That Was Then

Nixon knew it was up to Eisenhower to decide whether or not he would stay on the ballot. But he encouraged his audience to send a telegram or write to the Republican National Committee to let them know if they thought he should be voted off the island. But he was cut off at the end of the speech before he could give people the contact info for the RNC. He thought the speech was a failure, and he sobbed afterwards, saying that he wasn't any good, it wouldn't work. (Source)

It didn't matter.

By some estimates, over four million people responded to the speech, and most of them liked it. The RNC got about 300,000 letters, running 350 to 1 in Nixon's favor.

The manager of the theater where the speech was televised said the phone lines "lit up like a Christmas tree." The cameramen got teary; people wept as they watched the broadcast—including Eisenhower's wife, Mamie (Source). Eisenhower wasn't all that impressed, but the raving response to the speech convinced him that Nixon had to stay on the ticket. Even so, his endorsement was less than enthusiastic.

Media response was a mixed bag. Some papers praised the rhetoric of the speech; others thought it was overly sappy and sentimental, with more about the dog than about the secret fund. Liberal political commentator Walter Lippmann called it one of the most "demeaning experiences" (Source) in American history because Nixon suggested that the decision about his presence on the ticket should be left to the public, putting Eisenhower in the position of having to decide based on phone calls and telegrams. So American Idol.

The speech turned Nixon into the political darling of America, but it cemented his resentments against the media and against the people who started the allegations. He was emboldened to up his attacks against his detractors, and his political image became more partisan. His relationship with Eisenhower never really recovered from the strain of Eisenhower's lukewarm support.

On the other hand, it led Nixon to believe that he could get out of almost any political predicament by appealing personally to the American public. He did it again to address what he said were false charges against him during the Watergate scandal. How'd that work out for him in 1973?

Hint: it didn't.

This is Now

Nowadays, people remember the speech of an example of how politicians make emotional appeals when they're caught in a financial, sexual, or political scandal. "Checkers Speech" is a metaphor for any awkward, syrupy appeal by a politician in trouble that may or may not be sincere. More people probably remember Nixon's little dog and his wife's "Republican cloth coat" than recall why he gave the speech in the first place.

As the first live telecast of a political speech—an intimate discussion between one man and Americans sitting in their living rooms—the speech is also seen today as a turning point in the power of television to affect Americans' political opinions. Two years later, the televised broadcast of the Army-McCarthy hearings in 1954 would bring down Senator McCarthy's career; in 1960, television would be Nixon's own undoing in his debates against Kennedy. With the use of television as a political tool, image became everything.

Today we take it for granted that the media are hugely influential in shaping the political discussion, with 24/7 broadcasting of every detail of a candidate's life, real or imagined. How big are his hands? How does he eat pancakes? Why does she wear pantsuits? Why is he texting pics of his…well, never mind.

Plus, candidates are much more likely now than in 1952 to spill their guts to talk show hosts and make fools of themselves on SNL. They release their financial information as a matter of course—the citizenry wants to know what they made, what they gave to charity, how much they paid in taxes. Like Nixon, they assume there's something to hide if that info isn't made public.

Checkers woulda been proud.