Julian E. Zelizer is a historian at Princeton University and fellow at New America. He is the author of The Fierce Urgency of Now and Jimmy Carter.

With 17 candidates in the race to become the Republican presidential nominee, many have mused that the contest looks more like a Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Baily circus than an orderly competition to decide who will govern the nation. Conservatives worry the unruly competition will undermine the capacity of any person to unite the party and win the general election. “We’re in a danger zone,” one Republican establishment figure complained. “What we’ve got … is a confederation of a lot of candidates who aren’t standing out.”

Yet Republicans can find solace in the history the 1976 election, when approximately 17 Democrats, most current and former elected officials, competed to succeed President Gerald Ford. Despite a fractious and crowded primary battle filled with unexpected twists and turns, one candidate was eventually able to unite the party, and the Democrats took the White House in November.


1976 was a volatile moment of distrust and frustration in the electorate. A shocked nation had watched their president literally fly away from Washington in total disgrace after the Watergate scandal. The economy was in disarray as the middle class faced a double whammy of inflation and stagnation. Everything seemed to be going wrong; the status quo was terrible.

Republican President Gerald Ford, a former congressman who had been appointed as vice president by President Richard Nixon when Spiro Agnew resigned and then took over the presidency when Nixon stepped down, was vulnerable. Ford had stumbled through his short presidency and faced a challenge from Ronald Reagan, and actor and the former governor of California who attracted strong support from the growing grass roots conservative movement.

Democrats didn’t have a clear frontrunner. Lyndon Johnson’s downfall and Hubert Humphrey’s failed campaign in 1968 had destroyed any hierarchy within the party. One year later, one of the strongest possible successors, Sen. Ted Kennedy, was badly damaged by his scandal at Chappaquiddick.

Meanwhile, reforms to the nomination process established new procedures for selecting delegates to the convention, severely constraining the power of party leaders (mostly middle aged white men) to influence those selections, and in turn the nominee. With the power of the party bosses broken, the conventions diminished in importance while primaries and caucuses became the main event. The reforms allowed Sen. George McGovern to win the nomination in 1972, as he appealed to constituencies who had previously had much less impact on Democratic conventions, including younger voters, women and minorities. But his defeat to Nixon knocked out yet another major figure.

And so assembled an interesting crew of senators, former governors, local political officials and even an activist, all bent on becoming the Democratic nominee.

When asked why he was running, Shapp said: “I saw the caliber of these people and I said, ‘What the hell.’”

The newspapers assumed that one of the more prominent senators—with experience and name recognition—would win. The most “electable candidate,” or so he said, was Indiana Sen. Birch Bayh, whom columnist David Broder described as the “classic perennial fraternity brother” due to his good looks and love of schmoozing. His colleague, Oklahoma Sen. Fred Harris, ran as an old-fashioned economic populist. Minnesota Democrat Sen. Walter Mondale, who had proven his chops as one of the younger foot soldiers in the passage of the Great Society, competed to be the representative of classic New Deal liberalism.

Frank Church believed that the nomination was his to take. The senator from Idaho had gained national attention through his dramatic investigation of the Central Intelligence Agency, revealing that the U.S. government had attempted assassinations on foreign leaders such as Fidel Castro and had wiretapped civil rights and antiwar activists during the tumultuous 1960s and early 1970s. Wearing a pin that said “Wait,” Church remained silent until March of 1976 with the hope that the contestants in the early primaries would weaken each other through their fighting and then he could step in, still unscathed, to win some of the bigger primaries with large delegate counts.

Washington Sen. Henry “Scoop” Jackson was a staunch New Deal liberal and a hawk on foreign policy. Like Bayh, Jackson boasted that he was the only person who could create a broad coalition for the party. For some he offered the perfect mix, a little bit of FDR and LBJ when it came to government at home and a touch of Ronald Reagan when dealing with the communist threat abroad. Republicans feared that he would be difficult to defeat.

From the House, Arizona Rep. Morris Udall was well respected among fellow liberals. Not only did he boast of a famous family name (his brother had been the secretary of the Interior for John F. Kennedy, but the physically imposing 6’5” congressman had proven himself to be an ardent champion of older New Deal programs as well as a passionate advocate of environmentalism.

There were a number of non-legislators with political experience who likewise threw their hats into the ring. Sargent Shriver, the late JFK’s brother-in-law, was the widely admired and energetic founding director of LBJ’s Peace Corps and the War on Poverty.

Milton Shapp, the first Jewish governor of Pennsylvania, banked his candidacy on a northern strategy. He boasted that he had helped to solve his state’s deep fiscal crisis. When asked why he was running, Shapp said: “I saw the caliber of these people and I said, ‘What the hell.’”

For those who believed that Democrats needed a southerner, the former governor of North Carolina and president of Duke University, Terry Sanford, promised to attract the newer voices of his region that were more concerned with growing the economy than fighting old racial wars.

Former Alabama Gov. and presidential candidate George Wallace didn’t agree. Now sitting in a wheel chair as a result of an assassination attempt, his campaign tapped into the racial resentments that ran deep in the electorate. Saying “we ought to have the electric chair installed in this country—build more penitentiaries,” Wallace promised he would be tough on crime.



THE CANDIDATES | Top row, from left: Indiana Sen. Birch Bayh, Oklahoma Sen. Fred Harris, Minnesota Sen. Walter Mondale, Idaho Sen. Frank Church, Washington Sen. Henry “Scoop” Jackson, Arizona Rep. Morris Udall. Second row: Former Amb. to France Sargent Shriver, former North Carolina Gov. Terry Sanford, former Alabama Gov. George Wallace, West Virginia Sen. Robert Byrd, former Georgia Gov. Jimmy Carter, D.C. delegate to Congress William Edward Fauntroy. Third row: D.C Mayor Walter Washington, Texas Sen. Lloyd Bensten, Pennsylvania Gov. Milton Shapp, California Gov. Edmund “Jerry” Brown.



The impeccably dressed Lloyd Bentsen was a senator from Texas with close ties to the oil industry. “Not since Herbert Hoover have we had an economic policy that has done so much for so few, and so little for so many,” he told union workers. His campaign revolved around a blend of free market solutions and public investment. One colleague anonymously warned: “He is unencumbered, by people, ideas, anything.” West Virginia Sen. Robert Byrd, the Majority Whip, likewise vied for the more conservative voices in his party when he ran as a “favorite son” candidate in his state’s primary.

All in all, the southerners were not the most auspicious group in the race, as they ranged from candidates without much national recognition or candidates (like Wallace) with exactly the wrong kind of recognition in the post civil rights era. But there was one politically savvy southern maverick who was different than the rest: former Georgia Gov. and Democratic National Committee Campaign Chairman Jimmy Carter—a one-time peanut farmer who, like Sanford, claimed to be part of the New South, a group of politicians who accepted the new civil rights era and were much more focused on bringing reform to the southern political process and finding ways to attract businesses and suburban voters to the region. Despite his gubernatorial experience, he was little known nationally, prompting the Atlanta Journal-Constitution to joke, “Jimmy Who is Running for What?” But that didn’t matter: Carter, fully aware that the nation was tired of “establishment” figures post-Watergate, bet on being the outsider in the contest.

In contrast to the other lesser known candidates in the race—such as Long Island political activist Ellen McCormack who ran as a Catholic pro-life candidate or delegate to the U.S. Congress for Washington D.C’s district at large William Edward Fauntroy and the city’s first home rule mayor Walter Washington, who both tried to run as “favorite son” candidates as they pushed for civil rights—Carter devised a shrewd campaign strategy. Carter and his talented campaign team believed that momentum would be crucial in the reformed nomination process where primary and caucus voters—and the national media—could matter more than party bosses. While some, like Frank Church, were ignoring early contests like Iowa and New Hampshire, Carter knew that early victories in states with smaller delegate counts would be crucial for him as a lesser-known candidate, since they could create the impression in the media that he was a frontrunner and generate stories that would broaden his support in the next round of primaries and caucuses. He also understood that, with the new nomination process in place, strong grass roots organizations and the physical presence of the candidate would matter more than ever before. Carter also sensed that voters were thirsting for a person, not a politician, they could trust. He set out to build a television-friendly campaign that revolved around his biography in the rural South, his hard-working family and his own ethical beliefs.

All of the candidates knew that if they could raise a minimum amount of private funding, the government would provide financial support for their campaigns. This was the first campaign that would take place under the Watergate campaign finance reforms system, which stipulated that candidates qualified for funds if they raised a minimum of $5,000 from private donors in 20 states. Donations were limited to $1,000. Everyone was eligible. McCormack, whose next door neighbor reportedly didn’t know she was running, raised $525,580 and became the first woman ever to receive federal funds.





“The prize looks temptingly available,” observed Godfrey Sperling of The Christian Science Monitor, “so the Democratic rush toward the presidential nomination becomes more intense.” The fear, he said, was that the proliferation of candidates would be so great that no single person would receive a substantial amount of the party vote, and no single person would have prayer in the general election.

Natural sorting took place quickly. Sanford and Mondale withdrew their names before the caucuses and primaries began. After spending a year having explored a campaign, Mondale famously concluded that he dreaded spending a year “sleeping in Holiday Inns.”

The first person to emerge from the pack was Carter. In 1972, Iowa had moved its caucus to the front of the political calendar, scheduling the event for January, and Carter launched an intense campaign to win the delegate-poor state. His adviser Jody Powell convinced him to put everything he had into the race. When Iowans held the traditional Jefferson-Jackson Day fund-raiser, Carter’s team treated the dinner like the World Series. The campaign bussed in volunteers, making sure that they could buy cheap seats. The television news broadcast images of the Carter supporters in attendance with stories about how his candidacy was catching on. With most of the Democrats ignoring Iowa, Carter went door-to-door, working the state like a “bumper crop of peanuts on his farm,” according to reporter Jules Witcover. On January 19, Carter defeated Bayh by a two to one margin. The other candidates, including Jackson and Udall, barely registered.

The press followed the new frontrunner around like a horde. In New Hampshire, Carter ruled the roost. He mobilized volunteers to send postcards to friends and neighbors in a “Post-Card Plan” that foreshadowed the age of social media networking. “The Peanut Brigade,” as they were called, flooded into the state to sell Carter’s candidacy to as many people as humanly possible. “I’ll never tell a lie,” Carter promised voters weary of government deception. Carter took New Hampshire. Udall came in second; Bayh came in third.

As Carter pulled ahead, other candidacies burnt out quickly. Senator Bensten, who ignored Iowa and New Hampshire altogether, never caught on. He proved to be a lackluster candidate, and his ties to big oil interests, which made him look too much like one of the older, infamous Dixiecrats, didn’t sit well with voters thirsty for something new and fresh. While he raised over $1 million, an impressive number at the time, voters didn’t care. After the senator received less than two percent of the vote in Mississippi, he dropped out of the race. The major papers didn’t even cover his decision.

With the sense that the number of candidates might prevent any from building a broad coalition, several non-candidates, considered jumping in, hoping they might have a shot. Former Vice President and 1968 presidential candidate Sen. Hubert Humphrey, Sen. Edmund Muskie, Illinois Sen. Adlai Stevenson III and Florida Gov. Reubin Askew were reported to be laying the groundwork for a possible campaign.

“Scoop” Jackson gained steam in Massachusetts when he won the primary by weaving together a traditional coalition of ethnic voters, unionists and suburban liberals. He attacked Carter as a candidate who would say anything to win: “In Pensacola and Jacksonville, he is for a strong national defense. In Miami, he promises to cut the defense budget by billions.” Jackson came in first; Carter fell to fourth.

Carter returned to form down in Dixie. In Florida on March 9, Wallace hoped to show he was the only candidate who could win in the South. But Carter defeated him. When Wallace lost in North Carolina, the media deemed Carter was the candidate who locked up the South.

“Washington is in a small panic over Wee Jimmy,” noted one reporter, “The titans of old Washington, led by Reston, Averell Harriman, and Hubert Humphrey, seem ready to take to the streets of Georgetown.” They were not confident that Carter would be someone willing to work with the Democratic establishment—a big worry for party desperately eager to win back the White House after two failed attempts in 1968 and 1972.

But the Illinois primary was next up, and Carter had not yet proved he could win a big primary in a major northern, industrial state. There, he changed tactics. In contrast to his media-based grassroots strategy in Iowa, in the prairie state, Carter courted Chicago Mayor Richard Daley, one of the great king-makers of the party. Carter agreed to throw his supporters in Illinois behind the mayor in the vote for who would head the state’s delegation at the national party convention if Daley pushed his people toward Carter. Carter won in Illinois and then was victorious in Pennsylvania when Jackson suffered from having spent most of his funds.

Yet the race was not over. As he finally entered into the competition, Frank Church posted victories in Montana and Nevada.

A bigger problem for Carter was the late entrant California Gov. Edmund “Jerry” Brown. The 37-year-old Brown offered a hipper, more Zen-like version of Carter. Brown, also an outsider, was a social and cultural liberal who championed fiscal responsibility and government reform. “The situation is very open,” he assured the media.

When Carter tried to outflank Brown by making stronger arguments about the need for reforming government, Maryland voters, with a heavy population of civil servants, turned against him. Brown “was hot as a firecracker,” recalled one Democratic consultant after his victory. When Church won in Oregon in late May, it seemed Carter was in trouble.

The competition came down to a series of contests on June 8: New Jersey, Ohio and California. Carter ceded California and New Jersey to Brown. He made this clear to reporters so that the media would focus its attention on Ohio, where he believed he could win.

When Carter did indeed win in Ohio, he received a call at 2:15 in the morning from George Wallace, who said he would release his 171 delegates to Carter, enough to clinch the nomination. The savvy Carter realized that it would be a disaster to announce a victory based on help from a notorious racist. Before speaking to the press, he called Jackson, who also agreed to instruct his 248 delegates to support the Georgian, and thus clinching the nomination.

Despite the bruising nomination contest, Carter went on to defeat President Ford in November.

Importantly, there were numerous differences between the Democratic competition in 1976 and the Republican contest today. In 1976, the Republicans were badly damaged by Watergate and the state of the economy. Plus, the Democratic victor faced a Republican candidate who was barely standing as a result of the bruising attacks he endured from Ronald Reagan in the GOP primaries and some major stumbles he made in the fall, such as asserting during the single televised debate, and in the middle of the Cold War, that the Soviets did not dominate Eastern Europe.

Moreover, 30 years ago, despite all the establishment candidates in the race, the Democrats didn’t really have a clear frontrunner. Nobody in the party commanded the same kind of fund-raising power and party endorsements that Jeb Bush currently enjoys, even as he struggles with Donald Trump.

And then there’s the money: The breakdown of the Watergate campaign finance system and emergence of Super PACs, as well as wealthy self-funded candidates like Trump who can spend without limit, also means that the battle among the multiple candidates today, with more resources than ever, can last longer than ever. The new media environment, with so many outlets for covering politics, provides candidates with endless opportunities to make their cases before a vote is cast and even if they lose one of the votes.

But the Democratic primaries of 1976 still serve as an important reminder that parties can survive bitter and voluminous nomination battles. In fact, sometimes the challenge that comes from having a crowded field, where candidates such as Jeb Bush have to refine their arguments and toughen their political attacks, can make the victor stronger for the general campaign. And even in the case when an outsider like Carter actually wins the nomination, the party can be victorious in the general election. Looking at the story of 1976, one can’t help but think that the ominous warnings for the Republicans today are overblown.

Of course, winning the general election is never easy. The key to a Democratic victory in 1976 was that once the crowded primaries were over, the party rallied behind the winner rather than continue the vicious sniping that characterized the nomination process. Carter was able to assemble most of the traditional party supporters—such as organized labor—behind him, even as he ran an unorthodox campaign. Carter also knew how to run a campaign that played to his strengths as a Southern outsider and how to take advantage of a personal story that had great appeal at that particular moment in American history.

Even if the Republican primary does manage to spit out a powerful frontrunner, whether that nominee will be able to recreate some of the magic that Carter experienced in 1976 remains to be seen.

