Barry Goldwater and the Remaking of the American Political Landscape

Shermer, Elizabeth Tandy

Published by University of Arizona Press

Shermer, E. T.. Barry Goldwater and the Remaking of the American Political Landscape. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2013. Project MUSE., https://muse.jhu.edu/.

For additional information about this book https://muse.jhu.edu/book/21960

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Drafting a Movement

Barry Goldwater and the Rebirth of the Arizona Republican Party

elizabeth tandy shermer

recent work on the modern conservative movement has, for the most part, focused largely on the racial and cultural politics of the 1960s and 1970s to explain the dramatic transformation of American politics. Frustrated homeowners, militant housewives, dogmatic anti- Communists, racist blue-collar workers, evangelical Christians, abor- tion opponents, and other crusaders in the dramatic culture wars populate these narratives. The American South also casts a long shadow over the Weld. Scholars, for example, have delved into the apparent “southernization” of America, the infamous “Southern Strategy,” the inXammatory politics of school and neighborhood desegregation, the trajectory of state Democratic parties, and the apparent need for southern politicians on Democratic presidential tickets. There is (and has been) far less attention to the power and place of business-minded conservatives and western Republicans. Yet the scant work done has shown, decisively, that both warrant more inquiry. These politicians, policymakers, and voters were among the most powerful, militant members of the broad postwar conservative movement, the ones who embraced Arizona retailer Barry Goldwater and helped propel him into the upper echelons of American politics.1

43 44 elizabeth tandy shermer

Indeed, the business Right’s success is clear: deregulation, privati- zation, low taxation, and union insecurity have become the deWning characteristics of mainstream economic dogma. This philosophy represented an aVront to New Deal liberalism, which promoted a powerful, interventionist federal state that policed and regulated industry, redistributed wealth through an expansive social safety net, and em - powered the citizenry, largely through the trade union movement, to help direct economic development. Some of the most famous critics of this midcentury liberalism were western Republicans, the famed “cowboy conservatives.” Yet relatively little attention has been paid to the constant presence of this strain of western Sunbelt conser- va tism on the GOP’s presidential slates. Two market-oriented mav- ericks, Barry Goldwater and John McCain, called Phoenix home, and scholars often invoke California transplant Ronald Reagan as a paragon of this antiliberal economic doctrine.2 These two western conservatives were not outliers but representatives of a broad, Sunbelt-wide movement that blended industrialization with political transformation. In the early postwar period, when southern and western states generally supplied the industrial core with foodstuVs and production materials, insurgents generally worked within chambers of commerce to launch electoral campaigns to win seats in city governments and state legislatures in the underdeveloped South and Southwest. True, as Andrew Needham points out in his chapter, many would make their peace with federal power in the name of rapid economic development. But even their complicated embrace of public infrastructure contained a fundamental distrust of, if not open hostility to, liberal economic orthodoxy. Goldwater, after all, had called the Central Arizona Project a loan. Hence, businessmen like the senator found common cause with CEOs eager to move out of the liberal-leaning Steelbelt and coastal California. Yet the diVerences in the South’s and Southwest’s postwar rejuve- nation point to the importance of fully interrogating western booster Republicans’ role in the Sunbelt’s creation and the conservative movement’s maturation. Fighting the liberal regulatory state and orga - nized labor, as historian Tami Friedman has shown, very much shaped the politics of the South’s boosters. Still, the decidedly more urban West gave promoters far more political power than their southern counterparts, who found themselves Wghting the old agricultural elite Drafting a Movement 45 for control of governing bodies and state Democratic parties. Thus, western Republicans, not investment-focused southern Democrats, Wrst enjoyed the fruits of the genuine boom economy, which unorga- nized labor, deregulation, low business taxes, and laissez-faire attitudes toward income inequality fueled. Moreover, the resultant population surges gave western Sunbelt states increasing inXuence over national aVairs in the House and Electoral College, even though they had far fewer representatives in the early cold war period and before. As such, the West’s conservatives had an earlier entrée into the business and political organizations behind the nascent conservative movement.3 The Phoenix Chamber of Commerce and the Arizona Republican Party exempliWed this transformation of the West’s political economy. In the early 1930s, both the state GOP and the Phoenix Cham- ber were small and ineVective. But a new generation of boosters, with Goldwater prominent among them, set out to refashion these insti- tutions. From the start, their vision of a bright, industrial future and a decidedly antiliberal Republican Party were interconnected. These Chamber men then looked beyond their immediate surroundings and sought to fundamentally reconstruct Arizona, a broad initiative that pushed a young Goldwater to draft Republicans to run for oYce and also inspired his Wrst bid to represent Arizona in the Senate.

A Revitalized Phoenix Chamber

Goldwater and other Phoenix businessmen pursued a wholesale transformation of Arizona politics, the state GOP, and the Phoenix Cham- ber because of the threat and opportunity the New Deal represented. Leading liberals at the federal level had envisioned the South and West as centers of industry. DiversiWed economies, New Dealers predicted, would free denizens from the tumultuous commodities markets, thereby leading them to embrace liberalism’s social-democratic principles. Reformers in local, state, and national oYces did manage to lay the foundation for Phoenix and the rest of the underdeveloped South and Southwest to grow along a labor-liberal pathway. Massive infrastructure spending, huge agricultural subsidies, and the state- sponsored protections of unionism had in fact made Arizona a solidly Democratic state in the 1930s and 1940s. A vigorous organizing eVort 46 elizabeth tandy shermer also helped transform Arizona and its labor movement, which had tremendous success in organizing both the private and public sectors.4 Liberalism’s inroads were rooted in local interest in diversifying the area’s economy. Many Phoenicians sought to end the city’s dependence on agriculture, cattle, and mining. The liberals and radicals among them considered industrialization a means to open the door to a set of unionized, high-wage jobs not only in factories and mines but also in the high-proWle service sector, namely, the city’s hotels, bars, and clubs but also in the municipal government. The presence of a powerful organized working class made possible the attempt to democ- ratize municipal governance, exempliWed by eVorts to abandon the town’s Progressive Era, “good-government” charter. On the horizon was also an amelioration of the racism that kept the town divided between the wealthy Anglo population north of the railroad tracks and those of African, Mexican, Asian, and Native descent living on Phoe - nix’s south side.5 The New Deal for Phoenix and Arizona provoked an aggressive reaction from urban businessmen and professionals. For the town’s young retailers, lawyers, newspaper owners, and bankers, the collapse of the agricultural and mining economies had devastated their cus- tomers and thus weakened their portfolios and enterprises. Thus, they too wanted a more diversiWed economic base so as to insulate themselves and the town from the tumultuous commodities economy. Devastation yielded an opportunity for industry-minded young promoters to convince an aging membership to embrace manufacturing. But paralysis had also empowered liberals to promote union empowerment, regulation, taxation, and a general expansion of the federal government, which seemed as threatening to the desert’s business elite as the volatile cotton, copper, and cattle markets.6 One of the most agitated boosters was young retailer Barry Gold- water. He, like his largely male, Anglo Chamber brethren, did not eschew industrialization or moderate Wscal reform per se but did reject the more radical elements of liberal experimentation. He was also well placed to voice his disenchantment with the New Deal. His family’s department store, Goldwater’s, had made him a household name across the state even before the dramatic 1940 trip down the Col- orado River. But Goldwater’s earlier renown had provided him with a pulpit prior to his 1940 descent into the Grand Canyon and later Drafting a Movement 47 service to the Colorado River Commission. Editors of the Phoenix Gazette, one of the town’s dailies, tapped him to write opinion pieces in the 1930s. Goldwater used the invitation to publicly attack liberalism. “I would like to know,” he demanded in his 1938 “A Fireside Chat with Mr. Roosevelt,” “just where you are leading us. Are you going further into the morass that you have led us into or are you going to go back to the good old American way of doing things where business is trusted, where labor earns more, where we take care of our unemployed, and where a man is elected to public oYce because he is a good man for the job and not because he commands your good will and a few dollars of the taxpayers’ money?” “Your plans,” the Phoenician declared, “called for economy in government and a reduction in taxes. . . . In Wve years my taxes have increased over 250 percent and I fear greatly that ‘I ain’t seen nothin’ yet!,’ ” he exclaimed before accusing the president of “jump[ing]down the throats of every- one in business.” Now, Goldwater asserted, the American businessman “distrusts you and fears your every utterance.” The worst move, from Goldwater’s standpoint, was “turn[ing] over to the racketeer- ing practices of ill-organized unions the future of the working man. Witness the chaos they are creating in the eastern cities. Witness the men thrown out of work, the riots, the bloodshed, and the ill feeling between labor and capital and then decide for yourself if that plan worked.”7 This portrait of the New Deal as dangerous earned Goldwater ac - claim and helped unite Valley business owners also wary of New Deal policies. George Mickle of the Phoenix Title and Trust Company, whose facilities housed the Phoenix Chamber, wrote to Goldwater personally to commend him for taking a stand in the pages of the Phoenix Gazette. Local lender George O. Ford praised the merchant’s writing as “logical, fearless, and as far as it goes, truthful.” “Com- pared with the average citizen, as your writing shows, you are a goli- ath,” Ford gushed, “and I say to you openly and fearlessly and would publish it now if possible, I hold the masses in contempt and their leaders and masters.”8 Yet these Chamber men also found themselves frustrated with their fellow businessmen, who seemed uninterested in politics or industrial development. In “Scaredee-Cat” (1939), for example, Goldwater’s dis- gust for the “American businessman,” “the biggest man in this country 48 elizabeth tandy shermer

. . . afraid of his own shadow,” was palpable. “He is the man who con- demns, and sometimes justly so,” the Phoenician charged, “the politician over his luncheon tables and his desks and in his other very private conversations, but never in the open where his thoughts and argu- ments would do some good toward correcting the evils to which he refers in private.” He remained concerned with political acquiescence throughout the war. He even begged the chamber’s board of directors to think beyond Phoenix in 1946: “every unit of organized business in this country should do all it can to maintain and strengthen our system of free enterprise.” He was conWdent they could “become a model for the rest of the country,” but only if the Phoenix business community would “take a Wrm stand against evils which threaten our communities.”9 Goldwater and other upstarts began their broad assault on liberalism by transforming the chamber, an association of businessmen that actually represented a bulwark to the ambitious plans that young members had for Phoenix. Locals had founded the organization to promote agriculture in the territorial period. Early activities had been limited to petitioning the federal government for water storage facilities to improve the Valley’s agriculture and distributing information on the area’s farming output. The chamber grew little in size or scope in the interwar years. In 1925 there were just four committees, which were concerned with traYc, agriculture, membership, and information.10 Goldwater’s generation sought desperately to expand the institu- tion that they were set to inherit. They, in contrast to their forebears, prioritized broadening Phoenix’s economic base away from agriculture, mining, and cattle in order to separate their businesses from Wckle commodity markets but also to build the kind of modern dynamic, aZuent metropolis in which they wanted to live. Their goals were clearly outlined in a three-hundred-page study that they commissioned, published, and distributed in the early 1940s. This plan for Phoenix’s economic development prioritized water, power, and manufacturing through policy proposals that bespoke their fundamental distrust of the New Deal regulatory state. Goldwater, for example, warned in his report on the future of retail, “It is sheer folly for any of our numerous branches of business to consider this money as a permanent source of income to business. If it continues, it will be at the expense of business and is, so to speak, robbing Peter to pay Paul.” Other submissions Drafting a Movement 49 contained even more overt calls to action. One young Phoenix lawyer prioritized a revitalized, politically active chamber. “ The business of running our city is one worthy of the best business minds and talent,” he argued, “Instead of adopting an attitude of ‘Let George Do It,’ we should adopt one of ‘What can I do to help my city?’ ” He made governance synonymous with doing business. “We are all stockholders in a $70,000,000 corporation, a municipal corporation to be sure, but nevertheless a business one,” he asserted. “We are all interested in the conduct of its aVairs, we are all interested in its welfare for if the corporation should be improperly conducted all of us would suVer in proportion to our investment. We must learn to recognize that the city government is our aVair and we must not treat it lightly.”11 This generation of businessmen went on to reorganize the chamber dramatically in the name of well-managed industrialization. Law - yer Frank Snell, for example, redirected the group’s mission and modus operandi during his presidency. He, Goldwater, and other young renegades had long complained that members did not take an active part in the organization. Snell, for example, cited his peers’ frustra- tions when he blamed the leadership for allowing “special interests and small groups” to dominate the chamber and board of directors at the expense of participation from other motivated business owners. OYcial events, he asserted, had tended to be merely “ ‘hoopala’ with no real or constructive purpose behind them,” evidence as to why the organization itself was poorly administered, had $18,000 in outstanding bills, and had stockpiled only $8,000 in accounts receiv- able. He addressed these issues during his 1939–40 tenure. The chamber paid its debts, began a membership drive, generated a list of three hundred members eager and willing to become involved in committee work, and passed new by-laws to provide structure and account- ability in all activities and programs. As a result, the old guard started to lose control of the chamber to Goldwater and other young activists who wanted to end the town’s reliance on cotton, cattle, and copper.12 Reforms continued throughout World War II and after. Leaders worked out new membership qualiWcations, changes in the board of directors’ duties, a $32,000 budget increase (bringing it to $70,000 a year), and new paid staV positions for the management of the association’s day-to-day operations. To better carry out the new growth agenda, the number of committees also tripled. SpeciWc departments 50 elizabeth tandy shermer now addressed industrialization, retailing, conventions, public relations, membership, and statistical information. The Post-War Devel- opment Committee even had subgroups, which included task forces for aviation and tourism. One of the most important amendments concerned real estate development. In Article III, boosters included a strong restatement of the organization’s purpose and committed the group to “promote and foster the civic, economic, and social welfare of its members and the City of Phoenix, the Salt River Valley, and the state of Arizona, and to acquire, hold, and dispose of property, and to do any and all things necessary or suitable to those ends.” This new clause was critical for the chamber’s new industrial program. Phoenix’s vast, undeveloped surrounding lands were a major draw for the military bases and defense plants that relocated to the Valley. During the war, both the chamber and the local government had to work out complicated, costly, time-consuming deals to buy this property either from private owners, the city, the county, or the state of Arizona. Now, under the revised 1945 framework, the chamber sim- ply bought and sold parcels directly to Wrms, which streamlined the industrial recruitment process.13 Within two years, the chamber’s new leadership had altered the orga nization irrevocably. From its formal reorganization in January 1946 to the start of the 1948 Wscal year, membership grew from roughly 800 to almost 2,800, and income rose from $38,000 to $140,000. With these resources, the chamber formalized an industrial development program in March 1948, which inaugurated a more cohesive, systematic eVort to industrialize the Phoenix area, far beyond earlier ad hoc eVorts. Leading chamber members, including Goldwater, worked on the Industrial Development Committee (IDC), whose leadership recognized the importance of manpower and immediately declared the need for Wfty men to take on the many tasks within the larger eVort to recruit industry. Subgroups, for example, compiled information for new Wrms, improved advertising and publicity, engaged in industrial outreach, coordinated with other Arizona business organizations, and raised funds for recruitment campaigns.14 Within a decade, the chamber’s manufacturing drive grew into a multifaceted juggernaut to attract investment. In the process, leaders transformed the organization into a well-organized, eYcient, and powerful lobbyist for Phoenix. Their recruitment eVorts included increased Drafting a Movement 51 spending for advertisements that targeted both manufacturers and their workforce, extensive trips to sell Phoenix as a lucrative investment for East and West Coast Wrms, lavish parties for visiting industrial scouts, and assurances that the chamber and the city’s electorate would deliver whatever the Wrm needed or demanded during investment negotations.15 The chamber may have been a voluntary association, but boosters always prioritized politics and policymaking. And they had just cause: local, state, and federal governments could either hinder or enable their ability to promote Phoenix and compete for investment. The very Wrst chairman of the chamber’s IDC, propane magnate Paul Fannin, even warned executive oYcers that “industry must have the assurance it will receive a fair deal from the locality in which it locates.” He thus prioritized convincing voters to support the chamber’s industrialization philosophy. Political involvement also Wlled a material need. When chamber members surveyed industrialists about their requirements in the mid-1950s, they discovered that industrialists considered elections “indicative of Arizona’s attitude of ‘independence from big Gov- ernment.’ ” “ The continuing national publicity that both Goldwater and [Republican representative John] Rhodes are receiving was generally known by these people,” analysts reported. “ They openly ex- pressed admiration for both men and for their conservative business attitude.” Moreover, Arizona’s congressmen served promoters and investors. Goldwater met with defense contractors, apprised chamber leaders of their needs, and distributed the organization’s promo- tional materials in Washington. Boosters subsequently considered political victories as a part of their broad push for investment. The association’s lengthy 1948–49 list of accomplishments, for example, highlighted lobbying eVorts that cajoled state legislators to pass new zoning and planning regulations and to weaken the workmen’s com- pensation law.16 Hence, control of the city government was high on the chamber’s agenda. In 1949, the leaders of the Phoenix business community, in - cluding Goldwater, seized the city council and mayor’s oYce by ousting a coalition composed of small-business owners, who had dominated city government since Phoenix’s Wrst charter revisions in 1915, as well as a new set of liberal reformers who held power brieXy in the mid- 1940s. These businessmen-politicians organized themselves within the 52 elizabeth tandy shermer nominally nonpartisan Charter Government Committee, a political machine that held power for roughly a quarter century. The organization included and named industry-minded Democrats to their slates, but founding members still considered the group to be “the nucleus of what turned out to be the Republican Party,” driven by the GOP’s “same hard workers.”17

Party Building

Indeed, boosters channeled their energies into party politics, particularly the creation of a viable, anti–New Deal state GOP. The drive came out of Phoenix. Since the 1930s, top businessmen had espoused an interest in countering the state Democratic Party with a Repub- lican Party opposed to modern liberalism. Both Goldwater and his childhood friend Harry Rosenzweig, a jeweler, considered a true “two-party” system imperative. Goldwater even argued politics was more important than their personal ventures. “I don’t think the future of Goldwater’s means a thing,” he told journalist and future Repub- lican governor Howard Pyle, “unless we insure the political future of Arizona and the country.”18 The postwar GOP was thus fundamentally reborn in opposition to New Deal liberalism and transformed through the pursuit of investment. Reconstruction had predated the IDC. The State Com- mittee chairman had urged drafters of the 1945 platform to take a stand against the Democratic Party’s “extremely liberal communistic and bureaucratic ideals.” He wanted the organization to “be the conservative party of Arizona and of America.” This Republican, and his supporters, envisioned an organization dedicated to principles at the core of the later modern conservative movement in their emphasis on “the importance of property rights and human rights, and pro- tecting both from impairment or destruction” by “government by minorities . . . class or race prejudice, or . . . favoring one section of our population above any other.” Individual freedom from “leftist labor bosses and certain beneWciaries of the public payroll” informed this dedication to a “two-party system” with “a deWnite battle line between the two parties” so “the minority party . . . can hope to become the majority party.” Yet he buried a commitment to “the Drafting a Movement 53 shaping of the industrial and agricultural future of Arizona” within these resolutions.19 But promoting free enterprise by reducing taxes and weakening unions would become a clarion call after the war when young Repub- licans took over the GOP. Many ran for precinct posts in 1948 and forty won critical seats, which took older members by surprise: “We did not think they ever would actually take over the party organization.” Business-minded Republicans quickly infused the party with their investment-focused politics. The 1948 state platform, for example, led with support for the recently passed amendments to New Deal labor law, the 1947 Taft-Hartley Act, as well as opposition to labor’s eVorts to repeal the state’s right-to-work law. Other planks asserted that current taxes were too burdensome on state property owners. Only in the Wnal sections did Republicans proclaim “support [for] a comprehensive program aimed at the development of aviation, both civil and military.” Two years later, with the IDC in full swing, labor still topped the 1950 platform, yet anti-unionism was now couched within a concern for investment, not militant calls for vigi- lance. The opening plank deemed workplace unrest harmful to the state’s economic welfare and set the tone for proclamations that “future development of Arizona is dependent upon the industrial expansion of our state” and that “industry goes where it is invited.” Republicans accordingly promised new favorable tax laws, studies and statistics for potential new investors, and “counsel and advice in securing land or facilities for their use.”20 Such persistence also emphasized how formidable the postwar Ari- zona Democratic Party was. GOP membership lagged far behind Democratic registration. The one-to-four ratio in sparsely populated Arizona meant that Republicans could easily meet in Phoenix’s Adams Hotel during the war (in, as one member recalled, “a room that was, ohhh, very, very small”). John J. Rhodes found little had changed after 1945. The Kansas native and Harvard Law School graduate had been stationed in Higley, Arizona, in 1941 and relocated to the Valley after the war. “I had been looking for Republicans,” Rhodes remarked about his early days in Phoenix. “I found two or three, a couple of young lawyers in Phoenix and others.” The litigator recalled that a justice of the peace had even discouraged his Plains State political pro- clivities: “ ‘You want to register as a Democrat, of course.’ I said, ‘No, 54 elizabeth tandy shermer

Republican.’ He said, ‘Major, there aren’t any Republicans in Chan- dler. . . . You’re a nice young man and you might want to stay here and you won’t amount to anything as a Republican.’ ” Rhodes ignored the jurist and instead joined the chamber, founded a Young Repub- licans Club, and openly campaigned for anti-union ballot initiatives central to chamber-driven industrialization.21 Yet the postwar Democratic Party had hardly been the monolith that Rhodes implied. “Primaries were hotly contested, sometimes bit- ter aVairs,” a pundit once remarked. These run-oVs bespoke increasing divisions between liberal and conservative Democrats. These so- called JeVersonian or pinto Democrats had hoped, as one explained, to “purge the Democratic party of those Democrats of convenience who crawled aboard in 1932.” Swelling liberal ranks inspired some conservative Democrats to leave the party during the Depression. For example, Frank Brophy, an executive at the Phoenix National Bank, a leading member of the state GOP, and prominent John Birch Soci- ety member, had supported Roosevelt and the New Deal. “I voted for him the second time because his Wrst term, in the Wrst New Deal, was extraordinary,” Brophy explained. “ They did some remarkable things. They cleaned up.” The banker later broke with the Democrats because the 1938 court-packing plan “gave me a pretty good insight into what sort of man I later believed Franklin Roosevelt to be.”22 Liberal Democrats encouraged such defections. They began a sus- tained campaign in the 1950s to gain solid control over the state’s party. “We have much new blood in the Arizona Democratic party organization,” an activist reported to Senator Carl Hayden, a main- stay of Arizona’s Progressive and liberal Democratic circles since the territorial period. This oYcial promised these young Dems would help the “old guard” create “another Democratic stronghold.”23 “Pinto” Democrats, who hesitated to reregister, became increasingly nonplussed. “I am a registered Democrat,” a Tucson resident admitted in 1950, “and hoping the Republicans oVer a platform or plan a bit improved ove[r] the welfare and booze program of the Dems.” The Phoenix Republicans’ attacks on the federal government’s in - creasing power won over many. “I am registered as a Democrat,” one Phoenician explained in a 1950 letter to Republican gubernatorial candidate Howard Pyle, “but, I’d like to see you win. I liked what you Drafting a Movement 55 said about JeVerson and the JeVersonian philosophy of government. I liked what you said about ‘too much government.’ ”24 Early drives rested on Goldwater and Rosenzweig’s policy of “drafting” candidates hostile to the New Deal order. Their insistence that Republicans run for oYce was critical: many state and local positions went uncontested prior to their eVorts. The Phoenix retailers theorized that they would capture voters who selected a straight ticket. Hence, Goldwater picked young, energetic Republicans to Wll out the ballot. He even told Rhodes prior to the 1950 election, “I’m drafting you to run for Attorney General,” which led to the following exchange: “ ‘Mr. Goldwater, there is something you need to know. I don’t want to be Attorney General.’ And he said, ‘Mr. Rhodes, there’s something you should know. You won’t be.’ ”25 The GOP nonetheless campaigned and recruited eVectively during the 1950s. An organizational overhaul, in many ways analogous to the chamber’s wartime refashioning, proved highly eVective. Stal- warts created a new bookkeeping system to better process contributions, began IBM card Wles of registered Democrats and Republicans in Maricopa and Pima counties, completed systematic voting analy- sis on past major elections, held a statewide fundraising drive, surveyed all Republican households, began clipping Wles on major events and issues, established a party newspaper, generated mailing lists for all members, helped start Young Republican clubs across the state, and sent oYcials to speak before audiences in each county. Party activists also campaigned outside their exclusive, Anglo neighborhoods, arguing that economic opportunity and growth through free enterprise would best serve the Anglo and minority working classes.26 Women, as in other GOP precincts across the country, were eVective shock troops in these electoral eVorts and organizational overhauls. State Republican women’s clubs canvassed neighborhoods, typed letters, stuVed envelopes, hosted fundraising coVees and lunches, and even “organize[d] some gals” on the party’s behalf. Winslow clubwomen hosted a Lincoln Day dinner for the entire town, showcasing a then-novel color Wlm of the 1952 inauguration that featured Gold- water as much as the new Republican president, Dwight D. Eisen- hower. The FlagstaV chapter held an “old time dance” with “many more Democrats than Republicans there.” Women also made a con- certed eVort to win over non-Anglo Arizonans by urging them with 56 elizabeth tandy shermer some success to form their own clubs. Clubwomen also availed themselves to the national party for “any information and material you may choose to send us as a guide to better club work.” “We need to know how we best can serve the Republican Party, how we may pres- ent ourselves to our community as an informed group of working women,” the Winslow chapter’s president enthused, “We also need encouragement and consideration.”27 As a result of these eVorts, the GOP grew rapidly. Membership rose steadily, while the number of Democrats declined brieXy in the mid-1950s. Political watchdogs blamed new arrivals from the Midwest on the surge in Republican registrations, but that inXux alone cannot account for the seismic shifts in Arizona’s politics. Growth came in part from pinto defections, which also left both parties much more ideologically cohesive. Nonetheless, unaYliated voters and new Dem - ocratic registrants prevented the Republican Party from eclipsing its rival’s membership until 1985.28 Yet the party was competitive long before this tipping point. Many observers claimed that Republicans had the opportunity for victory in only three counties (Maricopa, Pima, and Yavapai) in the early 1950s. The other eleven were “safe” for Democrats. Yet by 1958, only Wve of these counties remained a “sure thing” for the Democrats. The GOP even seemed to have a lock on Maricopa County, where Phoenix continued to mushroom. Republicans did continue to struggle in rural areas, where party oYcials could not always Wnd candidates to contest every election. Even in 1958, when some analysts already asserted that the state GOP had unheralded political legitimacy and inXu - ence, Republicans contested less than half of the open state senate seats. Republican power was still undeniably increasing. In the lower house, GOP ranks rose from twenty-Wve (seventeen from Phoenix) in 1959 to thirty-Wve in 1964. Democrats lost control of both chambers in 1966.29 The GOP still struggled to win congressional seats. Rhodes, who campaigned in Phoenix, won reelection easily throughout the 1950s, but the GOP failed to elect a candidate to the second seat, which ini- tially encompassed all residents not living in Maricopa County, until the 1970s. Hayden also stayed in oYce until he chose to retire in 1968. The senator had represented Arizonans in Washington since statehood, where he proved himself instrumental to securing the big, federally Drafting a Movement 57 funded, western water projects that Goldwater and his chamber counterparts viewed as vital for economic growth. Many of the leading members of the Arizona GOP thus supported Hayden’s continual re - turn to Washington because he was a Senate workhorse and the driv- ing force behind ensuring Arizona’s share of the Colorado River’s water through the federal Central Arizona Project. Hayden also dis- tanced himself from his Progressive and New Deal Era allegiances to redistribution and trade unionism, which made him somewhat more acceptable to booster Republicans and an electorate that increasingly voted for a GOP dedicated to antiliberal industrialization.30 In contrast, Republicans and Democrats engaged in a protracted war for the governor’s mansion. Pyle’s 1950 run was the opening shot. He, Goldwater, and future Phoenix mayor and Republican governor Jack Williams started broadcasting on Phoenix’s KFDA as teenagers. Pyle and Williams stayed in the radio business and became successful broadcasters. Pyle then became well regarded throughout the state for his skillful, moving coverage of World War II battlefronts, which included interviews with Arizonan servicemen and coverage of Japan’s formal surrender. Goldwater hence wanted to draft the renowned newscaster into Republican political campaigns. The merchant had planned to run for governor in 1950 with the well-known Pyle serv- ing as his campaign manager, a role intended to prepare the journalist for a 1952 Senate run. “I knew absolutely nothing about politics,” Pyle later admitted.31 He was a quick study. Pyle broke the gentleman’s agreement and ran for the 1950 Republican gubernatorial nomination, pressing issues at the heart of both the GOP’s revival and Phoenix’s industrialization. The candidate attacked opponent Ana Frohmiller, the state auditor who had won twelve previous elections, for her support of the current state tax code and Arizona’s liberal public assistance program. He deemed them impediments to industrialization, won a resound- ing 1950 victory, and then triumphed in 1952. While in oYce, he en- deavored to impose the chamber’s free-enterprise conservatism on the state. “It won’t hurt us,” he told voters in his reelection bid, “to think and plan and act as . . . if this were a private enterprise and we were operating it with a proWt motive.” Restructuring the government, as boosters had refashioned the chamber and state GOP, topped his agenda. Pyle called for consolidating operations, eliminating elections 58 elizabeth tandy shermer for some state oYces, and cutting back on social services in the name of “increasing governmental eYciency.”32 But voters turned Pyle out of oYce in 1954. Self-proclaimed “Mr. Democrat,” Ernest McFarland, enlisted a slew of famous liberals, in - cluding then-senator Lyndon Baines Johnson, to back his challenge. McFarland called Pyle’s reforms “un-democratic,” because they re- moved “the right of the people to select their public oYcials,” imply- ing that “you, citizens of the State, are incompetent to choose your public oYcials.” Pyle responded by insinuating that labor bosses were manipulating his critics. But scandal ultimately cost Pyle the election. He lost Maricopa County, particularly the city of Mesa, which had a large Mormon population, because he had ordered a raid on remote, isolated Short Creek, Arizona, where oYcials suspected residents prac- ticed polygamy. Police arrested women and men, incarcerated some in faraway Kingman, Arizona, sent some children to foster homes, and left others with their young mothers. Many LDS followers stayed home on election day, and others voted for McFarland, which left the incumbent without the necessary support in urban Arizona to carry the day.33 Yet neither party could manage to hold the state’s highest oYce as long as Democrats had before 1950. Paul Fannin easily defeated his Democratic opponent on a booster Republican platform in 1958. He held this oYce until 1965, when he left the governor’s mansion to take Goldwater’s place in the Senate. Control of the executive branch Xipped back and forth in the ensuing decades, but Democratic victories never represented a repudiation of booster governance. Success- ful candidates generally made the same commitment to investment policies as their Republican opponents but also promised voters more consideration for civil rights and environmental issues.34 Goldwater, however, held onto his place in the Senate for decades. Pyle’s 1950 gubernatorial win had left Goldwater as the Republican draftee for the 1952 election, a contest against McFarland, who had won the Senate seat in 1940. The oYce enabled him to help draft the GI Bill of Rights and to negotiate demobilization agreements favorable to Arizona communities and taxpayers. Thus, Goldwater did not so much campaign against McFarland as position himself against FDR’s legacy and Truman’s administration. The merchant, for example, did not single out his opponent in his general denouncement of Drafting a Movement 59 the “Powercrats,” whom he identiWed as a “small group of willful men who have recklessly exalted their personal power and seek to increase and perpetuate their selWsh control over the free men and free women of America.” The term was as loaded as his earlier indictment of Roo- sevelt in the pages of the Phoenix Gazette. Goldwater claimed there was but one reason for the seemingly expansive and illegitimate power of “Harry S.(for Spendthrift) Truman”: corruption. Goldwater pushed Arizonans to stop “big government” because “waste and wild exper- iments, and give aways in government . . . creats [sic] deWcits and deWcits create inXation and that in the end the ultimate consumer pays the total of government.” He, like other Phoenix Republicans, even cast himself as the true descendant of the JeVersonian Demo- crats. “[W]hat has happened to the great Democratic party,” he asked, “which historically and traditionally has always stood as the protec- tor of the individual’s freedom and the individual’s liberty?” “[T]he Great Democratic party is . . . subservient,” he continued, “to the wishes of wilful, power hungry men who lust for dictatorship, but not for freedom, men who have stated in their private letters that you and I are too damned dumb to make the right decisions.”35 Goldwater and other business-minded Republicans won decisively in 1952. The senator-elect took a majority in fewer counties than McFar- land but still edged his opponent by seven thousand votes, with support from men and women voters, and the young and elderly, as well as white-collar workers and professionals. The Arizona GOP, with aid from numerous registered Democrats, made substantial gains in all levels of governance. Republicans increased their seats in the eighty- member lower house from eleven to thirty and gained four seats in the Senate, where they previously had none. Arizonans also elected Rhodes, the state’s Wrst Republican representative. Liberal strategists considered the 1952 results alarming. “From then on through the Wf - ties,” a Hayden staVer recounted, “I witnessed a steady swing to the right in the political climate of Arizona.”36 Goldwater went on to prove himself as adept at inXuencing national debates as he had been at transforming state politics. During his Wrst term, Goldwater spent much of his time traveling the country to deliver speeches for the Republican Senate Campaign Committee. When he did speak before the Senate, he preached the developing industrialization gospel that he and his compatriots had honed in 60 elizabeth tandy shermer

Phoenix. Thus, he advanced a Phoenix, rather than a Dwight Eisen- hower, Republicanism. Indeed, Goldwater’s attacks traversed party lines: he rebuked anyone still promoting the expansion, no matter how limited, of the welfare state. Hence, Goldwater found himself exasperated that the Wrst Republican president in two decades seemed to embrace the New Deal state. To his friends, he wrote, “It’s obvious that the Administration has succumbed to the principle that we owe some sort of living, including all types of care to the citizens of this country, and I am beginning to wonder if we haven’t gone a lot far- ther than many of us think on this road we happily call socialism.”37 Goldwater staked out his most distinctive and politically conse- quential positions when he challenged both Eisenhower moderates and Democratic Party liberals on issues that touched on the radical reform of federal labor policy. Goldwater was the Republican Right’s most outspoken and eVective critic of what he called “monopoly unionism.” He clashed publicly with supporters of the Eisenhower administration’s labor policy. In the summer of 1954, the Arizonan sponsored an amendment to the 1947 Taft-Hartley Act that would give much of the federal government’s power over industrial relations to the states. He argued that with these proposed revisions states could, conceivably, pass laws that would require 95 percent, not just a majority, of the workforce to support a union before certiWcation. Policymakers were aghast. One liberal senator charged that Goldwa- ter’s proposals “are determined . . . to drive a blow at organized labor that will send it rolling and rocking for weeks and months and years to come.”38 Increased public concern over labor’s power gave Goldwater a chance to make himself a household name and spread the antilabor message that had laid the foundation for the investment-oriented, free-enterprise conservatism found in Phoenix and the rest of the emer- gent Sunbelt. In 1957, the US Senate created the Select Committee on Improper Activities in the Labor or Management Field (also known as the McClellan or Rackets Committee) after headline-grabbing scandals, especially those involving the Teamsters, seemed to tie the labor movement to a vast network of organized crime interests. Goldwater and other Republicans on the Rackets Committee were critical of Teamster leaders, but they targeted Walter Reuther, the ambitious, visionary United Auto Workers (UAW) president. Goldwater Drafting a Movement 61 expended little energy exposing Reuther’s earlier radical political aYli- ations but grilled him about UAW contributions to and inXuence on state and national Democratic Party leaders, the aggressive and sometimes violent nature of UAW organizing eVorts, and Reuther’s larger ideological and political ambitions.39 For the senator, Reuther embodied labor’s increasing power on both the shop Xoor and Capitol Hill. Goldwater disliked Reuther’s “bold statements on matters of domestic, foreign, and political policy which have only a most obscure bearing on the interests and welfare of labor union members.” This last concern was Goldwater’s greatest. He pushed Republicans to ask, “Do these statements of Wal- ter Reuther constitute a proper function of his responsibility to the members of these unions? Indeed, what is Walter Reuther’s job?” In January 1958 Goldwater Xew to Detroit, where he chastised an Eco- nomic Club audience, well marbled with executives from the Big Three automakers, for their unwillingness to curb UAW economic or political ambitions. In a critique, which was reminiscent of the complaints he lodged against other timid businessmen in his Depression era edi- torials, Goldwater declared Reuther “more dangerous to our country than Sputnik or anything Soviet Russia might do.”A week later, Gold- water told the press, “ This man cannot meet the charges that I, as well as others have made about him and his obsessive drive for political power.” The antagonism between both men reached its zenith during a well-noted exchange at Reuther’s three-day interrogation before the Senate Rackets Committee, when Goldwater told the UAW president that he would “rather have HoVa stealing my money than Reuther stealing my freedom.”40 Goldwater’s 1958 reelection campaign became, in eVect, a national showdown with Reuther, a state-level referendum on the empowered Arizona GOP, and a test of the boosters’ industrialization philosophy. Indeed, Goldwater campaigned primarily against Reuther, not his opponent, then-governor Ernest McFarland. But Arizona Republi- cans and Phoenix boosters did well in a year that saw heavy GOP losses elsewhere: Rhodes was sent back to Washington, and Fannin was elected governor. Pundits considered this and other Arizona GOP victories as evidence of a profound shift in the state’s political character.41 Yet Goldwater’s victory also had national ramiWcations. The Wrst prominent cowboy conservative earned new respect and acclaim. 62 elizabeth tandy shermer

Major news outlets such as Time and the Saturday Evening Post took notice of this rugged westerner and devoted pages to the Republican who had deWed labor and the Democrats. Republican senator Everett Dirksen praised Goldwater openly for his “courage, [his] singleness of purpose and [his] determination to get a job done in a Weld of en - deavor which has frightened so many in public life because they were afraid of reprisal.” Richard Nixon reached out to the reelected senator in the hope that Goldwater could help revitalize the GOP. Soon after, when Goldwater accepted the chairmanship of the Republican Senate Campaign Committee, he announced that he was “proud of being a conservative” and demanded “the party quit copying the New Deal,” statements that served as the fuel that Wred the Wrst “Draft Goldwater” movement.42 Goldwater’s political ascendancy had also mirrored the Arizona GOP’s rapid maturation. The party’s reorganization, growth, and success had established it as a major force within the national GOP appa- ratus by 1960. In 1961 the Arizona aYliate hosted the annual gathering of western Republican state parties for the Wrst time. Goldwater, still chairman of the Republican Senate Campaign Committee, even head - lined the event.43 This coup for the state party and its standard-bearer represented just how far the GOP and Phoenix had come since 1945. Phoenix was no longer a remote farming outpost but an industrial juggernaut. Urban businessmen were, moreover, largely responsible. They, like boosters across the industrializing South and Southwest, had done the early groundwork for metropolitan growth and also the regional party realignment that would confound pundits, journalists, and scholars after Reagan’s 1980 election.

Notes

Author’s Note: Portions of this chapter are also in Elizabeth Tandy Shermer, “Sun- belt Boosterism: Industrial Recruitment, Economic Development, and Growth Politics in the Developing Sunbelt,” in Sunbelt Rising, ed. Michelle Nickerson and Darren Dochuk (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 31– 57; and Elizabeth Tandy Shermer, “Origins of the Conservative Ascendancy: Barry Goldwater’s Early Senate Career and the De-legitimization of Organized Labor,” Journal of American History 95 (December 2008): 678–709. Drafting a Movement 63

1. For an overview of this scholarship, see Bruce Schulman and Julian Zelizer, eds., Rightward Bound: Making American Conservative in the 1970s (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2010); Julian E. Zelizer, “Rethinking the History of American Conservatism,” Reviews in American History 38 (2): 367–92. 2. Kim Phillips-Fein, Invisible Hands: The Making of the Conservative Move- ment from the New Deal to Reagan (New York: W. W. Norton, 2009), esp. 321– 30; Robert Alan Goldberg Barry Goldwater (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995); Rick Perlstein Before the Storm: Barry Goldwater and the Unmaking of the American Consensus (New York: Hill and Wang, 2001); Kirkpatrick Sale, Power Shift (New York: Random House, 1975); JeV Roche, ed., The Political Culture of the New West (Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 2008). 3. Elizabeth Tandy Shermer, “Creating the Sunbelt: The Political and Eco- nomic Transformation of Phoenix, Arizona” (PhD diss., University of California, Santa Barbara, 2009); Tami J. Friedman, “Exploiting the North–South DiVer- ential: Corporate Power, Southern Politics, and the Decline of Organized Labor after World War II,” Journal of American History 95 (September 2008): 323–48. 4. William S. Collins, The New Deal in Arizona (Phoenix: Arizona State Parks Board, 1999); Nancy Anderson Guber, “ The Development of Two-Party Compe- tition in Arizona” (master’s thesis, University of Illinois, 1961); Gerald D. Nash, The Federal Landscape: An Economic History of the Twentieth-Century West (Ari- zona: University of Arizona Press, 1993); Gerald D. Nash, World War II and the West: Reshaping the Economy (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1990); Sher - mer, “Creating the Sunbelt,” chs. 1–2. 5. Shermer, “Creating the Sunbelt,” chs. 2–3; Matthew C. Whitaker, Race Work: The Rise of Civil Rights in the Urban West (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2005). 6. Shermer, “Creating the Sunbelt,” ch. 3. 7. Quoted in Elizabeth Tandy Shermer, “Origins of the Conservative Ascen- dancy: Barry Goldwater’s Early Senate Career and the De-legitimization of Orga- nized Labor,” Journal of American History 95 (December 2008): 678–709, 685. 8. Ibid., 686–87. 9. Ibid., 686; Quoted in Shermer, “Creating the Sunbelt,” ch. 3. 10. Judith Anne Jacobson, “ The Phoenix Chamber of Commerce: A Case Study of Economic Development in Central Arizona” (master’s thesis, Arizona State University, 1992), 6–11; Shermer, “Creating the Sunbelt,” chs. 3–4. 11. Shermer, “Creating the Sunbelt,” ch. 3; Arthur G. Horton, An Economic, Political, and Social Survey of Phoenix and the Valley of the Sun (Tempe, AZ: South- side Progress, 1941), quoted on 145 and 197. 12. Frank Snell, “Program for the Chamber of Commerce,” June 23, 1939, folder 10, box 1, Frank Snell Papers, Arizona Historical Foundation (Tempe) [hereinafter cited as Snell]; Frank Snell, “President’s Report for Fiscal Year May 1, 1939–May 1, 1940,” April 26, 1940, folder 15, box 1, folder 15, Snell. 13. Jacobson, “Phoenix Chamber of Commerce,” esp. 6–26, quoted on 25; Matthew Glenn McCoy, “Desert Metropolis: Image Building and the Growth 64 elizabeth tandy shermer of Phoenix, 1940–1965” (PhD diss., Arizona State University, 2000), 99–100; Shermer, “Creating the Sunbelt,” chs. 3–4. 14. Board of Directors, Minutes of Meeting, July 21, 1947, 1–3, October 20, 1947, 5–6, bound volume labeled “1947–1948,” Board of Directors Records, Greater Phoenix Chamber of Commerce (Phoenix) [hereinafter cited as Phoenix Cham- ber]; Board of Directors, Minutes of Meeting, July 16, 1948, 1–3, bound volume labeled “1948–1949,” Phoenix Chamber; “Industrial Program Hits Full Stride,” Whither Phoenix 3 (April 1948): 1. 15. Shermer, “Creating the Sunbelt,” chs. 6–8. 16. Board of Directors, Minutes of Meeting, October 20, 1947, 5–6, bound volume labeled “1947–1948,” Phoenix Chamber; C. E. Van Ness, “1948–49: A Great Year of Accomplishment,” Phoenix Action!, 4 (May 1949): 1–2. 17. Michael F. Konig, “ Toward Metropolis Status: Charter Government and the Rise of Phoenix, Arizona, 1945–1960” (PhD diss., Arizona State University, 1983); William S. Collins, The Emerging Metropolis: Phoenix, 1944–1973 (Phoenix: Arizona State Parks Board, 2005); Shermer, “Creating the Sunbelt,” ch. 5; Charles Walters interview by Robert Goldberg, transcript, August 31, 1991, 2–3, 7, 9, Robert Goldberg Collection, Arizona Historical Foundation, Tempe. 18. Shermer, “Creating the Sunbelt,” chs. 3 and 6; Guber, “Development of Two-Party Competition in Arizona,” 33–34; Barry Goldwater to Howard Pyle, May 1, 1954, box 1, folder 3, Howard Pyle Collection (Department of Archives and Special Collections, Arizona State University, Tempe); Orme Lewis interview with Kristina Minister, April 14, 1988, audiotape, side 2 tape 2, Chamber Centennial Oral History Interviews (Greater Phoenix Chamber of Commerce). 19. C. V. Gulley to Orme Lewis, October 26, 1945, box 7, folder 14, Orme Lewis Collection, Arizona Historical Foundation (Tempe) [hereinafter cited as Lewis]; Minutes of Meeting of Republican State Central Committee, Novem- ber 3 and 4, 1945, 2, 8–9, box 7, folder 15, Lewis. 20. “Republican Party Platform–1948,” p. 2, box 7, folder 4, 2, Lewis; “Repub- lican Party Platform–1959,” p. 1, folder 13, Lewis; Stephen Shadegg, Arizona Pol- itics: The Struggle to End One-Party Rule (Tempe: Arizona State University Press, 1986), 32–33. 21. John J. Rhodes interview by Dean Smith, transcript, May 1, 1991, 8, 10, Oral History Collection, Department of Archives and Special Collections, Ari- zona State University (Tempe) [hereinafter ASU Oral History]; John J. Rhodes interview by Zona Davis Lorig, November 30, 1992, transcript, Phoenix History Project, Arizona Historical Society (Tempe) [hereinafter PHP]; Ruth Adams interview by G. Wesley Johnson, September 29, 1978, p. 19, PHP. 22. Frank Brophy interview by Patricia Clark, n.d., transcript, p. 2, ASU Oral History; Shadegg, Arizona Politics, 7. 23. Shermer, Creating the Sunbelt, ch. 5. 24. Columbus Giragi to W. P. Stuart, August 28, 1935, box 1, folder 5, Stuart Family Papers, Department of Archives and Special Collections, Arizona State University (Tempe); Ruth B. Fitzgerald to Howard V. Pyle, October 9, 1950, box Drafting a Movement 65

19, folder 1a, 1,Pyle; Unsigned letter to Howard Pyle, June 20, 1950, box 19, folder 1a, 1, Pyle. 25. Rhodes interview by Smith, 11–12; Shermer, “Creating the Sunbelt,” chs. 3 and 6. 26. Shermer, “Creating the Sunbelt,” chs. 3 and 6. 27. Ibid. 28. Ross R. Rice, “ The 1958 Election in Arizona,” Western Political Quarterly 12 (March 1959), 266–75; Howard Pyle, “Making History: Good, Bad, and Indif- ferent,” March 6, 1985, typescript, box 12, folder 6, 7, ASU Oral Histories. 29. Pyle, “Making History,” 8–9; Guber, “Development of Two-Party Com- petition in Arizona,” 33–34, 53–55; Shadegg, Arizona Politics, 107–46. 30. Guber, “Development of Two-Party Competition in Arizona,” 33–34, 53– 55; Pyle, “Making History,” 8–9; Shermer, “Creating the Sunbelt,” chs. 6–7. 31. “Nonpolitical Politician,” Time, March 26, 1951, 26; Shadegg, Arizona Pol- itics, 32, 65–71. 32. Shadegg, Arizona Politics, 32, 65–71; Goldberg, Barry Goldwater, 32, 84– 86, 94; Guber, “Development of Two-Party Competition in Arizona,” 75–100; Howard Pyle, “Address by Governor Howard Pyle,” October 30, 1952, typescript, box 34, folder 1, 7–8, Pyle; Pyle, untitled legislative address January 23, 1951, box 33, folder 5, 4, Pyle. 33. Ernest McFarland [campaign speech], undated, series 8, subgroup II, box 186, folder 19, 2, 4, Public and Personal Papers of Ernest McFarland, McFar- land Historic State Park, Florence, AZ; James McMillan, Ernest W. McFarland: Majority Leader of the United States Senate, Governor, and Chief Justice of the State of Arizona (Prescott, AZ: Sharlot Hall Museum Press, 2004), 288–89; N. D. Houghton, “ The 1954 Elections in Arizona,” Western Political Quarterly 7 (Decem- ber 1954), 594–96. 34. James Johnson, Arizona Politicians: The Notable and the Notorious (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2002), 101–10, 158–67; Shadegg, Arizona Politics, 197–99; See also Micaela Anne Larkin’s chapter in this book. 35. Quoted in Shermer, “Origins of the Conservative Ascendancy,” 690–692. 36. Ibid., 694; Guber, “Development of Two-Party Competition in Arizona,” 67–68, 108–23; Roy Elson, “Orchestrating Senator Carl Hayden’s Last Campaign,” Journal of Arizona History 41 (December 2000), 413–24, esp. 413. 37. Quoted in Shermer, “Origins of the Conservative Ascendancy,” 696. 38. Quoted in ibid., 698. 39. Ibid., 698–703. 40. Quoted in ibid., 701–2. 41. Ibid., 704–10. 42. Quoted in ibid., 706. 43. Rice, “1958 Election in Arizona,” 267; Shermer, “Creating the Sunbelt,” ch. 6.