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Soon, Gore or Bush will emulate Adlai Stevenson's poetry, Barry Goldwater's tartness, or something in between.
By BILL ADAIR
© St. Petersburg Times, published December 5, 2000
WASHINGTON -- It's not easy admitting you're a loser.
But some day soon, perhaps in the next week, Vice President Al Gore or Texas Gov. George W. Bush will admit defeat.
Assuming Gore or Bush follows the usual tradition, he'll stand before a crowd of cheering supporters, concede the election, promise to fight for his party's beliefs, and vow to unite the nation.
Most concession speeches are quickly forgotten. We don't care what the loser says -- we want to know what the winner is going to do.
But this speech will be different. Sen. John Breaux, D-La., calls it the most important speech of the campaign. It will set the tone for the next four years in Washington. A bitter speech will help ensure a hostile atmosphere, while a graceful, heartfelt address could begin to heal the nation's partisan wounds.
A review of concession speeches of the last 60 years shows a mixed bag. Some are stately and poetic. Some are pedestrian. Most are mercifully short.
The New Yorker described Adlai Stevenson as "the most beautiful loser" for his back-to-back concessions in 1952 and 1956.
"The people have rendered their verdict and I gladly accept it," he said in 1952. "Gen. Eisenhower has been a great leader in war. He has been a vigorous and valiant opponent in the campaign. These qualities will now be dedicated to leading us all through the next four years."
Bob Dole was gracious in 1996, saying that President Clinton "was my opponent and not my enemy. And I wish him well, and I pledge my support in whatever advances the cause of a better America."
Hubert Humphrey was more blunt in 1968: "I have done my best. I have lost. Mr. Nixon has won. The democratic process has worked its will, so now let's get on with the urgent task of uniting our country."
Many losers are positively ebullient about the wonders of democracy. It's an artful way to sound positive without having to praise your opponent.
"The people have made their choice in a vigorous partisan contest that has affirmed again the vitality of the democratic process," Stevenson said after his 1956 loss. "And I say God bless partisanship, for this is democracy's lifeblood."
Walter Mondale sounded surprisingly upbeat about the 1984 balloting that dealt him a stinging defeat: "Again tonight, the American people, in town halls, in homes, in fire houses, in libraries, chose the occupant of the most powerful office on earth. The choice was made peacefully, with dignity and with majesty, and although I would rather have won, tonight we rejoice in our democracy, we rejoice in the freedom of a wonderful people, and we accept their verdict. I thank the people of American for hearing my case."
Concession speeches are an opportunity to let off steam after the grueling final days of a campaign. They allow the candidates to sound human.
Richard Nixon said in 1960 that he needed to get some sleep. President George Bush said in 1992 he would "get very active in the grandchild business." Humphrey said he needed to mow his lawn.
In 1980, President Jimmy Carter reminded supporters of his most famous pledge: "I promised you four years ago that I would never lie to you. So I can't stand here tonight and say it doesn't hurt."
When Dole conceded in 1996, he said he just came to a realization: "Tomorrow will be the first time in my life I don't have anything to do."
Losers often quote an Abraham Lincoln story told by Stevenson, which creates an odd phenomenon of losers quoting losers quoting losers.
According to Stevenson, Lincoln said after he lost an election that "he felt like a little boy who had stubbed his toe in the dark. He said that he was too old to cry, but it hurt too much to laugh."
The New Yorker, in a 1996 review of concession speeches, said the quality had declined in the last half-century. The magazine criticized Carter for conceding before polls closed in the West and said the most interesting recent speech was when Ross Perot started dancing with his wife to Patsy Cline's Crazy.
The magazine noted the speeches have the same basic elements, including "a manful, rueful acknowledgement of the pain of defeat," congratulations to the winner, thank-yous to family and supporters, a pledge for unity and a renewed commitment to the party's causes.
Discussing those causes is a rhetorical tightrope, however. The loser wants to reassure party loyalists that the causes are important. But too much partisan talk can sound like sour grapes.
When Michael Dukakis conceded in 1988, he gave a lengthy, coast-to-coast summary of the downtrodden:
"We've got to fight for that young family in Levittown, N.Y., that wants to buy a home in the community in which they grew up, and can't afford it. We've got to fight for that family in Sioux City, Iowa, that can't afford health insurance (to) pay the bills for its young son. We've got to fight for those high school students in Los Angeles who are saying no to drugs and yes to their future."
Sen. Barry Goldwater sounded bitter in 1964, saying, "I'm very hopeful that the president will, now that the election is over, (provide) the answers that we've sought during the campaign -- the answers about Vietnam, about Cuba, about Communism . . . about the growing tendency to (have government) control of our economy."
Stevenson was more poetic in 1956.
"Now I bid you good night, with a full heart and a fervent prayer that we will meet often again in the liberal's everlasting battle against ignorance, poverty, misery and war."
- Information from the New York Times and the Annenberg/Pew Archive of Presidential Campaign Discourse was used in this report.