In 1972, I was working for the McGovern campaign, making cold calls to folks in the Plains states. It was July 19th and we (the campaign volunteers) began to hear sobs coming from the candidate’s office. The cries escalated into a low moaning sound. Jennifer, the campaign manager, investigated and found McGovern curled up under his desk in the fetal position. He was totally freaking that no one had remembered his birthday. He bawled like a baby for hours. Finally, somebody went down to the Piggly Wiggly and picked up a sheet cake and a pinata and we threw a “surprise” party for the old goat.
Thinking back, I’m glad Nixon kicked his ass. Wouldn’t want that bleedin’ crybaby with his finger on the button.