When you stop to reflect on the tenure of Milton Jerrold Shapp as
governor of Pennsylvania, a number of recollections come immediately
to mind. He was, after all…
…The first of Pennsylvania’s two-term, modern-era governors…
…The Governor who removed coin boxes from the toilets at the Howard
Johnson rest stops along the Pennsylvania Turnpike...
…The Governor who the State Police executive detail literally had to
carry in their arms from the grounds of the three-year-old
Governor’s Residence across the street from the Susquehanna River to
escape the raging waters rising in the wrath of Hurricane Agnes…
…The Governor who signed a landmark state Lottery into law to
provide Pennsylvania senior citizens with a modicum on property tax
relief…
…And the Governor who finished behind no-preference in the 1976
Florida presidential primary election…
The list could go on, I suppose. But in the end, the inevitable
conclusion you reach after eight years of Milton Shapp in the
Executive Office is that he will most be remembered in Pennsylvania
political annals for two principal reasons:
He was the first candidate for governor in the state…the first
candidate for any statewide office, for that matter...to retain high
profile out-of-state political consultants who introduced the mighty
power of saturation television advertising to Pennsylvania political
campaigning.
And, if not the national trend-setter,
he certainly was years ahead of what now has become a common pattern
in American politics for individuals of substantial wealth to fund
their bids for high public office from their considerable cache of
personal millions (a pattern candidates like Mayor Michael Bloomberg
of New York and U. S. Senator Jon Corzine of New Jersey would take
to a high art form at the turn of the 20th century).
Shapp’s first bid as a political candidate was as brief as it was
non-competitive. He announced in 1964 that he would enter the
Pennsylvania Primary to challenge for the Democratic Party’s
nomination to the United States Senate. The nomination held a lot of
promise for the Democratic nominee. Lyndon Johnson had replaced the
assassinated John Kennedy in the White House and the political
landscape looked ripe for Democrats across the country, particularly
with conservative Arizona Senator Barry Goldwater heading the
Republican ticket. Republican U.S. Senator Hugh Scott looked
particularly vulnerable in that scenario, and rightly so.
Shapp went so far as to begin assembling his own campaign staff and
organization. Fred Walters, a senior member of the Associated Press
Harrisburg Bureau and one of my early mentors in journalism, signed
on as Shapp’s press secretary. But in the face of widespread
opposition from the established leadership of the Party, almost as
suddenly as he announced his candidacy, he announced his withdrawal.
Poor Fred Walters read about his candidate’s decision in the morning
newspaper.
Two years later, Shapp was back on the Pennsylvania political
landscape. This time as a candidate for the Democratic nomination
for governor. And this time, he was not to be deterred, Democratic
leadership opposition or not. In fact, his 1964 experience with that
party leadership may have convinced him that the Democratic
establishment would never support his political aspirations. So, at
age 54, he was in…and he was in to stay.
Shapp hired a political consultant from Massachusetts by the name
of Joe Napolitan to come to Pennsylvania and direct his outsider
campaign against his Party and its endorsed nominee. Napolitan was
the first hired gun to come into the state and assume a
high-visibility political role that I can recall. His success in
managing the Shapp primary campaign earned him considerable national
publicity. In retrospect, it may have been, in fact, the one
political campaign more than any other of the era that gave birth to
political consulting as a cottage industry across the country.
The theme of Shapp’s Napolitan-directed campaign was ”Man Against
the Machine.” Its heart and soul was a devastating 30-minute film of
the same name which virtually saturated, at great personal expense
to Milton Shapp, Pennsylvania television in the last days leading up
to the primary balloting. Its producer was Joseph Guggenheim, a
filmmaker of some renown. The film was part biographical, for Shapp
was a virtual unknown to most Pennsylvanians. But the biggest impact
of the film was political, however. It attacked the Democratic Party
establishment as a closed corporation whose leadership was out of
touch and unconcerned about the needs of real Pennsylvanians. The
closing visual was particularly graphic. The Democrats had a party
functionary (Larry Rooney was his name, I believe) who performed a
variety of mundane chores at party events. The day the Democratic
State Committee met in private session to endorse (Lackawanna County
State Senator) Bob Casey for Governor, Larry Rooney was the
doorkeeper. Shapp’s television cameras were there to record the
scene. They were not allowed in the proceedings themselves. So the
film captured Larry Rooney closing the doors of the meeting room to
Shapp’s cameras, and, by extension, the Pennsylvania electorate.
Rooney may even had his hand up to the camera as the scene closed.
The visual effect was devastating.
The film aired with considerable fanfare on television stations
across the state every night for the last 10 days or so of the
primary campaign. Nothing of its sort had been seen before in
Pennsylvania. It was an expensive undertaking, but money was of no
concern to millionaire Shapp. Besides, because Pennsylvania voters
had never seen anything like this before…this unprecedented reliance
on television advertising with a half-hour political documentary as
its keystone…the tactic earned Shapp, Napolitan and their outsider
campaign a lot of free press in the process. In politics, to borrow
a phrase, that’s priceless.
Shapp upset Casey by 49,000 votes in the Democratic primary
election. It was ranked as a major political upset from the
conventional perspective because, at the time, the organized
political parties seldom lost their endorsed candidates to a primary
challenge by mavericks from outside their ranks…even self-financed
mavericks like Milton Shapp. If proof were needed, this was at the
very least a sign that, in Pennsylvania, the power of the
established Democratic Party was in a state of serious decline. It
also sent a message to other politically ambitious Democrats that,
with well-financed campaigns and well-organized political
strategies, they could take on their party organizations and win.
(Bob Casey, incidentally, in reflecting years later on this…his
first of three failed bids for the Governorship…concluded that this
was the one political decision in his career that he would have
reversed if he had it to do over again. In hindsight, he recognized
that he simply wasn’t ready politically to reach so high at that
point, and may have been a victim of his own hubris.)
One other element of the 1966 gubernatorial campaign needs to be
addressed before moving on. That would be the treatment Milton Shapp
received at the hands of the Philadelphia Inquirer under the
ownership of Walter Annenberg. It was nothing short of embarrassing
at the least, and professionally disreputable at the worst.
The Inquirer’s coverage of Milton Shapp (and others) was noted
prominently in the paper’s obituary of Walter Annenberg in October
of 2002. Now under new ownership (the Knight-Ridder chain with the
Miami Herald and the Detroit Free Press as two of its flagship
papers), the Inky’s Andy Wallace and Rusty Pray wrote of Annenberg,
media magnate, United States Ambassador to the Court of St. James
and philanthropist to countless educational and charitable causes:
“Though he spent most of his working hours in his 12th
floor office at the Inquirer Building…he visited the newsroom once a
week. When he did, he usually communicated only with city editor
Morris Litman and political writer Joseph Miller.
“Gaeton Fonzi reported in Philadelphia Magazine in 1969 that Mr.
Annenberg often called the newspaper after receiving an early
edition to kill or downplay stories that he did not like or that
were on topics of which he did not approve.
“There were certain people whose names were not to be mentioned in
the Inquirer: Among them—for a time, as the list changed a lot—were
former University of Pennsylvania President Gaylord P. Harnwell;
singer Dinah Shore; perennial presidential candidate Harold Stassen;
comedian Imogene Coca; a former head of the Philadelphia Stock
Exchange, Elkins Weatherill; consumer advocate Ralph Nader and the
entire Philadelphia 76ers team.
“Mr. Annenberg was said to have ordered the Inquirer staff to write
negative articles at times, such as one critical of Curtis
Publishing Co. after Holiday, a Curtis magazine, reported that he
had been snubbed by Main Line society.
“During the 1960s, the Inquirer’s reputation was further damaged by
two embarrassing incidents. One was the conviction of Harry Karafin,
the newspaper’s top investigative reporter, for blackmailing city
firms to keep unflattering stories out of the paper.
“The other was a smear campaign the Inquirer conducted against
Milton Shapp during the 1966 Pennsylvania guberatorial campaign. A
negative slant was put on every Shapp activity, even his decision to
change his name from Shapiro to Shapp when he was young One
notorious piece of mudslinging that year was done by political
reporter Miller. He got the candidate to deny that he had ever been
in a mental hospital, then dutifully reported the denial…
In the case of Walter Annenberg’s Philadelphia Inquirer, the
prosecution rests.
Milton Shapp, if he was anything, was as persistent as any man in
his pursuit of high political office in Pennsylvania. His failed
bids for the U.S. Senate and Governor not withstanding, in 1970, he
was back again. This time, for a second run at the Democratic
nomination for governor. Not so coincidentally, Joe Napolitan was
among the missing.
The political climate in Pennsylvania was entirely different this
time around. Where as in 1966, the Commonwealth was in stable and
steady condition with William Scranton at the helm, Pennsylvania in
1970 was on the brink of fiscal and political disarray. Political
science professors G. Terry Madonna of Millersville University of
Pennsylvania and Michael Young of Penn State, Middletown, portrayed
the situation this way:
“In 1970, the economy of Pennsylvania was in shambles, as the
state wrestled with its perennial problem—a large state budget
deficit and high unemployment. The outgoing Republican governor, Ray
Shafer, proposed an income tax, but the Republican candidate in
1970, incumbent Lieutenant Governor Ray Broderick, opposed it.
Milton Shapp….used his success in business to argue persuasively
that it would take a businessman to get the state out of debt, its
leadership problems solved, and the economy jump started.”
Drs. Madonna and Young had it exactly right. Pennsylvania was facing
a serious revenue problem once again; Governor Shafer proposed his
stand-by income tax as the means to balance the state budget as a
last resort; Republicans in the legislature revolted; and Broderick
broke with Shafer as he waged his own campaign for Governor. The
political cards certainly were aligned in Milton Shapp’s favor.
Shapp was an easy victor over Ray Broderick in 1970. The margin was
an impressive 500,200 votes. With no state budget in place and state
revenues running short of projections, Broderick’s claim of solving
the problem without resorting to taxes simply was not credible.
It was fortunate for Shapp that in winning the governorship, he
also had a Democratically controlled General Assembly to assist him.
There was no time for rejoicing over their ballot collective
successes last November . Shapp no sooner had taken his oath in
January, 1971, than he and the legislature had to balance the
unfinished budget of fiscal 1970-71 within 30 days; and almost
immediately thereafter, the new Governor had to submit a new budget
for fiscal 1971-72. Without a Democratic legislature—more
specifically the first Democratic-controlled state Senate in 34
years—it’s doubtful Shapp could have navigated the budget and tax
mess as expeditiously as he did. And he had to do it not once, but
twice.
Shapp’s Democratic leadership in the General Assembly--Senators
Murray and Lamb and House Speaker Fineman, Majority Leader Irvis and
Majority Whip Manderino—responded brilliantly to the challenge. It
was no small feat, believe me, majority status in both chambers or
not. Taxes never are easy to enact, and the dreaded income tax made
the challenge even more imposing. Particularly in the Senate where
the Democrats had no votes to spare and the Republicans were solid
in their opposition to the first Shapp income tax proposal.
The income tax votes were particularly difficult and politically
dangerous for a number of newly elected Democratic State Senators,
Joe Ammerman of Clearfield and Centre Counties, Henry Messinger in
Lehigh County and Pat Stapleton of Indiana County, primary among
them. All three had won in Senate Districts which traditionally
voted Republican. Without them, the Democrats would never have
achieved a political majority in the Senate in the first place. Now
they were being asked as almost their first order of business to
vote for not one but two state income taxes.
Ammerman and Messinger never wavered. They had some idea of what was
in store in Harrisburg if they were elected. Their attitude once
inaugurated was that if it had to be done, then let’s do it. We’ll
deal with the political consequences as they arise. (Both went on to
re-election and distinguished service in the Pennsylvania Senate.)
Pat Stapleton was another matter, and for good reason. His District
was solidly Republican. He was a surprise winner in May of 1970 in a
special election to fill an unexpired term created by the death of
his entrenched Republican predecessor, the notable Albert Pechan, a
Kittanning dentist in Armstrong County. He had to stand for election
to a full four-year term in just two short years. The income tax
could cripple his prospects. He voted for the first income tax
because of the urgency to get the state’s fiscal House in order. But
a second, just months later? That took some doing, particularly
since two of his freshman colleagues—Bill Duffield and Tom
Nolan—were off the ship this time around. Stapleton had to be kept
in the fold.
He voted ultimately in support of Income Tax Two…He issued a
statement the night of the vote. He said throwing the fiscal affairs
of the Commonwealth into chaos once again would have been more
damaging to the public interest than adopting a budget which
required a new income tax to balance it…He concluded by saying he
was elected to make hard choices when necessary. This was,
admittedly, as hard a choice as a legislator could be asked to make.
But it was unavoidable. If there were a political price to pay for
preserving fiscal stability for the Commonwealth, Stapleton went on,
he was prepared to pay it. The statement didn’t rise to the level of
a profile in courage, but it certainly played on the theme.
Stapleton survived both income tax votes with no great difficulty.
Governor Shapp, by any objective measure, had a very successful
first term in office. That was due largely to the loyalty and
persuasive powers of his Democratic legislative leaders. Frankly,
the support he drew in the General Assembly from his party’s
leadership and rank and file, in my view, had less to do with an
allegiance to him personally, and more to do with their broader
commitment to the principle of loyalty to a Governor as the elected
leader of their party. Party loyalty...now that’s an old-fashioned
concept you don’t see much of today where modern politics is driven
more by personality and celebrity and individual survival than by
party structure and party philosophy. I don’t know that the
political process is any better for it, either, but that’s a
discussion for another day.
He (Governor Shapp) was a risk taker, and the fear of failure did
not deter him in pursuit of his objectives. That was one of his
greatest pluses as a governor. His greatest shortcoming, in my view,
was with some of the people he brought into state government with
him who would later come back to cause him political harm.
Milton Shapp was re-elected to a second term, the first governor of
the modern era permitted to succeed himself, defeating Republican
businessman (and, later, a Reagan federal cabinet member) Drew Lewis
by a margin of over 300,000. Things started to unravel quickly soon
thereafter.
Some of the very same irregulars who Shapp brought into
government got his Administration into trouble by their conduct.
Finally, Shapp, himself, contributed mightily to his sagging
political fortunes when he made an ill-fated bid for the Democratic
Presidential nomination in 1976. At least one cabinet member,
Education Secretary John Pittenger, resigned reportedly in protest.
Shapp was embarrassed nationally when he finished behind
no-preference in the Florida presidential primary, despite his
active presence in the state and his aggressive campaign to woo the
heavy Florida Jewish population to his cause. He was, if not a joke
on the national political landscape, certainly a characterture. He
returned to the Capitol to find his stature diminishing almost
daily. For most of the remainder of in his term, he was virtually a
non-player politically.
For what it’s worth, my impression of Milton Shapp is that he was a
well-intentioned, well-motivated man who had a genuine special
affection for the plight of consumers, the underprivileged and the
elderly. That, more so than ego gratification, seemed to drive his
pursuit of elective office. Milton Shapp struck me as a Franklin
Delano Roosevelt Democrat, a New Deal Democrat who, like Roosevelt,
believed in an activist government committed to helping people who
couldn’t help themselves. There is no denying the conviction of his
populist roots.
But he was a poor judge of character and he was loyal to some of
the characters who found their way into his Administration to a
fault. When Milton Shapp’s term wound down, his Administration, if
not under a cloud of outright corruption, certainly had a strong
aura of something amiss about it. When he left town, he departed as
he came in—still very much the outsider. Few that I knew lamented
his leaving.
