Sisters Libby Miller Fitzgerald and Mary James recall 1964, when their father represented Lockport on the national stage
In 2024, the world was introduced to Hope and Gus Walz.
Remember the heartfelt moment from the Democratic National Convention in Chicago last August? As Tim Walz stepped onstage to accept the nomination to be Kamala Harris’ Vice President, his family cheered from the first row. Son Gus, 17, cried as he pointed and declared, “That’s my dad!”
The showcase of family love went viral, charming many. But Gus was soon mocked by opponents on right-leaning TV networks and social media. In today’s America, politics can sow division.
Sixty years ago, those soon-to-be adult children of a vice presidential candidate were Libby and Mary Miller, young sisters with Western New York ties.
Their father, William Miller of Lockport, was nominated to serve as vice president to Republican candidate Barry Goldwater. Libby and Mary campaigned on their dad’s behalf in the fall of 1964, during a tumultuous three-and-a-half month race.
Miller’s daughters, who spent summers in Olcott and have generational connections to Lockport, understand Gus Walz’s experience and emotions in a way that few ever will. Despite passing time, this presidential election offers a stark reminder of young lives steeped in politics.
“This whole business is so pertinent to what we’re living through today,” Libby noted. “You see what goes into a convention and how it affects the people involved.”
Mary was a 17-year-old high school senior when her father accepted the nomination — the same age as Gus Walz. Libby, then 20, was given leave from her classes at Newton College to travel the country and stump for the Goldwater-Miller ticket, which ultimately lost in an electoral landslide, relegating their family to political obscurity.
Today, Libby Miller Fitzgerald, 80, lives in Lynchburg, Virginia. Retired from journalism, she wrote a book about her father’s career, her family, and events from the campaign. Mary James, now 77, makes her home in Salisbury, North Carolina. She also retired from journalism, and has traveled extensively across America and the world. The sisters visited Western New York last summer and spoke at the Buffalo Presidential Center about their formative years and the family’s political life. Libby described that night as life-changing, the pinnacle of her father’s professional life.
“We couldn’t believe we were there,” she said. “It’s something you never forget, like an out-of-body experience.”
“You can’t even wrap your head around it,” Mary said. “There are thousands of people, cheering for the family, really for Dad. Regardless of history or political careers, there’s nothing like being nominated for the second highest office in the land.”
Miller’s strengths
Approaching the 1964 election, Arizona Senator Barry Goldwater had emerged as the leading Republican presidential candidate. Several governors were vying for the spot as well, including Michigan’s George Romney, New York’s Nelson Rockefeller, and Pennsylvania’s William Scranton. Richard Nixon, a former vice president who had lost the presidential election to John F. Kennedy in 1960 and had been defeated in his bid for California’s governor two years later, was considered a dark horse. Four years into his role as Republican National Committee chairman, Bill Miller strove to remain impartial.
“The party runs the convention, and he had a huge job,” Libby said. “Daddy was juggling all this and it was stressful.”
A year before, Lucian C. Warren of Buffalo’s Courier-Express had postulated that Miller would be a fine vice president no matter who led the ticket. As a Catholic, he could win back some of the votes that Kennedy had secured in 1960. Geographically, Miller could balance most tickets. And Miller had supported the Civil Rights bill, which Goldwater had not.
“He is considered the most articulate spokesman of Republican policy today,” Warren wrote.
The Los Angeles Herald Examiner was also bullish on Miller as a vice president, writing, “Miller is really one whale of a guy. Mentally and personality wise, he is hard to beat anywhere. Bill is blessed with a strikingly beautiful and vivacious wife, Stephanie, and two gorgeous daughters, Elizabeth, 20, and Mary, 17. They will become tremendous campaign assets to him and the embattled GOP in the days ahead.”
Goldwater was considered an ideologue, but Miller was a moderate who had traversed the country in his role of party chairman. He knew Republican leaders, and had earned their support.
As a young lawyer, Miller gained international experience as a prosecutor at the Nuremberg trials after World War II. Elected a Congressman from Lockport in 1950 — he eventually served 7 terms — Miller moved his young family near Washington, DC. Libby and Mary grew up there, attending Stone Ridge School of the Sacred Heart, in Bethesda, Maryland. Summers were spent at the family’s cottage in Olcott, near Lake Ontario.
“In those days, when someone went to Congress, the family moved to Washington,” Mary said. “They don’t do that so much anymore. We were Catholic, so all the Catholic politicians had their kids in the same school. (Democratic) Senator Eugene McCarthy’s daughter was in my class, and Ellen is still my best friend today.”
Libby agreed that that era felt more cordial.
“On the Senate and House floor, there were differences, but everyone played golf together on the weekends,” she said. “You were together socially, which made for less antipathy.”
Miller’s daughters and Goldwater’s sons
After leaving the convention in San Francisco, the Miller family returned to Lockport, planning to relax before the campaign ramped up in earnest.
“An enormous entourage of cars brought us down Route 78 to the fairgrounds,” Libby recalled. “It was a triumphant return. Masses of people were waving, and everyone was so gracious and loving. It was wonderful. We were supposed to relax for a week at the cottage in Olcott, but it didn’t turn out to be relaxing.”
Reporters sought time with the Miller family. Libby and Mary had hoped to water ski and swim in Lake Ontario, as they did every summer.
“We couldn’t do any of that because we had to have our hair looking nice,” Libby lamented. “We had to be in tip-top shape. Dad said to Mom and us, ‘Whatever you do, don’t lose us any votes.’ The media was focused on our clothes and our hair. Today that wouldn’t be acceptable.”
That fall, Libby and Barry Goldwater, Jr., then 26, were named co-chairs of Youth for Goldwater-Miller, and set out across the country campaigning on behalf of their parents. Mary occasionally joined the cause, as did Goldwater’s younger son, Mike, 24.
“We were the first children of campaigning age,” Libby recalled. “The media was trying to pair us up with the Goldwater boys. They were gorgeous. We had such a crush on them. Before the campaign kicked off, we were invited to fly out to Phoenix early and sightsee with them. We were beside ourselves.”
Barry Jr. had earned a pilot’s license, so he flew Libby and Mary over Arizona’s mountains and dams, landing on Indian reservations then taking off again.
“It was pretty exciting,” Libby said. “Barry Jr. was a like a rock star. He was a replica of his father, with that rugged jawline. The press compared us to the Johnson girls, who were the same ages as Mary and me.”
(President Lyndon Johnson’s two daughters, Lynda Bird and Luci Baines, were familiar to the Miller girls. Children of Congressmen were often invited to the White House alongside their parents, and Libby recalled meeting the Johnson girls several times in the years before the campaign.)
Libby began writing her own campaign speeches, with input from the Republican committee about themes to address. Then she traveled to different states, addressing crowds.
“I didn’t have any training for it, but it was a crash course in people skills,” she said. “I grew to like campaigning once my confidence level increased. I was seeing the country and meeting a rich assortment of people and being part of something that meant so much to so many. I quickly learned how to conjure up something to say to almost everyone in any situation.”
Once, there was a bomb threat at Lehigh University in Pennsylvania, when an auditorium had to be cleared. After it was inspected and deemed safe, the crowd returned and speeches resumed. Another time, Libby and Barry Jr. presented a 74th birthday cake to former President Dwight D. Eisenhower at his farm in Gettysburg. Libby recalls visiting the Biltmore Hotel in New York City to give a speech on her own.
“I walked into this room, and there was an array of television lights and flashing bulbs,” she said. “It was absolutely blinding. There were microphones and cameras. Usually it was for Daddy, but this time it was for me. I was terrified.”
That speech was memorable for another reason. Libby’s future husband was in the room, although they would not meet for another two years.
“Paul was dating a girl who was a big Goldwater fan, and she dragged him to that. He was in medical school, and not interested in politics. I think he wandered over to the hotel bar before my words of wisdom.”
Autographs and hijinks
Mary recalled ducking out of high school classes and flying to Alabama, intending to meet her parents on the campaign trail. When the plane landed, it was revealed that there had been a scheduling mix-up and her parents were in Idaho. Only 17, tears were audible when she phoned campaign headquarters for help.
“When you travel six states in a day, it’s hard to remember where you are,” she said. “Libby campaigned alone most often, but when we went out together, being older and smarter, she would give a substantive speech, more about policies and what dad represented.”
Today, Mary laughs about being asked for her autograph in 1964. She signed plenty, and wonders what people did with all those slips of paper. She recalls a playful encounter with her high school boyfriend, setting him up to be escorted away by security, which was parked outside the Miller’s family home in Bethesda round-the-clock.
“This boy came to take me on a date, and guards walked him up to the door to make sure he was legitimate,” Mary said. “I opened the door and said, ‘Oh gosh, I’m sorry, but I don’t really know him. I think he’s just pretending he’s my boyfriend.’ He started repeating my name in disbelief. As security was walking him down the sidewalk, I said, ‘Just kidding, I know him.’”
While campaigning, Libby kept up with her coursework, lugging textbooks across America and returning to campus every few weeks. There, she changed out her wardrobe and checked in with the nuns, turning in completed work and accepting new assignments. Meanwhile, the Republican Party had installed a white rotary phone in her dorm room so she could stay in touch.
“Back then, there was only one other phone in the entire dorm, and all the girls fought for it, wanting to talk to their lovelorn boyfriends,” Libby said. Suddenly, everyone wanted to use Libby’s personal phone. “For a while, I was the most popular girl on campus.”
“The nuns at both our schools were very cooperative,” Mary reflected. “Especially when you consider that they were all Democrats."
As the campaign drew towards election day, Libby grew weary of constant demands on her family’s time.
“It was a slog. We were excited to do it, but the schedulers sent you to so many cities in one day. So many people wanted so much of us. There were events to attend where votes were critical, we were told. We wanted to do it all, and it was excruciating to say no, but time was running out.”
One of Libby’s final campaign events was a rally at Madison Square Garden alongside Barry Jr. Although it wasn’t discussed openly, everyone recognized that Goldwater’s victory was a long shot.
“There was a sadness to it, but in a way, relief,” Libby said.
Landslide loss
When results were tabulated, the vote was a Democratic landslide. Johnson carried 44 states plus Washington, DC, and 61 percent of the electorate. Forty-three million people voted for him, compared to 27 million for Goldwater. Electorally, Democrats won 446 votes; Republicans garnered only 52.
“People have asked me ever since whether we really thought we could win,” Libby said. “Intellectually, we knew it was all but impossible, but for a time, we believed we could. You inhabit a zone where everything seems possible. It happened for Truman in 1948, so it could happen for us. Pollsters could be wrong. American politics is full of surprises.”
Although she was only a teenager, Mary recognized voters’ passion.
“You go to all these different places and see screaming fans, and you think that’s the whole world,” she reflected. “You don’t get a concept that this is just a microcosm. There are so many non-supporters out there too.”
Years later, their father admitted that it was unlikely he and Goldwater could have won in 1964.
“The country wouldn’t tolerate three presidents in three years,” Mary explained. “We had Kennedy in 1963, then Johnson took over in ’63-64. Also, our country goes through periods of being conservative and then liberal. At the time, it was more liberal. Dad thought it was ironic that Ronald Reagan won big 16 years later with roughly the same conservative agenda that he ran on.”
After the loss, Miller left politics, returned to Lockport, and resumed his law practice. At 50 years old, having reached an apex, he wasn’t eager to remain in Washington.
“It’s such a testament to his decency and humility,” Libby reflected. “He didn’t want to go to lobbyists with his hat in hand after he had once been in a seat of power.”
The rest of the family moved forward as well. Libby continued her college classes, eventually graduating on time, and Mary was also accepted at Newton College in Boston to begin studying psychology. The girls developed their respective careers, refusing to dwell on the loss. As years passed, however, they realized that the transition back to Western New York must have been challenging for their father.
“He had to struggle to reconstitute his law practice,” Libby said. “He still had two young kids to raise with our little brother and sister. He was making $27,000 per year as a Congressman. He never became a rich man, unlike so many people today. I think the adjustment for Dad was really difficult. He probably suffered through some depression.”
Miller had a moment in the popular culture spotlight, appearing in one of the first “Do you know me?” commercials for American Express in the 1970s.
“He’s just not that well-known,” admitted Bren Price, a longtime board member for the Buffalo Presidential Center. “I don’t think he ever wanted to be in the political limelight. He was a behind-the-scenes guy.”
During the 1964 campaign, the Democrats devised a rhyme: Here’s a ditty, it’s a killer… who the hell is William Miller?
“He was the epitome of honesty and integrity, even within the political realm,” Price said. “He was a fiscal conservative, but also a supporter of civil rights and promoting the 24th Amendment, which prohibited poll taxes to exclude people from voting. And as a Congressman, he brought home the bacon to Niagara County. His biting tongue got under the skin of Kennedy and Johnson more than once.”
Price was interested to learn Libby and Mary’s stories when they visited Buffalo.
“I liked their perspective about what it was like to be on the campaign trail,” he said. “The absolute highs then the devastating blow of losing, and it just ended. Period. Exclamation point. Everyone went back to their lives.”
In 1983, when he was 69, Miller suffered a stroke and died in Buffalo. In his obituary, the Los Angeles Times reflected that he was better known for the American Express advertisement than for having been a vice presidential nominee.
Life Today
After Miller’s death, his wife, Stephanie, remained in Lockport for another 14 years, until she relocated to North Carolina to be near her son. Eventually, she moved inland, closer to Mary. She died in 2023, at age 100. Last summer, Stephanie was interred alongside her husband in Arlington National Cemetery,.
“She was nine years younger than Dad,” Mary said. “They were married for 40 years, and she was widowed for 40 years.”
Libby married Paul Fitzgerald, an orthopedic surgeon, and worked for Time. In 1971, they moved to Lynchburg, Virginia, where they raised three children: Kelly, Paul, and Cara. They have six grandchildren.
“We chose Lynchburg because a fellow who Paul knew recommended the area to us,” she said. “We wanted a place to bring up a family with a nice climate and slower pace than what we had been living in New York City.”
Libby’s writing career transitioned into working in front of the camera. She was a longtime reporter and producer for ABC and NPR affiliates. She spent 10 years, off and on, researching about her father, interviewing hundreds of people who worked alongside him. The ensuing biography, Bill Miller: Do You Know Me?, was published in 2004.
She remains active in Lynchburg community service projects. One of her favorites is Hill City Keys, which collects donated pianos that are painted by local students, then placed in public spaces downtown for anyone to play.
Mary took a different path. In the mid-1960s, she traveled extensively throughout Europe and Africa, then returned to the United States and worked a variety of jobs throughout her 20s. At 30, she began a career in radio and TV journalism that led her across America, including stops in Pennsylvania, Virginia, Massachusetts, Colorado, and California.
“By the time I turned 40, I had moved nine times in 10 years,” she said.
After her father’s death, she took a job in Buffalo to remain close to her mother. From 1983-85, Mary was an on-air reporter for Channel 2.
A mutual friend introduced her to Will James, a lawyer specializing in gas and energy, and at age 50, the two married. His job took them to former Soviet nations, so she quit her TV career and led seminars there, teaching young Eastern journalists proper reporting techniques.
For the past 20 years, Mary, her husband, and their son, Robyn, have lived in a historic home in Salisbury, North Carolina, where she is active in community service, plays tennis, and contributes an occasional article for The Salisbury Post. After visiting Buffalo last summer, she wrote a column, lamenting the current state of the Republican Party and how it would be unrecognizable to her father’s moderate views. (The column was reprinted in The Buffalo News, although Mary wonders if the accompanying photo labeling Goldwater standing with her father is actually Goldwater.)
Too young to have been part of their father’s vice presidential campaign, the other Miller children have lived in the public eye as well. Bill Jr. ran for his father’s former seat in Congress in 1992 and ’94, losing to incumbent Democrat John LaFalce, and later moved to North Carolina. Daughter Stefanie hosts a syndicated radio program, The Stephanie Miller Show, which discusses politics, current events, and pop culture.
Although Libby and Mary spent their formative years around Washington, DC, they recall fondly childhood summers on the shores of Lake Ontario. Amid this hard-fought political season, their experiences in the spotlight decades ago feel like they existed in a different realm.
“Returning to ordinary life was not ordinary or gentle,” Libby reflected. “But no matter the end result, it was an honor to speak to people to whom the cause meant something. Even today, those honored with the vice presidential nomination are members of a very small and special club.”
Text © 2024 by Jeff Schober
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Jeff Schober has a journalism degree from Bowling Green State University and a master’s degree in English and History from the University at Buffalo. He retired from teaching English and Journalism at Frontier High School and is the best-selling author of ten books, including the true crime book Bike Path Rapist with Det. Dennis Delano, and the Buffalo Crime Fiction Quartet. Visit his website at www.jeffschober.com.
Steve Desmond is an award-winning photographer. With his son, Francis, he is the author of A Life With A Purpose which raises money for Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy research. To view more of Steve's work, search Facebook under "Steve Desmond" and "Desmond's PrimeFocus Photography," or on Instagram at "Stevedesmond9."
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