Is a Contested Convention Inevitable?

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Before the 2016 presidential primaries and caucuses began, I figured — like probably everyone else did — that, even though there were 17 candidates for the Republican nomination, the voters would settle on one fairly early in the process.

If anyone had asked me if we would know the identity of the nominee by mid–April, I would have responded in the affirmative. After all, that is the way it almost always works out.

All the Democratic and Republican presidential nominees in my lifetime have been nominated on the first ballot. Whatever their faults may have been, candidates have won or lost the general election entirely on their own. The number of ballots it took to nominate them has never been a factor in the general election.

But the topic of a contested convention — sometimes called a "brokered" convention although that really is a label that belongs to another time in American political history — began to circulate rather early in that process this year — and even though we are in mid–April and the Republican field is down to three active candidates, we still do not know who the nominee will be.

The front–runner, businessman Donald Trump, has been busily shooting himself in the foot. He lost the Wisconsin primary to his top rival, Sen. Ted Cruz of Texas, last week, and now he is limping into his home state primary, New York, where polls show him comfortably ahead.

Once Trump wins New York next week, as appears inevitable — although I guess I should be more careful about proclaiming something inevitable, given what we have already seen in this year's presidential campaign on both sides — I believe Cruz will be mathematically eliminated from securing enough delegates to win the nomination on the first ballot. Ohio Gov. John Kasich, the third wheel in the campaign, is already mathematically eliminated.

But that won't mean that Trump is on Easy Street. Cruz and Kasich aren't the only ones who have delegates committed to them. So does Florida Sen. Marco Rubio, who withdrew from the race when he lost his home state's primary a month ago. Rubio has 171 delegates who will be committed to him through the first ballot.

Trump needs to secure more than 51% of the delegates that are available in the primaries that will be held in the next two months to barely win a majority. That is certainly achievable. It is fortunate for Trump that most states do not award delegates on a purely proportional basis.

Trump having enough delegates to win on the first ballot is certainly more likely than Cruz capturing 90% of the remaining delegates (and that assumes that Trump won't win most of the delegates in New York). Talk about an impossible dream. And, as I said, Kasich isn't in the running for a first–ballot nomination.

But Cruz and Kasich could prevent Trump from having enough delegates to claim the nomination on the first ballot when everyone goes to Cleveland this summer. That could so easily happen.

American voters are a funny bunch sometimes. It often happens that, when one candidate appears to be on the verge of clinching a presidential nomination, the voters in the party start voting for someone else. Most of the time, that has happened in the Democratic Party. The front–runner eventually prevails, but not before the voters flex their contrarian muscles and throw a good scare into the presumptive nominee — as if to remind him (or her — Bernie Sanders seems to be throwing a good scare into Hillary Clinton's campaign) who's really in charge.

Or, at least, who is supposed to be in charge.

In the case of a contested convention, it appears that no one will be in charge. That is the part that seems to worry people the most. There will be chaos, we are told. Delegates will be fighting in the aisles.

Actually, the biggest concern seems to be that a multi–ballot convention will doom the nominee in the general election.

But I conducted a very random and extremely unscientific survey, and nearly everyone with whom I spoke said multiple ballots at the convention would not disqualify the nominee from becoming president.

Of course, I suppose that depends on what the voters see playing out on their TV screens during the convention. If they see riots in the streets, that could certainly influence their votes.

A contested convention would be a new thing for just about everyone. The last time the Republicans needed more than one ballot to choose their nominee was in 1948, nearly 70 years ago. That convention produced the second nomination of New York Gov. Tom Dewey, who went on to lose to President Truman in the upset of which people still speak.

The Democrats' most recent contested convention was in 1952. That one produced Illinois Gov. Adlai Stevenson as the nominee. He went on to lose the election to popular war hero General Dwight Eisenhower.

Now, at this point, you may be wondering if a contested convention has ever produced a nominee who went on to win the presidency. The answer to that is yes.

Woodrow Wilson (1912) and Franklin D. Roosevelt (1932) were both the products of contested conventions. FDR only needed four ballots. Wilson needed nearly four dozen.

Four Democratic presidents in the 19th century — James K. Polk in 1844, Franklin Pierce in 1852, James Buchanan in 1856 and Grover Cleveland in 1884 — needed more than one ballot to win their nominations.

In fact, until Harry Truman won the 1948 nomination on the first ballot and went on to win the November election, every eventual Democratic president for more than a century needed multiple ballots the first time he was nominated.

But eventual failure has been a more frequent outcome. Including the 1952 convention, 10 Democratic nominees who needed more than one ballot have gone on to lose the presidency. Thus, by nearly a 2–to–1 margin, nominees from brokered Democratic conventions have lost in the general election.

Multiple–ballot conventions have been less frequent for Republicans. They have had only 10, but their success ratio has been better. Half of those contested conventions produced the eventual winner, starting with Abraham Lincoln in 1860.

My guess is that, barring violence in the streets of Cleveland, a contested convention would be a ratings magnet. A contested convention would give viewers a rare civics lesson, an opportunity to see real wheeling and dealing on the convention floor, which would be sure to produce some surprises the next time the roll of the states was called. As I mentioned, Cruz and Kasich might well join forces to stop Trump. Cruz might well tell Kasich that, in exchange for his delegates' support, he would offer Kasich the vice presidency.

In that case, Trump might try to join forces with Rubio — and make a similar offer to him for his delegates.

And, although the two leaders deny that anything like it will happen, a compromise candidate might emerge if the balloting goes beyond a second or third ballot.

Theoretically, anything could happen in a contested convention.

Decisions Are Made By Those Who Show Up

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I had heard the quote "Decisions are made by those who show up" long before I heard Allison Janney (as C.J. Cregg) say it on The West Wing. I don't know who said it first. Some say it was Woody Allen. Some say it was Harry Truman. I've even heard it suggested that Margaret Mead said it first.

That isn't really important. What is important is that it expresses a truism that is hard, if not impossible, to refute, especially in the world of politics. It is possible, perhaps even probable, that, when all is said and done, no other sentence will better describe the eventual outcome of the 2016 presidential campaign.

I say that because I have been reading a number of columns lately from political observers, most of whom have already demonstrated that their sympathies are with Hillary Clinton — and Bernie Sanders, too (they presume, and probably justifiably, that Hillary will be the nominee so they can afford to be inclusive) — and they insist that the battle between Donald Trump and Ted Cruz will divide the Republican Party, no matter who gets the nomination, and that will guarantee Clinton's election.

It's inevitable, they say.

Let me tell you something. Nothing is inevitable — except, as they say, death and taxes.

We're more than seven months from the election. That is an eternity in politics.

And polls are merely snapshots of opinion at a particular point in time.

I've been a student of history for many years (amateur student of history, mostly, although I was an actual history student when I was in graduate school; it was my minor), and I can appreciate the pundits' use of history in their logic even though I think they tend to misapply its lessons. Still, at a time when most young people can name every member of the Kardashian family but few can tell you who the vice president is, I find any knowledge and application of current events and history refreshing, even encouraging.

The most prevalent theory seems to be that, in the last six elections, Democrats have won nearly enough states regularly to win the whole shootin' match. They lost the electoral vote in two of those elections and the popular vote in one. Therefore, this theory goes, the Democrats already have nearly enough states in the bag to win. They only need to win a couple more to clinch victory.

The Republicans, on the other hand, would have to win all the states they have been winning — mostly Southern and Western states — just about run the table on all the battleground states and perhaps try to peel off one or two of the states that are assumed to be in the Democrats' corner to win the national election — and that, the pundits agree, is a mountain too high.

This ignores the fact that American politics is cyclical.

Yes, it is true that, for example, California, the biggest prize of them all, the state that, all by itself, can deliver precisely one–fifth of the electoral votes a candidate needs to win, has voted for Democrats six straight times. But it voted for Republicans in the six elections prior to that.

And you can find all sorts of other examples like that, states that have been voting for Democrats in every election since 1992, and some for an election before that, but many of those states voted Republican fairly regularly for decades prior. The political landscape is always shifting. The issues are always changing. And the events that affect elections are always different. They may look similar, but they are never identical. It's like Mark Twain said. History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme.

One clear trend has emerged since the end of World War II. A party typically wins two straight national elections, then the other party wins the next two elections. Only once in the last 70 years has a party won three consecutive presidential elections. That was in the 1980, 1984 and 1988 presidential elections. Ronald Reagan won the first two, and his vice president, George H.W. Bush, won the third.

And only once since World War II has a party taken the White House from the other party in a national election and failed to win the next one. That was when Jimmy Carter won in 1976 and lost in 1980.

(By the way, Reagan trailed President Carter by 25 points in the polls that were taken at this stage of the 1980 presidential campaign. He won by 10 percentage points when the votes were counted in November.)

I've been following elections for a long time, and the one great truth is that turnout is what matters. Who shows up? And why?

To a great extent Barack Obama owed his election eight years ago to an unlikely coalition of groups that have seldom been active in politics. In 2008 I think many were motivated by the historic opportunity to participate in the election of the nation's first black president. I also think that the 2016 Clinton campaign was built around the idea that these groups would be similarly motivated by the opportunity to participate in the election of the nation's first female president, but those groups seem to have lost their taste for politics. Maybe they grew complacent with their successes in 2008 and 2012. Whatever the reason (if there is a single reason) turnout in Democratic primaries is way down this year. Across the board.

Turnout in the Republican primaries, on the other hand, is way up. Again, across the board. I think it is safe to assume that most of those voters will be motivated to turn out in November even if their candidate is not the nominee.

The enthusiasm factor is on the Republicans' side this cycle. That can be explained away in the "open" primaries, in which Democrats and independents may vote, but not in the "closed" primaries, in which only registered Republicans are allowed to participate. Enthusiasm is up consistently in all Republican contests, closed or open.

As a party, the Republicans have been crafting an economic message that appears to resonate with blue–collar white voters, especially those in the Rust Belt (who blame trade agreements for the loss of their jobs) but really across the country. That has the potential to put several states in play that have been voting for Democrats for the last couple of decades. The selection of a Midwestern running mate could have some influence on this, too.

(It is a theory of mine that, while the presence of a Midwestern running mate didn't put Mitt Romney over the top in 2012, it may have influenced the outcome in unacknowledged ways. Obama's share of the popular vote dropped nearly 2 percentage points and his electoral vote tally dropped by 33 between his election in 2008 and his re–election in 2012. Mind you, this was with an incumbent president seeking re–election, which is usually an insurmountable headwind for the challenger. Obama was the first incumbent in nearly a century to be re–elected with fewer electoral votes than he received in his initial election.)

The counterargument to this is that Democrats will benefit from the minority vote. It's hard to imagine any Republican ever achieving Dwight Eisenhower's level of support from minority voters, but that was a couple of generations ago. In the last 50 years or so, Republican nominees have seldom managed to win one–tenth of black votes, and that is the largest minority voting bloc in America. In spite of their growing numbers, Hispanics don't exert much electoral influence because so few vote.

Just as it is hard to imagine a Republican duplicating Ike's appeal to the minority community, it is equally difficult to imagine a Republican doing as poorly among black voters as John McCain or Romney did against the first black presidential nominee. It almost seems as if this year's Republican nominee can't help but do better, even marginally, among blacks than they did.

As for the Hispanic vote, even if there is a sudden surge in participation, it is likely to occur mostly in states where Democrats have an advantage (if you subscribe to the theory that those states are already in the bag) — primarily California and New Mexico. Many people will mention Nevada and Colorado as well, and those states do have sizable Hispanic populations, but it's a mistake to label them as dependably Democratic.

Nevada has been more of a bellwether, voting with the winner in every election since 1980 (and every election but two since 1904).

Colorado has been more inclined to support Republicans even when they lose nationally. True, Colorado supported Barack Obama twice, but before that Colorado voted for Democrats twice in the 14 previous elections — for Bill Clinton in 1992 and Lyndon Johnson in 1964. Colorado voted for Bob Dole over Clinton in 1996, for Gerald Ford over Jimmy Carter in 1976 and for Richard Nixon over John F. Kennedy in 1960.

Republicans with an eye to the long term are sure to recognize the fact that their party must be perceived as much more receptive to minority participation in the years ahead, but right now there probably aren't that many minority votes for Republicans to win or lose in states where those voters can make a difference. To win this election, pandering to minority groups won't be necessary.

Some folks point out the sizable Hispanic population in the state where I live — Texas. It's true that Hispanics make up a considerable segment of the Texas population, but Texas hasn't voted for a Democrat for president since narrowly voting for Carter 40 years ago. Obama lost Texas twice, both times by more than 1 million votes.

If Hispanics become more reliable at the polls, they could exert quite a bit of influence on Texas politics, but that is likely to happen incrementally. Neither Hillary Clinton nor Bernie Sanders is going to win Texas this year.

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And then there is the emerging issue of terrorism. Even before the attacks in Brussels earlier this week, polls were showing that a majority of Americans supported Trump's proposal of a temporary ban on Muslim immigrants. My guess is that support for that proposal has gone up this week.

Since World War II, when people have been afraid, they have turned to Republicans. Postwar Democrats have (pardon the pun) progressively been perceived as unable to protect Americans when they are faced with a deadly threat. Take the 9/11 attacks, for example. The party that doesn't hold the White House almost always loses ground in Congress in the midterm election, but Republicans bucked the historical trend and gained ground in the 2002 midterms in large part because of the voters' fears of terrorism a year after the Twin Towers came down.

How many more terrorist attacks will there be between now and November? Will any of them be on U.S. soil?

What form will those attacks take? Will they be like the anthrax attacks of 2001 — which, of course, were not related to Islamic terrorism, but the next ones certainly could be — or will they be more digital in nature, attacking our technological vulnerabilities?

What will the situation be in the days and weeks leading up to the election? Will the economy be better or worse?

The answers to those questions and others will give you a good idea who will show up at the polls in November — and who won't.

The Numbers Games

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I've heard a lot of hopeful talk today from supporters of Bernie Sanders and Ted Cruz that the results of yesterday's primaries and caucuses are indicative of a shift in the momentum in the quests for the Democrats' and Republicans' presidential nominations.

On the Republican side, Cruz won the Kansas and Maine caucuses. Donald Trump won the Kentucky caucuses and the Louisiana primary. Cruz's campaign is fixated on the number of wins because it suggests a shift in momentum. And, to be sure, momentum is important in presidential politics. But that was the real value of the early contests — in Iowa, New Hampshire, Nevada and South Carolina. Although they were small individually, together they created a perception that benefited certain candidates heading into last Tuesday's Super Tuesday contests.

There's a big change coming, one that was designed to avoid a prolonged battle for the GOP nomination like the one in 2012. Up to this point, Republican primaries have been allocating delegates on a proportional basis — all states holding Republican primaries or caucuses after March 14 will award the delegates on a winner–take–all or winner–take–most basis.

Momentum has mostly been established now. Unless Cruz starts winning in bunches, the attention will be on delegate counts. Splitting four contests with Trump is a draw as far as momentum is concerned, and attention remains on delegates. Cruz won that battle, too, but not impressively enough. As I write this, the apparent delegate numbers from yesterday's contests are Cruz with 69 delegates, Trump with 53 delegates, Marco Rubio with 18 delegates and John Kasich with 10.

The current delegate total has Trump with 384 delegates, Cruz with 300, Rubio with 151 and Kasich with 37 — and, as I have established, Cruz gained 16 votes on Trump yesterday. The magic number for nomination is 1,237, and much of the talk is about ways to keep Trump from reaching that number.

Is it possible? Unless the race is down to Trump and a single anti–Trump, I think the answer is no. With three rivals, Trump probably wouldn't need to do as well as he has done in many states just to finish first — and, therefore, wrap up a state's entire delegation.

Rubio's home state of Florida and Kasich's home state of Ohio will vote on March 15. Winning your home state is pretty important in presidential politics. If you can't win your home state, you might as well give it up. There are 99 delegates available in Rubio's home state; while I haven't seen a poll of Florida recently, the latest one that I have seen, from Feb. 27, had Trump leading Rubio by 20 points. If that proves correct, Rubio will lose his home state and, because it is a winner–take–all state, all the delegates.

Kasich is said to be leading in Ohio, although I haven't seen any polls lately. Ohio will have 66 delegates available to whoever finishes first.

Illinois also votes on March 15 and will be awarding 69 delegates on a winner–take–all basis. I haven't seen any polls from Illinois lately, but just think. On March 15, in just those three states, more than 220 delegates will be awarded. If Trump finishes first in all three states, he will be halfway to the nomination.

A win in Ohio probably would keep Kasich's candidacy alive — but not for long unless he wins Michigan on Tuesday — or at least does well enough to grab a portion of the state's 59 delegates.

But the numbers game will be the game in the GOP a week from now with winner–take–all and winner–take–most contests coming in most of the big states — New York (95 delegates) on April 19, Pennsylvania (71 delegates) on April 26, California (172 delegates) on June 7.

It's going to be hard to deny Trump the nomination if something dramatic doesn't happen in the next week or two.

On the Democratic side, the numbers continue to favor Hillary Clinton, even though Sanders won by about a 2–to–1 margin in the Kansas caucuses, and he easily won the Nebraska caucuses. Sanders also won in Maine.

Clinton crushed Sanders in Louisiana — and Louisiana, even with the depleted black population following Hurricane Katrina, is a place where nearly one–third of the population is black. It was the Democrats' biggest single prize of the day.

When all was said and done, Sanders narrowly picked up ground on Clinton with 64 delegates to the former secretary of State's 62 delegates.

But to win the Democrats' nomination a candidate needs 2,383 delegates, and Clinton is already almost halfway there with 1,130 committed to her. Sanders has 499 delegates.

The math gets tougher for the challengers from this point on, and it looks like something really astonishing will have to happen if either Clinton or Trump is going to be denied their parties' nominations.

Something that astonishing seldom happens in American politics, and I'm guessing it won't happen this time.

But who knows? All the political rules are being rewritten this year.

The Rubber Hits the Road

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The past, as they say, is prologue, and the changing of the calendar to the official start of a presidential election year brings a new seriousness to the pursuits of the parties' presidential nominations.

All that went before was little more than strutting and posturing. The party campaigns were popularity contests last year, entertaining but, once the holidays are over and the primaries loom on the horizon, the rhetoric becomes strangely irrelevant.

Participation is what is relevant, and that is a whole other thing.

The people who participate in the voting that will matter — the contests that will assign the actual delegates who will be voting at this summer's conventions — will be highly motivated, especially the ones who participate in the caucuses. They are very different from primaries.

If you live in a caucus state, you must get organized with like–minded folks so you can make an effective case for your candidate at the caucus. Caucus goers often have to devote several hours to their caucus — as opposed to those who vote in primaries, in which you may have to stand in line for awhile but, eventually, you will only spend a brief period in the polling booth — and you will do so alone. With the extended voting periods in so many states, if you plan it well, you can walk right in, vote and walk back out in a matter of minutes. I know. I've done it.

Taking part in either a primary or a caucus does require a level of commitment that not everyone is willing to make. Those are the only poll results I want to see. It doesn't really mean anything until people start voting in primaries or caucuses.

The people who attend political rallies may be registered to vote, but registered voters and likely voters are two different breeds altogether.

It doesn't take much commitment to attend a political rally. Donald Trump has been drawing thousands to his rallies, but many in the crowds are those who, while they may be registered to vote, do not tend to make a habit of voting. Thus, they are not likely voters.

Of course, the same could be said of many who attended Ross Perot's rallies in 1992, but in the end Perot brought nearly 20 million Americans into the electoral process. It remains to be seen if Trump's supporters can match Perot's in terms of commitment.

And we'll start finding out in three weeks, when Iowa holds its caucuses.

The closer we get to actual voting, the more pollsters seem to be moving in the direction of differentiating between merely registered voters and likely voters.

Reach Communications' most recent survey ahead of the Feb. 9 New Hampshire primary was conducted with Republicans and independents who said they would be voting in the primary. Donald Trump led by 20 percentage points. Fox News' most recent poll was with likely voters, who are determined through a series of screening questions. That survey showed Trump with an 18–point lead.

Public Policy Polling's latest survey — also conducted among likely voters — shows Trump with a 14–point lead.

The Trump–Ted Cruz battle in the Feb. 1 Iowa caucuses could be fierce. The most recent Gravis Marketing survey in Iowa was conducted in December, but it, too, emphasized those who were likely to participate. It found Trump and Cruz tied at 31% apiece.

"Many more people say they will vote than actually do," observes the Gallup Organization at its website, "so it is not sufficient to simply ask people whether they will vote."

Gallup's screening questions are:

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Thought given to election (quite a lot, some)
Know where people in neighborhood go to vote (yes)
Voted in election precinct before (yes)
How often vote (always, nearly always)
Plan to vote in 2016 election (yes)
Likelihood of voting on a 10-point scale (7-10)
Voted in last presidential election (yes)

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Each pollster uses its own screening questions, but the process is essentially the same from one to another.

My guess is that, as we get closer to each primary or caucus, the polls from each state will be conducted with likely voters.

And that is when we will start to get an idea whether a candidate's support has any real depth to it.

Choosing a Running Mate

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With the primaries over and the battle for the Republican presidential nomination apparently decided, political writers find themselves in an historically dreary period until the parties gather for their conventions.

It is at this time when there is much speculation about the ultimate identity of at least one of the major parties' running mates.

Of course, in 2012, we already know the name of one of the running mates. That would be Joe Biden, the incumbent vice president.

Four years ago, it was a much less common situation — in which no incumbent was running — so there was a great deal of speculation regarding the identities of both party nominees' running mates.

But this year, as I say, we already know who will be the running mate on the Democrats' ticket — unless, as a few folks have predicted, Barack Obama decides to drop Biden and put Hillary Clinton on his ticket.

I have argued repeatedly that this is highly unlikely. In their zeal to whip up a discussion about a non–issue, such observers show an appreciation only for drama, not history.

Realistically, only Republican Mitt Romney will be selecting a running mate in this election cycle.

Recent speculation about Romney's eventual running mate has focused, as usual, on the most well–known names — but history tells us that presidential nominees, in what is often described as their first presidential–level decision, are likely to surprise just about everyone — perhaps spectacularly so.

I believe the reason for that is, while it is always possible that a vice president could become president at any time, presidential nominees don't tend to treat the decision with the kind of reverence it deserves.

Don't get me wrong; it's an important decision, but the overriding consideration is usually political — which potential running mate can give the ticket the most bang for the buck on Election Day?

Thus, the decision offers a fascinating glimpse into the logic of the nominee, but, as a barometer for the kind of decisions he might be likely to make in office, it is virtually worthless.

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Like four years ago.

There was a lot of speculation about the running mates Obama and John McCain would choose, but, in the end, the selections of Biden and Sarah Palin were complete surprises — and seemingly motivated by entirely different considerations (even though both choices came down to politics — as usual — no matter how the campaigns chose to spin the decisions).

They addressed weaknesses — either real or perceived — of the presidential nominees.

Domestically, in 2008, there had been concerns about gas and food prices, but there were also international tensions that summer, and foreign policy was an area in which McCain, a Vietnam–era prisoner of war, was believed to have an advantage.

As a presidential candidate, Biden hadn't attracted much support, and he came from a tiny state that was already believed to be in the bag for the Democrats, but he was chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, and, as such, he brought foreign policy credibility to the Democratic ticket.

So, while conventional wisdom holds that a running mate is chosen in large part because of the votes he can bring or the states he can help the nominee carry, that didn't appear to play much of a role in Obama's decision. The selection of Biden was praised because it was believed to have addressed an administrative need, not an electoral one.

But it was political in the sense that it was designed to reassure voters who saw the war on terrorism and border security as the most crucial issues in 2008 (remember, when the Democrats convened in Denver, the economic collapse had not yet happened.)

McCain's apparent motivation in selecting a female running mate, on the other hand, was to appeal to the millions of women who had supported Hillary Clinton's campaign and were said to be lukewarm on Obama.

It was an electorally motivated decision, and it was seen for the transparent maneuver that it was. The Republicans entirely overlooked the fact that women who participated in the Democratic primaries had an ideological agenda, too. Palin was simply too extreme for most of them.

In fact, after the votes had been counted, I heard several people second–guessing McCain's choice. They argued — correctly — that there were centrist Republican women who could have had broader appeal to female voters.

(Most of those people, it is worth noting, had nothing but praise for Palin when she was chosen and during the campaign.)

But, on the other hand, Palin had to be extreme to keep the conservatives in line. There was already a widespread perception of McCain as a "RINO" (a "Republican in Name Only"), and he needed to give the conservatives a reason to show up at the polls.

Also — although it was hardly mentioned — Palin was the only candidate who, as a governor, brought executive experience to the table.

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Traditionally, there are many factors involved in choosing a running mate, most aimed at providing some kind of balance to the ticket. Everyone has shortcomings, and the philosophy behind running mate selection has emphasized minimizing them.

As I said, Palin's executive experience carried some weight with voters who saw nothing but legislative experience from Obama, McCain and Biden.

In 2004, John Kerry apparently felt party unity was the most important factor so he chose North Carolina Sen. John Edwards to be his running mate.

Edwards had been Kerry's chief rival and the second–leading vote getter in the Democratic primaries — even though he won only two. It must have been a disappointment indeed for the Kerry team when their candidate received virtually no post–convention bounce in the polls. I'm sure they expected something, if only from the disgruntled Democrats whom they sought to appease.

Party unity never seemed to be a factor when George W. Bush made his choice in 2000. In fact, he appointed Dick Cheney to lead his vice–presidential search committee, but then Bush took the remarkable step of asking Cheney himself to be his running mate.

Had party unity been at the top of Bush's concerns, he probably would have picked McCain, his main rival for the nomination, to be his running mate.

Party unity apparently was behind Ronald Reagan's selection of George H.W. Bush in 1980.

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Things got a little out of hand at that year's Republican convention. A rumor that former President Gerald Ford would be Reagan's running mate swept through the delegations like wildfire.

The idea was that Ford and Reagan, who had waged a bitter campaign for the GOP nomination four years earlier, would be co–presidents.

But negotiations broke down, and the dream ticket never came to fruition. In the end, Reagan picked Bush, who had been his chief rival for the nomination that year.

One of the longest–standing considerations in choosing a running mate has been geographical. The idea was to attract votes in states and/or regions that the presidential nominee might not otherwise get. I'm inclined to think that was more important in the 19th and early 20th centuries, but, with the rapid emergence of technology in the last 50 or 60 years, geographical factors have become less important.

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Certainly Bill Clinton, in 1992, did not feel it was necessary to select someone who would provide geographical balance.

He chose Al Gore, a senator from Tennessee, one of the states that borders on Clinton's home state of Arkansas. Perhaps Clinton wanted to double down on his Southern credentials; most Southern states, after all, had only voted for Democrats once, perhaps twice, in the previous 30 years.

Also, with two Southerners on the ticket, the Bush campaign could not portray either candidate as a Northern liberal like previous Democratic candidates (i.e., George McGovern, Walter Mondale, Michael Dukakis), and Gore's military service negated criticism Clinton had received on that during the primaries.

In his memoir "My Life," Clinton said of Gore, "I liked him and was convinced that he ... would be a big addition to our campaign."

Sometimes personal chemistry trumps everything else.

Presidential nominees choose their running mates for reasons that probably wouldn't occur to most people.

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In 1968, Richard Nixon reportedly was so impressed with Spiro Agnew's speech placing his name in nomination that he offered him the second spot on the ticket.

Agnew was virtually unknown outside his home state of Maryland, but Nixon believed Maryland could be his beachhead in the South.

Nixon didn't carry Maryland in 1968, but he did carry five Southern states as he introduced the Southern strategy to modern American politics.

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And, in 1964, Barry Goldwater picked New York Rep. Bill Miller to be his running mate because Miller was known to be the congressman who annoyed Goldwater's opponent, President Lyndon Johnson, the most.

There will be a lot of talk in the next two months about who will run with Romney in the fall, and the names you're likely to hear the most are the rising stars in Republican circles — Marco Rubio, Bobby Jindal, Chris Christie and others.

But don't be surprised if, when the smoke clears, someone you never heard of is standing on that podium with Romney in late August.

Shaken, Not Stirred

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Author's note: In March 1956, Ian Fleming published "Diamonds Are Forever," in which James Bond's preference for a martini that was "shaken, not stirred" became known.

In the 1950s, television was not new. It had been developed decades earlier, but it didn't play its first major role in American politics until the mid–1950s.

Broadcasting was still rather embryonic in 1956, when Dwight Eisenhower ran for a second term as president. TV networks didn't fully appreciate the subtleties of camera angles, and politicians hadn't made endless studies about what appeals visually to TV viewers. That was still in the future.

As TV ownership expanded in the 1950s, so did its potential for political influence. But it wasn't until the turbulence of the 1960s that broadcast journalism really began to mature.

The week before the Republicans met in San Francisco to re–nominate Eisenhower, the Democrats met in Chicago to re–nominate the man who lost to Eisenhower in 1952 — Adlai Stevenson.

Broadcasting was still new, as I say. Its practitioners were still learning, but the Stevenson campaign had the right idea. Drama — a compelling story — would attract attention, which would, in turn, attract viewers (and, it was further hoped, those viewers would be voters in November).

The fault lay not with the objective but with the execution.

In modern times, a convention has been an opportunity for a political party to tell the story of its nominee–to–be, but in 1956, both presidential nominees were known quantities.

There was little excitement at either party's convention in August 1956; in part to shake things up, Stevenson announced that he was throwing open the choice of his running mate to the delegates — even though he loudly lamented the marketing of political candidates.

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Bartlet: Can I tell you what's messed up about James Bond?

Charlie: Nothing.

Bartlet: Shaken, not stirred, will get you cold water with a dash of gin and dry vermouth. The reason you stir it with a special spoon is so not to chip the ice. James is ordering a weak martini and being snooty about it.

The West Wing (2002)

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In the eyes of history, that convention is remembered more for launching the national political career of the man who lost the vice presidential nomination, John F. Kennedy, than the man who won it, Estes Kefauver.

Stevenson had the right marketing concept, but he didn't use the right approach. He shook things up. He didn't stir the voters.

In 1956 — and, in fact, until relatively recently — the business of actually nominating running mates occurred on the final scheduled nights of conventions, just before the nominees made their acceptance speeches.

But, on Aug. 16, 1956, Stevenson turned what had been largely a routine matter in the past into an uncontrolled free–for–all that took three ballots to resolve — and his acceptance speech was pushed out of primetime, moving the conclusion of convention business into the early hours of the following day. Viewership for the acceptance speech was, as you might expect, below expectations.

Eisenhower might have won that election, anyway. He had some health issues, but he was a popular president.

Stevenson, as I say, had the right idea, but the execution was flawed. His convention decision didn't help his cause — and that alone was a violation of the admonition to do no harm.

Could the ultimate outcome have been better for Stevenson? Absolutely. The Democrats received less than 42% of the popular vote and carried only seven states. In fact, the Democrats lost Stevenson's and Kefauver's home states.

Could the outcome have been worse? It's hard to see how.

Bob Dole's Best Speech

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I don't know if Bob Dole harbored presidential ambitions for a long time — or if that was a relatively late phenomenon in his political career.

Thirty–five yeas ago — almost midway through Dole's congressional career — President Ford picked him to be his running mate.

In those days, Ford was seen as a centrist, especially after winning a bruising battle with conservative Ronald Reagan for his party's nomination — and lots of folks believed he chose Dole to boost his credentials with his party's right wing.

Perhaps it was on that night in 1976, as he accepted the vide presidential nomination, when the idea of a Dole presidency took hold. Maybe, before that night, Dole was content to be a senator from Kansas.

But after Ford picked him to be his running mate, Dole must have realized that, if Ford won the election, he would be prevented by law from seeking another term in 1980 — and, as Ford's vice president, Dole would be the favorite for the nomination.

On the other hand, if Ford lost, Dole must have figured that it wasn't likely Ford would run again in 1980. The exposure of a national campaign would almost certainly benefit him under those circumstances as well.

But that isn't exactly how things played out.

Ford did lose the 1976 election, but, by 1980, Dole was not the frontrunner for his party's nomination. Reagan was.

Dole sought the nomination again in 1988 but lost to Reagan's vice president, George H.W. Bush. He sat on the sidelines in both 1984 and 1992 when Reagan and Bush sought re–election.

Then, in 1996, it was his turn.

There really never was any doubt Dole would be at the top of the GOP ticket that year. He was challenged in the primaries by Pat Buchanan's insurgent candidacy — and a few other more credible rivals — but he was always treated as the presumptive nominee. Sometimes the primaries or caucuses didn't turn out as expected, but those were regarded as temporary setbacks.

Eventually, Dole was the choice of more than 58% of the people who participated in GOP primaries that year. Buchanan got nearly 21% of the vote, and Steve Forbes got about 11%. Everyone else was in single digits.

But Dole, as I say, was dealt some early setbacks, losing the New Hampshire primary to Buchanan and the primaries in Delaware and Arizona to Forbes. He bounced back in late February, winning every remaining primary and losing only one caucus.

Then he resigned from the Senate, where he had served for 27 years, to focus all his attention on his presidential campaign. He didn't have to make such a dramatic choice. His term in the Senate had two years to go, and he had been routinely re–elected in the past, but he wanted to show the voters that he was completely committed to the presidency.

Dole always struck me as a rather plain–spoken — blunt at times — Midwesterner. He had a sense of humor that could be biting at times, and it often surfaced on the campaign trail.

But it was largely kept in check on this night 15 years ago. Dole's acceptance speech was mostly humble and direct — and one of the first issues he tackled was the issue of his age (73).

"Age has its advantages," he told the delegates, "and the first thing you learn on the prairie is the relative size of a man compared to the lay of the land. And under the immense sky where I was born and raised, a man is very small, and if he thinks otherwise, he is wrong."

Whether one agreed or disagreed with him, one could not help but be moved by his devotion to his deceased parents in his defense of government's obligation to help those who cannot help themselves.

He recalled when his father endured personal hardship to visit him in the Army hospital after he was injured in World War II.

"My father was poor, and I love my father," Dole said. "Do you imagine for one minute that, as I sign the bills that will set the economy free, I will not be faithful to Americans in need? ... [T]o do otherwise would be to betray those whom I love and honor most. And I will betray nothing."

And he was eager to embrace the symbolism he saw in his candidacy.

"My life is proof that America is a land without limits," he said. "And with my feet on the ground and my heart filled with hope, I put my faith in you and in the God who loves us all. For I am convinced that America's best days are yet to come."

Dole's best days weren't ahead of him — at least, not in 1996.

But he may have delivered his best speech on this night 15 years ago.

As Clear As Mud

My mother used to say that to me whenever I tried to talk my way out of something I had done (and didn't want to admit to doing).

Tried would be the key word in that sentence, I suppose. I don't think I ever was able to talk my way out of anything with her.

"That's as clear as mud," she would say, and I would have to own up to the truth, whatever it was, because I could tell, from the look on her face, that she wasn't buying any of what I had been saying.

After a lifetime of observing American politics, I am rarely surprised by the behavior of elected leaders in either party, but I must confess that I am baffled by the turn things have taken in recent years.

The momentum was with the Democrats in 2006 and 2008, but they let what seemed like a truly transformational opportunity slip through their fingers, and Republicans seized the momentum in 2010, turning it into House gains of historic proportions.

Yet now, only two months after, Charlie Cook writes in his Cook Report that the 2012 GOP nomination is up for grabs.

That seems odd to me. I mean, after enjoying midterm success unlike virtually anything of which any of the prospective nominees would have dreamed two years earlier, it seems that someone should be seizing the momentum.

And perhaps he — or she — will. But no one has — yet.

"In most years, Republicans tap the person whose 'turn' it is to be the party's standard–bearer," writes Cook, "and that individual's identity is often known long before the start of the primary and caucus season."

That certainly seems true to me. The Democrats have always been more likely to nominate an insurgent candidate who caught lightning in a bottle than Republicans.

That doesn't mean the Republicans haven't had years when the race for the nomination drew many contenders. It may appear, in hindsight, that some recent Republican nominees had the prize handed to them, but it certainly hasn't always been easy for the nominee to claim it.

But its value has been undeniable. Recent history shows that the one who is nominated often wins the election:

• In 1980, Ronald Reagan defeated seven rivals during the primaries. Most were not serious candidates, but a couple of them continued to compete even after Reagan had secured the nomination.
  
  Reagan, of course, went on to win that election — and a second term four years later.


• In 1988, with Reagan prevented by law from seeking a third term, the races for both nominations drew crowded fields. Reagan's vice president, George H.W. Bush, prevailed over Bob Dole and Jack Kemp (who would run on the same ticket eight years later) and went on to be elected in November.


• As many as a dozen Republicans were contenders, to various degrees, for the 2000 GOP nomination, but, ultimately, it came down to a fight between Bush's son, George W. Bush, and John McCain.

In short, there may be many people who are nominally seeking the GOP nomination — but, usually, only two or three have the organization, the financial support and the winds of history propelling them forward.

This time is different, Cook says. This time, all the usual indicators seem to mean nothing.

None of the arguments for those who would normally be considered "next in line" — Sarah Palin, Mike Huckabee, Mitt Romney — "is particularly convincing," he writes.

Senators are "often grossly overrepresented," Cook observes, but no sitting senators appear to be entering the race.

Governors, both sitting and former, have claimed at least one presidential nomination in all but one of the last nine elections — and the exception was the most recent one. But none of the governors who has been mentioned has generated much excitement.

During the primaries and the caucuses, more attention typically is paid to the contests on the Democratic side because the Republicans almost always unite behind one person early on. It's been 35 years since a battle for the GOP nomination was not resolved well before the last primary vote was cast.

But Cook reports that no one seems to be in the driver's seat for this nomination.

It doesn't appear to be about philosophy — "Among the potential Republican contenders, all oppose abortion and gun control, are skeptical of Big Government and favor cutting taxes and spending," Cook writes — as it is a matter of "style, tone, temperament, and, most important, emphasis."

As Cook sees it, the choice is about which path to take, not the direction — so that means the voters who participate in 2012's Republican primaries will be indicating whether they think their party's initial mission in its presumed return to power should be social, economic or foreign.

It really looks like there may be a battle brewing over the very soul of the party of Lincoln.

And, at this moment, it's as clear as mud who the winner will be.