Looking Back On First TV Debate

The first televised presidential debate, which took place 40 years ago this fall, continues to loom as a landmark event in the history of American politics.

For openers, that pioneering encounter between Vice President Richard Nixon and Senator John F. Kennedy had a decisive impact on the outcome of the 1960 election. Had Kennedy not emerged from that debate as the clearly perceived winner, he almost certainly would not have gone on to capture the White House.

During the early weeks of the fall campaign, he had been engaged in an uphill struggle against an opponent who, as a two-term vice president, had established himself as a solid and familiar presence on the national and world stage.

Along with the stature gap, Kennedy had other major obstacles to overcome: At age 43, he stood to be the youngest man ever elected president - and his boyish looks made him appear even younger. Another was religion, for until then no Catholic had ever made it to the White House.

Moreover, various polls through August and September generally supported the prevailing view that Nixon held the upper hand.

As for the prospect of debating Kennedy, Nixon looked forward to that challenge with the firm confidence of a man who had been a champion debater in college and who, on a vice-presidential trip to Moscow in 1959, enhanced his reputation by scoring points off Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev in the so-called "kitchen debate."

So it was against this background that the two combatants met on the night of Sept. 26 in a studio at WBBM-TV, the CBS station in Chicago, for the first of four scheduled debates.

According to the mythology that has come down to us from that historic clash, Nixon was done in by cosmetics - a lousy make-up job. Well, that was certainly part of the problem, but the vice president also made other strategic mistkes.

For one thing, in an effort to dispel his hatchet-man image, Nixon chose to adopt a conciliatory tone. In his very first utterance, a response to his opponent’s opening remarks, he allowed as how "the things that Senator Kennedy has said many of us can agree with."

Throughout the evening, Nixon's attitude was generally defensive, even at times deferential.

In addition, Kennedy was far more shrewd and savvy in recognizing that the exchange of views was more of a television event than a conventional debate, whereas Nixon treated the occasion as if it were the kind of exercise he had engaged in during his student days at Whittier College.

As Theodore H. White observed in his classic book on that campaign, The Making of the President 1960: "For Mr. Nixon was debating with Mr. Kennedy as if a board of judges were scoring points, Nixon was addressing himself to Kennedy - but Kennedy was addressing himself to the audience that was the nation."

And yes, there was the sharp contrast in appearance, or the cosmetic disaster, as it would come to be known in the Nixon camp.
Kennedy had come to Chicago well-rested and sporting a fresh tan, both from recent campaigning in the California sun. He was the very picture of vigor and health, and for this reason he decided (with the approval of his television adviser) not to have theatrical makeup applied to his face.

He settled instead for a very light cosmetic, just a few dabs of Max Factor Crème Puff to cover the pores.

Nixon, on the other hand, was in poor physical shape. A few weeks earlier he had been hospitalized with a serious knee infection, an illness that had taken its toll. He had lost close to 30 pounds, and since his return to the campaign trail, he had driven himself to exhaustion in an ill-advised effort to make up for 10 days he had been confined to a hospital bed.

The signs of illness were especially evident in Nixon's face, which was haggard and gray. A man in his weakened condition probably should not have debated at all, but at the very least he was in desperate need of strong makeup to bring some color and vitality to his face.

Yet when Nixon heard that Kennedy had rejected the theatrical makeup normally used by television performers, he followed suit. The last thing he wanted to see the next morning was headlines that read: NIXON TAKES MAKEUP, KENNEDY REFUSES IT.

So Nixon also settled for a light coating of makeup, in his case something called Lazy Shave, which was mainly designed to reduce the "five o'clock shadow" caused by his heavy dark beard.

The man at the helm for CBS during that first debate was Don Hewitt, a young producer whose creative innovations in news programming had already made him something of a legend in network television circles.

When Nixon emerged from his dressing room on that fateful night in 1960, Hewitt took one look at his wan face and became alarmed. He looks terrible, Hewitt thught, and if Nixon looked terrible, the broadcast might look terrible.

Hewitt was so concerned that he approached the vice president's television man and urged him to reconsider and use the professional makeup the network had suggested. But to no avail. Nixon's people made it clear that as long as Kennedy refused to don the theatrical makeup, then their candidate would also brave the cameras with nothing more than a light cosmetic.

So Richard Nixon proceeded to self-destruct on the historic occasion of America's first televised presidential debate. In looks and overall performance, he was clearly outshone by Kennedy and that deprived him of the huge advantage he had enjoyed as the sitting vice president in the administration of a highly popular president, Dwight D. Eisenhower.

It's true that Nixon came across much better in the three debates that followed. But by then the damage was done.

Kennedy's strong showing in the first encounter enabled him to close the polling gap and shift momentum in his favor. And he built on that just enough to achieve a slender victory in November.

A postscript: Several years later, when Nixon was preparing to launch the comeback that would finally win him the presidency, he appeared on a CBS news program produced by Don Hewitt.

This time, Nixon readily agreed to use theatrical makeup for the interview and, in fact, he made a point of asking Hewitt a number of questions about makeup. Is there much difference from one brand to another? And if so, which one is the best? And other questions like that.

Hewitt replied that the best makeup in the world is a natural tan. He reminded Nixon that prior to the first debate in 1960, Kennedy had been campaigning in California and therefore came to Chicago well tanned, and that is why he hadn't needed any fancy makeup.

Hewitt offered these remarks in a breezy, casual manner, but was struck by Nixon's serious, almost grave reaction. He seemed to be taking in Hewitt's words with a focus and intensity that hardly seemed appropriate in a lighthearted chat about makeup.

By the time he made his run for president in 1968, Nixon had acquired lavish homes in San Clemente, California and Key Biscayne, Florida.

Still later, during the Watergate crisis, one of the minor scandals that came to light was a published report that Nixon had used taxpayer money to pay for landscaping and other improvements on his two oceanfront properties.

And it was then that Hewitt began dining out on the story of his conversation with Nixon about makeup and suntans.

"So I guess I'm the one responsible for the houses in San Clemente and Key Biscayne," he would say in a tone of mock contrition. "It's a tough thing to have on my conscience, but I'll just have to learn to live with it."