A Different America: 1956, The Eisenhower Administration

[Cabbage]

(Sorry I'm late with this; got busy all of a sudden)

Gerry sat down with the two most powerful men in Chicago in a room that could not have been more grim at the time. Also present were three other men: Eddie McVeigh, for the outgoing Mayor; Luca Torreselli, for the incoming one; and Dan Rostenkowski (a rising star in Gerry's staff now that he'd gone straight) for the Congressman hoping to bring them into line.

"Gentlemen, I know this is unpleasant," he began. "I like both of you very much as men and politicians, and I hate to see you so torn apart over this-"

"It wouldn't be like this if Dick here knew his place!" Kennelly snapped.

"Yeah. We'd have Mayor Merriam if I did!" Daley shot back. This was going to be tough.

"And we'll have Merriam in '59 if you two don't stop this childishness." Both men turned back to the man seated across from them, twenty years Daley's junior, thirty-five Kennelly's. "We beat off the Kluxers because we were united. We beat off the Republicans in '50 because we were united. Hell, let's go national. We put Hoover out because we were united. We lost in '48 because we were divided. And Ike's in the White House, we have more than 250 House seats even after the midterms, and we're looking good to re-elect the first President in 12 years, with a bill to grant veterans financial and medical aid, because we're united! If we split now, no one wins expect the Republi-(here Gerry used a term that, while humorous and accurate to everyone in the room, is not appropriate for restatement on Atlas)!"

Kennelly and Daley blinked. Torreselli smirked, barely stifling a chuckle. McVeigh failed. Dan simply stood there with a smile on his face.

"It's over, for better..." he nodded to Daley "...or worse," he nodded to Kennelly. "But if we are united we will win in '56, we will win in '58, '59, '60, and so on, because we're right, dammit!"

Both men looked at each other. Daley was the first to speak. "All right, Gerry. We'll think about it. No promises, though."

Gerry nodded. "That's all I ask."


Gerry gladly accepted a position on the policy committee, and began pushing for Medicare to be placed on the 1956 platform. He suggested that, while the elderly skew conservative, if they knew they could be receiving cheap healthcare, and so not burden themselves or their families with debt, such circumstances could quickly change. The conservatives on the committee weren't thrilled with the idea, but admitted the logic had some merit, especially when Gerry added that unions which already provided such insurance could save a boatload with this, allowing them to (if they so desired) lower dues and weaken the right-to-work movement.


Joe Foss '56 vs. a renominated Eisenhower/Kefauver

[Cabbage]

Foss/Lodge '56


Gerry was firmly convinced God was a Democrat, an Irish Catholic, a Chicagoan, or maybe even some combination of the three. Kennelly and Daley were practically arm in arm heading into the '56 convention (a relief, given it was in their hometown), Medicare was on the official party platform, and Congressman O'Connor, now a Deputy Majority Whip, was getting plenty of attention for his role in his hometown's convention. It even looked as if Kefauver and Jackson were coming back around to each other, a relief given the mess Gerry knew full well Markus could easily make if he had a mind to. He also liked and respected the both of them, and wouldn't shed even the vaguest semblance of a tear if they started getting along better.

While he hadn't received an official speaking role, the thirty-four-year-old was fairly regularly swarmed by reporters seeking further details on Medicare. He answered them clearly and accurately (God bless Anton Jepsen for putting together some of the details Gerry wouldn't have thought of, but the press sure as hell had), and got rave reviews from nearly every left-leaning paper in the country. He also made sure Jepsen's name was at least mentioned in as many of those publications as possible; a man like that deserved to be in Congress, and with a big enough majority to get on a committee.

Gerry also began planning to pull some strings in favor of some closer friends. Dan Rostenkowski wanted to run for the House himself, unsurprisingly, and had asked for Gerry's help in getting a seat. Gerry noted that Tom Gordon didn't really look up to running for re-election, and so asked if he might step down. Tom agreed, as he'd only planned to hold the seat for one more term, anyway [feel free to correct this pending bad roll]. Dan, delighted, thanked his boss profusely as he set up his campaign for the eighth district. And then, to fill Dan's shoes in his office, Gerry brought up a man who'd found himself without much to do since Mayor Kennelly's defeat.

"Are you ready for this, Mr. McVeigh?"

"Come on now, boss. Quit the formal nonsense and call me Eddie."


Gerry campaigned furiously for President Eisenhower in both Illinois and Minnesota, as he also made several trips to Jepsen's district to campaign for him. While not a native to the district, Gerry's charisma had become legendary in his hometown, and it didn't fail him here. He also campaigned for Rostenkowski in the 8th district and worked with downstate Illinois Democrats to boost the top of the ticket there, as well (though, given the 1952 margins and veterans' aid bill, he had significant doubt they'd need much convincing). Some downstate Republicans attempted to attack O'Connor on Medicare, only for him to ask them if they wanted to "go in the lurch at 65 or just plain work 'til you're not alive, as those are your options without unions or Medicare." It wasn't the best slogan, but some of the others picked it up, so he figured it wasn't a terrible one, either. And so it was that on another November Tuesday, Gerry watched the results on the television he now owned and waited.

(1 point for Rostenkowski's House bid, Gerry not being due for another point until '58)

[Cabbage]

Well, there it was. Medicare was as good as passed, so long as the Democrats won this election. Gerry didn't have many worries about that, given Ike was on the top of the ticket, and he'd breezed to the White House in '52. With the advantage of incumbency, it would take an act of the God Gerry remained convinced was a Democrat Himself to put him out in '56. Anton was right; Foss was a product of the Gilded Age (or maybe the Gothic). Hell, even the Republican nominee for Governor of Vermont (read: future Governor-elect of Vermont), a Republican himself, didn't seem too keen on his party's nominee, pretending most of the time that the GOP had nominated literally anyone else. Dan was a lock for House now that his illustrious predecessor was retiring, adding to Gerry's growing group of allies in the lower chamber, too, a cheering thought for his former boss.

"Daddy, what are you thinking about?"

Gerry smiled even wider than he had been, knocked from his reverie by his nine-year-old daughter, Bridget. She was the oldest of his four children, the others being six-year-old Joseph, three-year-old Anna, and one-year-old Daniel. After Daniel, his wife Elaine had sat him down and explained to him that she had no intention of having more kids, which he'd agree to; truth be told, he'd never dreamed he'd have this many.

"Daddy?"

Woolgathering at my age. Gerry snorted back laughter. "Oh, just some things my friends and I have been working on in Washington."

"You mean like Medicare?" Bridget looked up at him with eyes that looked almost alarmingly like his own.

"Yes, sweetheart, like Medicare. Where'd you learn about that?"

"Oh, Mrs. O'Doull was going on about how wonderful it would be for her father, and how her only regret was that it wouldn't get passed until next year."

"In the classroom?" Even in Bridget's heavily Democratic school district, teachers caught spewing their politics at their students could get in a nasty heap of trouble.

"No, Daddy. She was saying it to the other teachers." Gerry's daughter gave him a look that suggested she knew exactly what that knowledge suggested. Now her eyes looked exactly like her father's.

Gerry ruffled her curly auburn hair. "And you, young lady, are a born secret agent."

Bridget laughed. "Oh, Daddy. When I grow up, I want to work in Washington like you."

Gerry grinned backed at her. "Maybe you will, sweetheart." And then, thinking back on her recent display, "Maybe you will."


Gerry campaigned in several close House districts, particularly those of his friends in Congress. He'd never done a whole lot of campaigning outside the Midwest, but his allies in the South, New York, and California helped him to quickly adjust to different regions of the country. Dan, of course, got several joint events with Gerry, as did Anton Jepsen. Both men happily accepted the help, even if the prognosticators generally agreed such avid assistance shouldn't be required. He also campaigned for Ike both in Chicago and downstate, sometimes only having to stoke the crowds into a pre-existing pro-Ike fervor. Medicare was also a universal mention at his campaign stops; the more of the public he could convince it was the way to go (not that a whole heap of them needed a whole heap of convincing), the harder it would be for Republicans to vote against it. With Anton working the recalcitrant Congressmen into supporting the bill, it seemed that Medicare would be a reality. And so Gerry tuned into the results on his new television set, Dan Rostenkowski in the same room as he'd been in '54, and waited to see if the voters across America were as keen on Ike and Medicare as they'd seemed.

[Cabbage]

So here's '56

[Cabbage]

(image is from Wikimedia Commons)

Gerry sat in his office with several of his allies, discussing what Sam had told him.

"We're behind you no matter what, boss." Dan Rostenkowski, despite now being a Congressman in his own right, still kept his old habit from the days when he'd been nothing more than one of Gerry's staffers. The other men in the room nodded their agreement.

Gerry sighed. "If we're going to do this, it'll be nonstop pushing from the day Sam announces his retirement to the Speaker election. And we'll have to keep it careful until November; I have no intention of letting the Republicans climb Ike's six-year itch to the majority." Unlikely though that was (they'd need 46 pickups), Gerry had no intention of giving them even an inkling of a chance at it. The other men nodded; they'd expected no less.

"All right, then. Olin, Jack, Homer, Dick, I want you four to bring as many Southerners as you can into the fold. Remind them how much good Medicare will do for their constituents, and that I have every intention of letting the South's voice be heard as Speaker." All four men grinned at that. While McCormack would most likely have to remain Majority Leader to keep the party together, that statement meant one of them was liable to become Majority Whip.

"Dan and I will handle the Midwest; I've got enough credit behind me downstate to enlist a few of our friends down there, as well. And if Anton comes aboard, that'll take care of Minnesota and Wisconsin." Gerry looked at the map which showed the breakdown of House seats following the latest elections; he'd kept one on his wall since becoming a Deputy Whip. "That leaves...New York and California to make us a lock. New York City won't be hard, especially with how our papers there gushed over Medicare during the election. Now, California..."

"I'll handle that." Jack McFall had been one of the Congressmen Gerry helped elect in '56, and had made clear his parliamentary skills early on; to see him here now was a relief beyond comprehension.

That said, Gerry looked around at each of the men in the room.

"All right, then. Let's do this."


"Mr. Speaker, I would like to propose that, having been passed through committee without amendment, the Affordable Senior Healthcare Act, known also as Medicare, be brought to a vote before the entirety of the chamber."

Speaker Rayburn smiled down at Gerry from his position in the House chamber. He'd heard about Gerry's efforts to go for the Speakership, and seemed to silently approve of them. "Do I hear a second?"

Half a hundred hands leapt into the air. Anton Jepsen was granted the right of official second.

"Very well. We shall now proceed to a floor vote."

Gerry proudly handed his "Aye" vote to the clerk, nodding to Anton as they passed each other. Both men were all smiles, and why not? Victory was effectively assured. And millions of seniors across the nation would wake up tomorrow with their health expenses covered because of it.

Upon returning to his seat, Gerry awaited the final totals to come through. He didn't expect every Democrat to vote for it, but he expected a healthy majority. And, to his delight, he got one.

"By the official count, there are 258 votes in favor, and 172 opposed." (feel free to retcon the margin/change the result to account for rolls)

A great whoop and cheer went up from the more liberal Democrats. After years of drafting the fine details, pushing for its inclusion in the party platform, and now voting, Medicare was now on its way to the Senate, where it would likely face insufficient opposition to bring it down, and then to the President's desk, making it the law of the land.

When he returned to his office, Gerry was surprised to find a letter for him, postmarked from Saskatchewan, of all places. He hurriedly took it back behind his desk and opened it:

Dear Congressman O'Connor,

By the time this reaches you, I hope it shall be the case that Medicare will have made some progress in becoming a part of the American legal code. I, personally, have fought very hard for a similar program in my own homeland, and am delighted to see its expansion to other nations, particularly the foremost in the free world. It is, after all, up to us to ensure that the people are not left with a choice between Bolshevism and Bourbonism.

As such, I happily endorse your plan, and invite you to, should you ever find the time, come up north to visit Regina or Saskatoon some time. I shall be happy to host you should you decide to accept.

Sincerely yours,


(Anton Jepsen received a similar letter)


With his own ambitions and legislative pushes now fully in motion, Gerry was constantly surrounded by reporters. While, mercifully, his plans to claim the Speaker's gavel had not been leaked, they all wanted to know what he would do, now that Medicare was through the House. "Currently, gentlemen, I am endeavoring to ensure that Medicare has a similarly smooth ride through the Senate to the President's desk. Once that is done, we shall see what we shall see," was the best they could get out of him.

As a result, campaigning across the nation for his endangered colleagues came as something of a relief to the Congressman, who was himself running for his fifth term in 1958. He campaigned from California to Massachusetts, while still making sure to hold plenty of events in his home district. He also campaigned for some Senate races, particularly Vance Hartke's bid to hold Indiana, as well as Stephen Young's bid to unseat John Bricker in Ohio.

And so Gerry found himself seated before his television in 1958, hoping his campaigning had helped at least staunch the likely bleeding a midterm election was liable to bring.

[Cabbage]

Gerry looked on with grim stoicism as he walked past the catafalque on which lay the 35th President of the United States. Ike had a been a man among men, a giant among them, even. And now he was gone. But, thanks to the Veterans' Act and Medicare, damn well not forgotten. Gerry still prided himself on that latter one, even if he didn't show it today. Today was about the man who'd given his best for his country, and his life for the Democratic Party. Ironic, given how he might have run as a Republican if things had been different.

As he walked out of the room in which the President's body lay in state, he joined a knot of men he knew well. Olin and Dan were there...and so was President Kefauver. He smiled as Gerry joined them; it was a solemn smile, for a solemn day. Gerry nodded back, returning the expression. "Be a lot more fun to call you 'Mr. President' if your first day had been in a couple of years and not last week."

Kefauver laughed. "I don't think I even want to run in '60, Gerry, to be honest. I'm not a young gun like you or Jack Kennedy, or any of the others." He gestured to the two men who would give eulogies for his late predecessor. "And Anton, wherever he is."

"You rang, Mr. President?" Jepsen cracked as he joined the sizable group around the President. Estes snorted back laughter in spite of the day's circumstances. "But, in any case, Gerry, I'd say '60 will be Kennedy or Johnson; that sound about right?"

"It does to me, Mr. President." After that, the conversation drifted to more mundane topics, then to pleasantries, and then the group broke up, Olin and Dan following Gerry into a corner of the room. He turned to Olin.

"How're we looking?"

"Eighty votes and counting, Mr. Speaker." Then, as no one could see his face from that angle, Gerry did grin.


Gerald O'Connor and John McCormack stared across the table at each other. Both men knew what they wanted, and how badly they wanted it. But both men also knew that, for the sake of their party and the sake of the memory of the President that had graced her with such massive majorities in the legislatures, they had to come to terms. Neither man wanted this spilling out onto the House floor, where the Republicans could see and mock it publicly.

"So that's...ninety-six for McCormack, ninety-one for O'Connor, and...seventy-four undecided." LBJ was a Senator, and so had no stake in who won this (even if, as a New South man, he quietly preferred Gerry). "All right, gentlemen, you've both agreed to the rules?" Both men nodded. "Those seventy-four have agreed to be marketed into one camp or the other by both of your posses, and that they'll express their respective decisions at a meeting of the party caucus, scheduled for December 30. Who a majority of the caucus decides, the entirety of the caucus backs. Loser get the Majority Leadership (Carl Albert grumbled about that; he was already openly in McCormack's camp, though, so Gerry didn't much care what he thought; from McCormack's look [which said "shut up" louder than a shout the Republicans could have heard], he didn't either). Are we agreed?" McCormack and O'Connor nodded, and shook hands.


And so the campaign after the campaign began. With a slight numeric disadvantage, Gerry pushed his staunchest allies to great lengths to get him elected Speaker; Albert was going to like him even less if he won, since one of those New Southerners would be his Majority Whip. Fortunately, Albert wouldn't need to know about that until after the caucus had decided who would lead it, and he could always be placated with a cushy committee chairmanship.

Gerry had already compiled a list of what the swing votes wanted (that wouldn't get him put away for corruption before he could claim the Speaker's gavel), and promised them all healthy portions of what they wanted. When they asked about the rest, Gerry explained that he was working within possibility, and that "if McCormack tells you he'll give you more, he's lying, and I can prove it." He had his men ready to explain their reasoning behind why certain things could go and others couldn't, and many of the men they talked to were surprised at how thorough Gerry had been. Some agreed to back him based on that alone.

Gerry himself, meanwhile, was pushing to ensure that Kenway's Family Farm Act, when it did come to a vote, would pass easily. If rural voters could be solidified, particularly north of the Mason-Dixon, the Democrats wouldn't lose their majorities until maybe the turn of the century (a line he used heavily when trying to influence swing district members). Hell, if it was done right, 300 seats could be in their future. They had a chance already with a good presidential nominee (only 39 pickups away heading into 1960), and that might put them over. Gerry cared for the farmers, too, of course, but, in a place as urban as Washington, sometimes people needed reminding what was in it for them.


"Congressman O'Connor!"

"Premier Douglas!"

Gerry smiled for the cameras and for the Premier as he disembarked from his plane with his family. Bridget was twelve now, and was acting like quite the young lady, as a result. Elaine had had trouble not chuckling to herself as her daughter made herself presentable several times in the mirror toward the rear of the plane on the way there. She'd remembered her own tweenage obsession with looking like a proper adult, and so gave her daughter some leeway. Some, but not necessarily a lot, especially in public.

Tommy Douglas, for his part, recognized Bridget's behavior for what it was, no doubt on account of the fact he'd raised his own daughter. "And how old are you, miss? Sixteen, seventeen?" Bridget beamed as she explained she was twelve but "mature for her age." Elaine quietly gagged in Gerry's ear. "Ah, Gerry O'Connor, as I live and breathe! Good to see you!" He slapped Gerry on the back. Yes, there was no doubt the Canadian was as friendly as could be, particularly to those who were in his line of work. "Come along, then! We go back to my place, away from all these lovely people with their flashbulbs which make me delighted I don't have to drive myself anywhere after this!" He directed the last phrase toward the press, some of whom laughed along with him.

The trip to the Premier's mansion wasn't a long one (Regina wasn't a big place), and Gerry and Tommy talked politics for hours on end. For their part, Elaine and Irma Douglas talked shop on things  neither of their husbands would have wanted to talk about, either. The children, meanwhile, spent most of the time tearing through the house (not breaking anything; Gerry'd explained that he'd find a way to tan their little Irish hides if they damaged Mr. Douglas's property). Except for Bridget. One would think that, as a young woman, she'd want to spend time trying to intrude on her mother and Mrs. Douglas's conversation, but no, here she was, talking with Gerry and Tommy. The entirety of her "proper young lady" facade fell away as soon as she heard a single word on politics.

As Gerry and Elaine were packing up to leave, Tommy called him over for a bit. As they walked out into the hall, he smiled and said, "Well, I didn't expect the honor I'd received. Not only am I talking to the (Father of Medicare/Speaker of the House, depending on how that went), but I believe I've had the gift of speaking to someone else."

"And who is that, Tommy?"

"Not to count any women who could run now or in the near future out, but if I'm not mistaken, that young lady-" for here she came, smiling at her father and Tommy, "will be the first female President of the United States."