Presidential campaigns started evolving into the form that is familiar today more than half a century ago. By 1952, approximately 40 million Americans owned television. That year, the World War II military hero Dwight Eisenhower worked with the advertising giant Rosser Reeves to film some of the first “ television spots” for a presidential candidate. From a studio on the West Side of New York City, he appeared on camera wearing make-up and reading lines from cue cards on issues from the price of food to the Korean War. The crew later filmed tourists in Radio City Music Hall asking “questions” of Eisenhower to give the appearance that he had been responding to actual people. Today, this wouldn’t seem like a big deal. But in the 1950s, when television was new, the methods seemed quite shocking. When he walked out of the studio, someone heard Eisenhower mutter: “To think that an old soldier should come to this!” His opponent Adlai Stevenson agreed: “This isn’t a soap opera. This isn’t Ivory Soap versus Palmolive.”

These short, stylized advertisements stuck around despite Stevenson’s complaint. These spots would become even more ruthless over the years. In 1964, President Lyndon Johnson’s team unleashed the famous “Daisy” ad that depicted a little girl counting as she picked off the pedals from a flower, the voice of a government official counting down in the background, as a nuclear mushroom could be seen in the reflection of her eyes. The ad sent a strong and powerful message to voters about what a Barry Goldwater presidency could mean to the world—one Republicans bitterly complained was unfair.

In 1988, Lee Atwater and Vice President George H.W. Bush’s campaign team made an ad from video of Massachusetts Governor Michael Dukakis riding in a military tank, helmet on, during a campaign visit. The image made Dukakis look small and meek, like the cartoon character Snoopy, a visual complement to the Bush campaign’s argument that “Democrats are weak on defense.” It was a cheap shot, more fitting of the schoolyard than the presidential campaign trail. But it worked.

And in 2004, Republicans broadcast an ad showing Democrat John Kerry windsurfing off of Nantucket. As his boat twisted back and forth in the wind, the narrator warned Kerry could not be trusted to take clear positions as leader. “John Kerry,” the ad concluded: “Whichever way the wind blows.” An independent organization called “Swift Boat Veterans for Truth” also put together deceptive ads, which looked like mini-documentaries, alleging that Kerry had lied about his military service in Vietnam and had not earned his distinctions. The spots were so effective that they gave rise to the term “swift-boating.”

Televised debates have also long shaped campaigns and they have rarely lent themselves to substantive discussions. These events started carrying special significance in 1960 when John F. Kennedy took on Richard Nixon; the younger man’s appearance and demeanor became a central part of his campaign. In 1976, Gerald Ford seemed to be thoroughly confused when he was asked a question about the Soviet Union. Ford insisted—twice—that there was no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe, and the gaffe was devastating. But in 1984, Ronald Reagan—who struggled with questions about his age after his first debate—showed how one short line can be a powerful punch: “I want you to know that also I will not make age an issue of this campaign. I am not going to exploit, for political purposes my opponent’s youth and inexperience.”