed very near the spot where Ray had been crouching just seconds before. For some reason, the shooter took time to swivel his head around, looking for something I couldn’t imagine, before sliding off the slanted roof to the ground where he took off running behind the stadium bleachers. I thought I recognized him. 

What happened next is a bit blurred in my memory, but I do recall that the man guarding my gate raced off, chasing after the shooter and giving Ray time to slip back through the gate. We hurried onto the bike and raced away for fear of getting caught doing something we shouldn’t have been doing. The particular charge we might have been facing from our parents and, possibly other authorities was uncertain, but we did not waste time trying to figure that out. We made record time getting back home.

Within a few days, we learned that the shooter, who never made it out of the stadium area before being wrestled to the ground by two of the men in suits, was a disillusioned farmer who had struggled through the depression years and continued to hold a serious grudge against Sam Rayburn for some perceived transgression which prolonged his desperate condition for years afterwards. Presumably, the shot was meant for Rayburn, but no one was hit, so it could have been the shooter never intended to hit anyone, only firing a warning shot over the heads of a group of men who represented the government to him. The shooter never revealed his intentions, so we were left to speculation.

Unbelievably, once the shooter was captured and taken away, Truman went back to the podium, the dignitaries resumed their seats on the platform, essentially all of the spectators again took their seats on the bleachers and the program continued to conclusion. Over the years, I have heard many discussions about the incident, quite a few to the effect that “Wouldn’t it have been something if the President had been shot right before our eyes? We would have been witnesses to one of the biggest events in history.” The truth is, we all did witness a part of major history in the making. 

During the presidential campaign that year, Truman made many, many such stops all across the country. Stumping, criss-crossing and whistle-stopping his way all over the U.S., he managed to pull off the biggest upset in presidential campaign history. Dewey was such a prohibitive favorite to win the election, one would have had to struggle to find a single poll or the opinion of one knowledgeable reporter predicting a Truman victory. At the time, newspapers were the media outlet most effective in molding or influencing public opinion, not radio or television for sure; and over 500 newspapers, representing more than 75% of all circulation in the country, had endorsed Dewey for President. Yet somehow, Truman was able to win over the hearts, minds and, most importantly, the votes of Americans everywhere, including quite a few in Bonham, Texas. If Truman had stumbled his way into the White House originally, there was no stumbling in the way he went about making certain he stayed in office for at least 4 more years. He earned his victory the hard way.

So, while I never witnessed a political assassination, I did witness a part of a campaign process that produced a major historical event. I think I much prefer that memory.