Excerpt from a dispatch by Timothy Crouse in Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail ’72…

Off in a corner three old Wallace workers were having a reunion — a middle-aged rake with a pencil moustache who was “in construction”; a man in glasses and a styrofoam Wallace “straw” hat who was an automobile dealer; and a burly gas-station attendant. “Boys, we been together since May 1, 1964—that’s when George Wallace came to the Lord Baltimore Hotel.” said the man in construction. “Madeleine Murray’s son climbed up a fence and tried to take our flag away from us, remember?”

“And remember, that Commie from New York wrapped himself in a flag and gave you a hard time?” the auto dealer reminisced.

“We might get our country back.” said the construction man. “I feel like I lost it. I feel like I been lost in it all this time.”

“I’ve been lost too.” said the gas-station operator. “I’ve been trying to find somebody I can understand to vote for. This is one of the happiest days of my life.”

“One thing puzzling the press is why there weren’t more Wallace stickers on cars,” the auto dealer told me. “It’s fear. Fear of retaliation from blacks. Of getting bricks thrown at your car.”

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