There's a good chance the finalists for that spot are wading through mountains of paperwork, and answering deeply personal questions about finances, past statements, friendships — and medical history.

A lot of that tedious process stems from something that happened 40 years ago this summer, when presidential candidate George McGovern decided to place Thomas Eagleton on the Democratic ticket. Joshua Glasser tells the story of that fateful decision in his new book, The Eighteen-Day Running Mate.

Convention Chaos

In the middle of July 1972, thousands of delegates arrived in Miami for the Democratic convention. Today, conventions are scripted and choreographed events, but back then, that wasn't the case.

"We went to the convention very uncertain as to whether or not we could sustain our delegations," former Colorado Sen. Gary Hart, who served as McGovern's campaign manager, tells weekends on All Things Considered host Guy Raz.

McGovern was the insurgent candidate, and on his road to the nomination, he managed to alienate the party's old guard. So McGovern needed a running mate who could unite the Democrats.

"All their polling told them that Ted Kennedy was the guy they needed on their ticket," Glasser says. "If they had him on the ticket, they would have a reasonable shot at actually beating Nixon come the fall."

Kennedy was the party's torch-bearer, an unapologetic liberal who railed against the Vietnam War. When McGovern's team arrived in Miami for the convention, McGovern's nomination wasn't assured. That meant the campaign hadn't even started looking for a running mate. All along, Hart says, McGovern assumed Kennedy would be that man.

"He thought he could persuade Sen. Kennedy to do it up until the very, very last moment," he says.

But Kennedy kept saying no. On the day the convention began, McGovern reached out to Senate colleagues like Gaylord Nelson of Wisconsin and Abe Ribicoff of Connecticut. They also said no. But the nominating process was set to begin that evening, and McGovern had to pick a vice presidential nominee by that point.

"I think under the pressure of time, he called Sen. Kennedy back and said, 'Look, Ted, I've got to make a decision, are you going to be with me?' Sen. Kennedy said, 'No, I don't think so.' That's when we went to Eagleton," Hart says.

An Up-And-Comer

Hart says Thomas Eagleton wasn't even on the initial shortlist, but he was an up-and-comer. He was elected the youngest-ever attorney general in Missouri history, and by 1972, the then-senator made a name for himself as a fiery opponent of the war.

NPR's Ken Rudin says that on the campaign trail, McGovern had alienated big labor and working-class Catholics. Eagleton was a devout Catholic and a strong opponent of abortion.

"McGovern, with real big trouble with Catholic voters, with labor support, looked at Tom Eagleton as almost like the perfect kind of candidate," Rudin says.

On that first day of the convention, McGovern called Eagleton to offer him the spot. They spoke for about two minutes over the phone.

"We went over names casually, didn't do any 'background checking,' " Hart says. "It wasn't mandated in those days as it is now. Certainly after '72 it came to be mandated. But the people trusted other people's word."

Rudin says back then, it was beneath a presidential nominee to ask about health issues or personal problems like alcoholism. That turned out to be George McGovern's biggest mistake.

Finger On The Button

Within a few days, rumors started to circulate, beginning with a call to McGovern's headquarters in South Dakota.

"The anonymous caller had said, 'Check into Sen. Eagleton's background; he has a complicated medical background,' " Hart says.

Hart says neither he nor McGovern's top aide, Frank Mankiewicz, knew anything.

"Then calls were made to the Eagleton staff to say, 'We got this call; what does it mean?' " Hart says. "The response was 'We'll check it into it and let you know.' "

Within hours, the McGovern campaign was getting those details. On three occasions in the 1960s, Eagleton was hospitalized for depression and had undergone electroshock treatment.

"This was the height of the Cold War," Hart says. "The key here wasn't how do we feel about mental illness or therapy or anything like that. The key was — finger on the button."

That phrase, "finger on the button" began to dog the McGovern campaign once the revelations about Eagleton's mental health became public.

The initial strategy was to address what happened, and Eagleton was forthcoming.

"On three occasions in my life, I have voluntarily gone into hospitals as a result of nervous exhaustion and fatigue," Eagleton told reporters at the time. "As a younger man, I must say that I drove myself too far, and I pushed myself terribly, terribly hard, long hours, day and night."

Despite his best efforts to address what happened in an honest way, the pressure began to mount. Democratic Party stalwarts called on Eagleton to step down.

Remaining Defiant

At first, McGovern stood by his running mate. At one campaign stop he told a crowd, "It's hot here tonight, but I'll tell you one thing: I can take the heat and I'm going to stay in the kitchen."

At every campaign stop, Eagleton was asked whether he'd remain on the ticket and each time he was defiant. In a stop in Hawaii, he told reporters, "I'm not quitting, I'm not getting out, we're going to win this election, and I'm going to be the next vice president of the United States."

But as the story dragged on, the polls began to look ominous for McGovern, and many people on the campaign staff, including Hart, were frustrated.

"The hard part was we couldn't get the data, we couldn't get the medical reports, we couldn't talk to his doctors," he says.

McGovern, under increasing pressure, asked to speak to Eagleton's psychiatrists. Eagleton agreed to have McGovern speak with two of his doctors.

"McGovern, based on those conversations, makes the medical decision that Eagleton was too much of a risk to have his finger potentially on the metaphorical button," Glasser says.

Withdrawal And Aftermath

Eighteen days after he was picked to run with McGovern, Eagleton arrived in Washington to hold a press conference.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I will not divide the Democratic Party," Eagleton announced. "Therefore, tomorrow morning I will write to the chairman of the Democratic Party withdrawing my candidacy."

The election was held 99 days later. Richard Nixon would defeat George McGovern in a landslide — the widest margin of victory in the popular vote in presidential history.

McGovern spent another decade in the Senate. Eagleton went on to serve two more terms as Missouri's senator. He died in 2007.

"The way Eagleton handled himself during those 18 days was very admirable," Glasser says. "It earned him tremendous respect from the people of Missouri. They didn't like the way he seemed to appear to be treated by McGovern, and he was a very, very able and respected public servant."

Copyright 2012 National Public Radio. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

Songs he wrote — "This Land Is Your Land," "Pastures of Plenty," "Pretty Boy Floyd" and thousands of others — have been sung by generations of artists since. Before Guthrie, singers and songwriters were separate entities in the music industry. But his stage presence, poetics and grasp on musical performance set a standard for singer-songwriters which remains influential to this day.

Listen closely to this stream, and you'll hear the reach of Guthrie's influence in the recordings of his protégé Pete Seeger, those of revival folksingers like Joan Baez and 21st-century innovators like Ani DiFranco and Old Crow Medicine Show. Though Woody Guthrie died in 1967, his 100th birthday is cause for a celebration of not only one man's legacy, but also the songs which have, for the past century, given voice to working folks everywhere.

The Woody Guthrie Centennial Playlist

• Abigail Washburn, "Who's Gonna Shoe"
• Alison Krauss & Union Station, "Pastures of Plenty"
• Andy Irvine, "Never Tire of the Road"
• Ani DiFranco, "Do Re Me"
• Arlo Guthrie, "Hobo's Lullaby"
• Arlo Guthrie, "Deportees"
• Arlo Guthrie & Friends, "'Til We Outnumber 'Em"
• Billy Bragg & Wilco, "Way Over Yonder in the Minor Key"
• Billy Bragg & Wilco, "Joe DiMaggio Done It Again"
• Billy Bragg & Wilco, "Another Man's Done Gone"
• Bob Dylan, "Song to Woody"
• Charles Sawtelle, "The Ranger's Command"
• Country Joe McDonald, "Roll On Columbia"
• Dave Alvin, "What Does the Deep Sea Say?"
• Eliza Gilkyson & Friends, "Peace Call"
• Ellis Paul, "God's Promise"
• Jackson Browne, "You Know the Night"
• Jay Farrar, Will Johnson, Anders Parker, Yim Yames, "New Multitudes"
• Jay Farrar, Will Johnson, Anders Parker, Yim Yames, "Hoping Machine"
• Jay Farrar, Will Johnson, Anders Parker, Yim Yames, "Fly High"
• Jimmy LaFave, "Down in Oklahoma Hills"
• Joan Baez, "Deportee (Live '04)"
• Joel Rafael Band, "Talking Fishing Blues"
• Joel Rafael Band, "Dance a Little Longer"
• Joel Rafael Band, "Way Over Yonder in the Minor Key"
• John McCutcheon, "Ludlow Massacre"
• John McCutcheon, "Biggest Thing That Man Has Ever Done"
• Jonatha Brooke, "My Sweet and Bitter Bowl"
• Jonatha Brooke, "King of My Love"
• Kevin Welch, "Vigilante Man"
• Leftover Salmon, "Woody Guthrie"
• Madeleine Peyroux, "Wild Card in the Hole"
• Nanci Griffith, "Do Re Me"
• Norman & Nancy Blake, "Grand Coulee Dam"
• Old Crow Medicine Show, "Union Maid"
• Patrick Street, "Tom Joad"
• Pete Seeger, "There's a Feeling in Music"
• Pete Seeger, "So Long, It's Been Good to Know Yuh"
• Ramblin' Jack Elliott, "Talking Dust Bowl"
• Ramblin' Jack Elliott, "Hard Travelin'"
• Ramblin' Jack Elliott, "Woody's Last Ride"
• Sarah Lee Guthrie & Johnny Irion, "Be No Church Tonight"
• Sarah Lee Guthrie & Johnny Irion, "Hangknot"
• Slaid Cleaves, "This Morning I Was Born Again"
• Solas, "Pastures of Plenty"
• Spider John Koerner, "More Pretty Women Than One"
• Steppin' in It, "Bound For Glory"
• Steve Earle, "Christmas in Washington"
• The Duhks, "Pretty Boy Floyd"
• The Klezmatics (Susan McKeown), "Headdy Down"
• Tim Grimm, "Pretty Boy Floyd"
• Tim O'Brien, "The Sun Jumped Up"
• Wilco, "Jolly Banker"
• Woody Guthrie, "Dust Bowl Blues"
• Woody Guthrie, "Going Down the Road"
• Woody Guthrie, "Hard Ain't It Hard"
• Woody Guthrie, "This Land Is Your Land"
• Woody Guthrie, "Gypsy Davy"
• Woody Guthrie, "Ramblin' Round"
• Woody Guthrie, "Philadelphia Lawyer"

Copyright 2012 Folk Alley. To see more, visit http://www.folkalley.com.

Just a couple of years before boxer Jack Johnson was lauded, reviled, and hounded as the world heavyweight champ — and decades before Muhammad Ali lost his title when he took a stand on Vietnam — a man named Joe Gans was the lightweight champion of the world. He reigned from 1902 to 1908 as the first African-American boxing champ in history, and a man who broke trails for the great fighters who followed.

William Gildea, a longtime sportswriter for the Washington Post, uncovers some of the Gans story in a new book, called The Longest Fight: In the Ring With Joe Gans, Boxing's First African-American Champion.

Gildea builds the book around that fight: a hot, brutal bout in September 1906 when Gans defended his title against a white boxer named Oscar "Battling" Nelson. They fought a jaw-dropping 42 rounds in the scorching, unshaded heat of Nevada mining town called Goldfield.

"This was a fight by the Queensberry Rules," Gildea says, "which essentially meant that they would fight with gloves, and they would fight three-minute rounds, and there would be a minute between rounds." But it was also a fight to the finish: it would go until one fighter could go no longer. "There hasn't been any fight of that length since then," Gildea says. Gans prevailed after close to three hours in the ring; the judges didn't like Nelson's repeated low blows. Boxing commissioners eventually banned fights to the finish, and championship fights today are generally limited to 12 rounds.

Gans won with guile and artistry. But his path to the battleground in Goldfield began in his home town of Baltimore, where he fought in the notorious "Battles Royal," staged fights in which a promoter would use several young African-American fighters. "And the last one left standing would be declared the winner, and he would get $2, $3, $4, $5, no more." Gildea calls the battles a shocking discovery.

"It wouldn't seem that this was a necessary ingredient to attract a crowd," Gildea says, "but white promoters used it, and it was just virtually futile for any young black man to think that he could spring from a battle royal to notoriety, to fame. But Gans did."

Gildea says Gans had not just natural ability, but luck. His on-the-job instructor at a Baltimore fish market happened to be an amateur boxing coach who helped him buy his first pair of gloves, and taught him the skills to succeed in the ring.

"Gans would fight two men at the same time, in order to fend off their blows and become a defensive fighter, and he let, almost always let his often-white opponent throw the first punch, and then he would counter," Gildea says. Gans would often let the white fighters go a few extra rounds against him, to not embarrass them.

So why isn't Joe Gans mentioned in the same breath today as Muhammad Ali and Jack Johnson? "Number one, he was a lightweight and not a heavyweight," Gildea says. "But more importantly, I think white America was intent on punishing Jack Johnson for being the so-called 'uppity' black man that he was."

Johnson was the heavyweight champ who had two white wives and was frequently boastful about his successes in the ring. "And so, he was the opposite really of Gans, and the main reason why Gans dropped from sight," Gildea says.

Copyright 2012 National Public Radio. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

Fifty years ago three men set out into the frigid waters of the San Francisco Bay in a raft made out of raincoats. It was one of the most daring prison escapes in U.S. history from what was billed as the nation's only "escape-proof prison" — Alcatraz.

Most people assume the men have been at the bottom of the bay or were swept out to sea since the night they broke free, tunneling out of their cells in part with spoons from the kitchen and climbing the prisons' plumbing to the roof.

But the legend of their escape has held that the men, Frank Morris and John and Clarence Anglin, would return on the 50th anniversary of their breakout. It's an unfounded rumor that drew an unlikely group to the island Monday to mark half a century passed, including many of the Anglin brothers' family.

Hope For Their Return

Marie Widner was one of them. She is John and Clarence Anglin's little sister.

"I'll never believe they're dead; I don't believe they're dead," Widner said as she stood in the prison's old medical ward.

She was in her 20s when she first heard the news.

"I was listening to the radio when [the newscasters] told about it," she remembered. "I cut my iron off and I run to my neighbors house and said, 'Did you hear what was on the radio? My brothers escaped from Alcatraz.' "

The FBI, U.S. Coast Guard and local police scoured the water. They eventually found a paddle, a couple of life vests, a sealed plastic bag with letters and addresses. But there was no sign of the men.

Like Morris, the Anglins were nonviolent bank robbers. They were sent to Alcatraz not because they were violent or dangerous but because they had escaped from so many other prisons.

"Authorities said they would never put them together anywhere because they liked to get together and plan out an escape," Widner said. "But they brought them here and said we're putting them together [because] they will never get off this island. And that was just what the boys wanted. They wanted to be together — cell by cell."

It was in those cells the men saw through their plan to make dummy heads to fool the guards and to collect enough raincoats to make a raft. They even sealed the seams with glue.

Widner remembers a letter they sent home just before the escape.

"They talked about the grass being greener on the other side," she said. "Think about it. That's saying, I'm not staying here. I'm getting out of here. That's what I took it as."

There has never been any proof the men made it. The frigid waters and high tides of the San Francisco Bay could have sent them into the Pacific Ocean in under an hour. A Norwegian shipping freighter reported seeing a body floating just a few miles out past the Golden Gate Bridge wearing a navy blue pea coat. But there's also never been any definitive proof the men died.

'Awesome Escape ... You're Under Arrest'

The Anglins weren't the only ones waiting on the island. U.S. marshal Michael Dyke has been searching for the men for almost a decade. It's mostly a hobby now. Something he does in his free time.

"It would be really nice to have answers, but some things you never have answers for," Dyke said. "They could have died of old age. They could have died in 1962. But it's hard to say. Until there's evidence to the fact that they're not alive anymore, I'm going to keep looking."

If he saw them, he knows what he would say: "Awesome escape. Way to go for staying out of trouble for so long. You're under arrest."

For a long time the FBI and the U.S. Marshals looked upon the Anglin family as targets of their investigation. But in recent years, Dyke and Widner have found themselves having long phone conversations and sharing information. Both just want to know what happened.

Dyke doesn't really believe the men would return for an anniversary. Neither does Widner. Though both of them may have hoped just a little.

"I really do believe the boys made it out of here," Widner said. "I do believe the boys are alive today. I don't know where they are. I have not heard from them, but my gut feeling is that they're OK."

As Widner and her sister boarded one of the last boats to San Francisco, there was no sign of the men. They'd all be in their 80s now.

This time of year you can see the tides funneling water past the island out under the olden Golden Gate Bridge. From shore, it's hard to imagine three men in a boat made of raincoats drifting away at midnight.

Dyke says he'll keep looking for them until he can prove they're dead — as they may have been all along.

Copyright 2012 National Public Radio. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

While it may seem counterintuitive to us today, some women of that time believed that their gender was too excitable to make rational decisions, or they supported the notion that putting their own interests first was the beginning of society’s road to ruin, involving neglected children and gardens, as well as certain debauchery and divorce.

A discussion at the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum with Barbara Lee, Ann Richards, and Cokie Roberts, moderated by Callie Crossley, reflected on the legacies of two political trail blazers: Shirley Chisholm and Barbara Jordan.
 
In 1968, Chisholm became the first African American woman elected to Congress. In 1972, she made history again by becoming the first African American to run for President with a major party, and the first woman to run for the Democratic presidential nomination.
 
Barbara Lee, congresswoman (CA-D), first met Chisholm in college,when she visited Mills College’s Black Student Union.  Motivated by her message of change, Lee was soon working on Chisholm’s Presidential primary campaign. Lee says that for Chisholm, as the first African American woman in her position, she had to invent her own way of doing business.

It wasn’t about playing by the rules, because those rules weren’t made for them nor by them.  It was about changing the rules, it was about shaking up the system. I can remember Shirley, after Ed[ucation] and Labor, she went on to the Rules committee. She was able to shepherd a legislative agenda from the rules committee that addressed the constituencies that she cared about: women, the poor, the disadvantaged, people of color.

She said, 'I am not a female politician. I am not a black politician, I am a politician, and I am good at it. Barbara had no patience with symbolism. She had no interest in being a symbol. She had interest only in proving herself by her effectiveness, and leaving a legacy of what she had done, not just what she had said. Barbara was a good old boy…she had an uncanny way of working herself into the power structure.

Jordan's 1976 keynote address to the Democratic National Committee is ranked 5th in the Top 100 American Speeches of the 20th century list.