tRicK oR tReAt 219
Jim Kneeland, a former Gardner press secretary who had become a
political consultant, was critical of the media’s role as enabler by spend-
ing “a disproportionate amount of time” focusing on the commercials.
But that horse was already so far out of the barn trying to lasso it was fu-
tile. “Truth Squad” sidebars designed to help viewers and readers survive
barrages of negativity became a staple of political coverage.^11
The Adams campaign relentlessly styled Brock as a principled fighter.
Adams’ most memorable, and likely most effective, commercial posed
him in front of a giant diesel locomotive hauling out-of-state nuclear
waste to Hanford. “I’m stopping these trains from making Washington
state a dump!” Adams vowed.^12
Before he headed West to cover the race, Joel Connelly, the Post-Intelli-
gencer’s Washington correspondent, pored over internal documents de-
tailing how the Department of Energy was ignoring the views of its own
scientists on whether the basalt beneath Hanford could safely contain
radioactive material. Gorton pointed to the revelation as more evidence
that the administration needed to find another site.13*
whenong c Ress finALLy wRApped up woRK on the tax reform bill and
adjourned on October 18, Gorton dashed to the airport. He had 16 days to
try and save his seat. Adams had been at it every day for months. He and
the governor were practically joined at the hip, an inspired decision. In
public affection, a columnist marveled, Booth Gardner ranked “some-
where between Donald Duck and fresh-baked bread.” One of the TV spots
ordered up by Globokar and Greer paired portraits of the two that were so
strikingly similar it almost appeared they were brothers—two happy war-
riors against a first-termer with high negatives. Joe Biden, the ranking
Democrat on the Senate Judiciary Committee, and Ted Kennedy came to
Seattle to flail Gorton as a flip-flopper on the Manion vote. Kennedy
passed the hat, sang a few verses of “My Wild Irish Rose” and took off the
gloves to emphasize his colleagues’ “antipathy toward Slade Gorton.” The
breach of Senate etiquette was denounced on both sides of the aisle. Slade
summed up his disgust with his favorite adjective, “ludicrous,” which he
could imbue with sub-zero disdain. Kennedy had spent years futilely
pushing the judicial nomination of one of his father’s pals, a man rated
- In the margin of one critical report an expert had penciled a succinctly unscientific
translation of what the study said about Hanford’s suitability: “It sucks.” Connelly had to
wait 24 years for a more liberal editor before he could share that tidbit.^14