THE NON-DEBATE

SINCE Senators Robert Kennedy and Eugene McCarthy began competing for the presidential nomination, many political analysts have adjudged the opposed pair as alike as a couple of peas from the same unorthodox pod--at least where the issues were concerned. For their part, both candidates have protested that there were marked differences between them. When they agreed to an hour-long televised debate, the nation looked forward to a spirited exchange of their divergent views. Anticlimactically, last week's spectacular, displacing the Hollywood Palace revue on the ABC network, was no showdown, and it wasn't even good show biz. It was downright dull. Nearly two-thirds of the way through the confrontation, Moderator Frank Reynolds declared plaintively: "Well, there don't seem to be very many differences between Lyou] on anything, really."

Since this is the season for TV reruns, it is perhaps fitting that the first McCarthy-Kennedy meeting left any reasonably informed citizen with the feeling that he had seen that segment somewhere before. And that he had seen a lot of better panel shows. Not an inch of new ground was broken, not a refreshing new idea voiced. Part of the problem, certainly, was the format, which called for three ABC newsmen sitting around a table in San Francisco's KGO-TV studios to pose questions, but inhibited direct dialogue between the Senators. McCarthy was particularly critical. "This is not really shaping up as a debate," he complained. "We're just going to sit around a table and be nice to each other."

They were not being exactly "nice." One-upping and putting-down one another to the best of their ability, both candidates did their determined best to denigrate the other's qualifications for the presidency: McCarthy, 52, came across as casual, languidly professorial, mature and even a little sleepy--an impression that was enhanced by the pouches beneath his eyes. Kennedy, 42, appeared tense, brittle and, by visual and verbal comparison, considerably younger.

The interviewers started out, not surprisingly, by asking about Viet Nam, and it seemed for a moment as if a real brouhaha was about to ensue.

McCarthy, first to reply, appeared to be saying that the National Liberation Front, political arm of the Viet Cong guerrillas, would have to be included immediately in a postwar Saigon government. Kennedy said that the Communists would have to be given some role, but he crisply challenged the wisdom of "forcing a coalition government" on Saigon. McCarthy backed down, said that he would not force a coalition either.

So it went. When he was questioned about the worldwide role of the U.S., McCarthy conceded that the nation had "clear obligations," both moral and legal, to a number of countries; he specifically cited India, Japan, Israel and, surprisingly, Formosa. But he emphasized that in any area of the world where the nation's commitments are less binding, the U.S. should very cautiously balance possible losses against anticipated gains. Kennedy was far less precise, at least three times reiterated his campaign axiom that while the U.S. could not honestly ignore its international responsibilities, "I don't think we can be the policemen of the world."

Both professed deep concern for the poor, and particularly for Negroes. When McCarthy complained about a congressional cutback in funds for public housing, Kennedy went him one better by declaring that public housing is a failure anyway and repeated his belief in greater involvement by the private sector.

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The most apparent difference between the two was in their attitudes toward two major Administration officials: FBI Chief J. Edgar Hoover, who was one of the first officials to be reconfirmed in office by John F. Kennedy, and Secretary of State Dean Rusk, a J.F.K. appointee. Bobby noted that he has disagreed with Rusk for some time, but understandably refused to say that he would fire him. McCarthy was somewhat less tender. Stating the obvious, he said that he would sack any Cabinet member with whose policies or performance he disagreed; he left no doubt that he would retire both Rusk and Hoover. And probably quite a few others. "Your brother," he said to Bobby, "was too kind to a number of people after the Bay of Pigs."

If most of the debate was merely dull, the end was positively demeaning. The candidates were given a couple of minutes apiece to explain, like high school sophomores seeking class office, why they wanted to be President. Both began by dutifully presenting their credentials. 'Tve had the experience," said Bobby, evoking his service as Attorney General and member of the National Security Council. McCarthy, who wound up with a more substantial Who's Who entry, cited his 20 years in Congress and his service on committees that are concerned with the whole gamut of U.S. problems, from racial relations to foreign relations.

When it was all over, Moderator Reynolds said hopefully: "There may have been some light." There was not, unfortunately. What the show did more than anything else was to raise doubts about whether 1968 will produce a genuine debate on television.

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