ABSTRACT
Governor Wallace was of too low a class, of too little education, to represent the United States with the status and prestige the better type of people would prefer. When George Wallace fell beneath the fierce, rapid shots of the idiotically smiling Arthur Bremer, blond-haired and eye-shaded, sweaty and muscled and triumphant, the Governor of Alabama was on the threshold of a major double victory in Michigan and Maryland. To that point, George Wallace had accumulated more popular votes than any other Democratic candidate. And then on May 15, at the start of a hot afternoon, at a shopping center in suburban Maryland, Arthur Bremer called out his name and Governor Wallace, coatless and excited, turned to find what he had long waited for, dreamed about, dreaded. So to all Governor Wallace's other accomplishments was added the symbol of his own blood: by it he was now purified, now consecrated.
