A GAMBLE GONE WRONG

Q. What if President Ford were to pick a liberal Northerner as his running mate?

A. "It would be a foolish mistake. Ford would lose the South. And a lot of Republicans might not work for him."

--Ronald Reagan in an interview with TIME, July 12.

"I have chosen the distinguished United States Senator, the Honorable Richard Schweiker."

--Reagan at a Los Angeles press conference, July 26.

It was one of the most astonishing and bizarre turnabouts in a campaign full of surprises. President Ford was at a White House staff meeting when he got the tip that California's conservative Reagan was about to name as his vice-presidential choice Pennsylvania's Schweiker--just about the most liberal of all of the party's Northern Senators and a man who opposes many of the things that Reagan supports (see box). Ford looked stunned, then puzzled. "I thought someone was pulling my leg," he explained later.

As the significance of Reagan's act sank in, the President relaxed. He thought it was prompted by what he called "a high degree of desperation." He felt, said his aides, "relieved and liberated." After battling with his dogged challenger for eight tough and often frustrating months, Ford could be more certain than ever of a first-ballot victory in Kansas City on Aug. 18, a less bitterly contested convention and unexpected freedom in selecting his own vice-presidential candidate.

Ford and his strategists assessed the Reagan move accurately and with caution. Says one insider: "We saw it as a dangerous gamble that Reagan would not have made if he were not behind and worried, but we sure didn't proclaim it the political faux pas of the century right away." Indeed, the President's aides expressed some sympathy for Reagan, who they concede has run a strong, issue-oriented campaign. "I feel a little sorry for the Governor," explained a Ford assistant. "There was no way he could catch up. He had to roll the dice."

REASONS FOR THE GAMBLE

Reagan's wild gamble in naming Schweiker was couched in lofty terms of unifying the party for victory in November, but it was a much more naked move than that. His search for delegates had been stalled, and Ford was making inroads in delegations from Hawaii to Mississippi. So the challenger made a bold reach to the left in hopes that he might pick up some of the "soft" Ford delegates in such states as Pennsylvania, New York and New Jersey. The calculated risk was that Reagan's conservative ideologues would grumble, but finally stay with him, while moderates would drift away from Ford. By the end of a tumultuous week, it was clear that the last-gasp Reagan strategy had failed. He had managed to hang on to his most conservative delegates, despite their screams of pain. But he had not achieved the ultimate goal of the whole operation: to shake loose wavering Ford delegates in the Northeast.

Schweiker worked his Pennsylvania delegation hard but did not produce the names of any new converts to Reagan. Instead, six previously uncommitted Pennsylvanians announced for Ford. New York and New Jersey also stood behind the President by big majorities. The much coveted Mississippi delegation seemed ready to switch from Reagan to the President--and deliver as many as 30 votes that would send him well over the needed 1,130.

Even without granting Ford Mississippi, TIME'S delegate count at week's end gave him 1,126, Reagan 1,048 and 85 uncommitted. One of Ford's most realistic head counters projects 1,160 delegates in Ford's bag as the convention opens--30 more than needed to win. He allows for a slippage of 15 after various skirmishes over procedural issues, and thus a "safe" margin of 15 for the President on the first ballot.

Quite apart from falling back in the hard tallying of delegates, Reagan has slipped badly in the convention's less tangible psychodrama.

Both sides had considered some 40 to 50 Ford delegates as potential Reaganites or "Trojan horses" who, under convention pressures, might jump their primary election traces and run with the Governor. But Reagan lost his ideological purity in the Schweiker selection, and his allure for these possible converts faded. Declared one such delegate in North Carolina, where previously there had been talk of circumventing the state's binding election rules: "Nobody's going to break the law for Reagan now." Even though most unhappy Reagan advocates were still with him, much of the fire had gone out of their bellies.

Reagan had also vastly overestimated the drawing power of a nationally obscure Senator who had run well in his home state but was viewed by most Pennsylvania Republican leaders as too much of a maverick to persuade others to follow him. Claims a top Pennsylvania Republican: "Schweiker is good at putting together a constituency of his own, but he cannot deliver things." At the weekly luncheon of Washington's Wednesday Club, a group of 13 moderate and liberal Republican Senators,

Schweiker--a regular member who had been an outspoken critic of Reagan --was absent, but far from forgotten. Later, one club member asked Nevada's Paul Laxalt, who had urged Reagan to name Schweiker: "My God, Paul, why Schweiker? He's the dumbest guy in the Wednesday Club. He can't deal three votes out of Pennsylvania."

A typical reaction from nonprofessional Republicans was that of a telephone company executive in Lincoln, Neb.: "Who the hell is this guy? Is it Weicker or Weickert?" Similarly confusing Schweiker with Connecticut's Senator Lowell Weicker, a table of lunching Chicago businessmen wondered why "that Watergate Senator" would join Reagan.

HOW HE WAS PICKED

The way Reagan went about tapping Schweiker raised further doubts about his capacity to take firm charge of the critical decision making of the presidency. He relied almost exclusively on the advice of two political aides: John Sears, his campaign manager, and Senator Laxalt, chairman of Citizens for Reagan. Reagan decided to go with Schweiker just 33 hours after they urged that he do so.

Reagan had asked Sears and Laxalt about two months ago to come up with a single recommendation for Vice President. Working in a highly informal way among other campaign chores, they quickly compiled a list of nearly every prominent Republican who could meet two main criteria: 1) help unite the party, and 2) have a reputation for not being cozy with the Washington establishment. Conspicuously missing was the ability to lead the nation if elevated to the Oval Office. The choice apparently narrowed to William Ruckelshaus, the Deputy Attorney General in the Nixon Administration who refused to carry out orders to fire Watergate Special Prosecutor Archibald Cox, and Schweiker, whose name, Sears says, "kept popping up."

Ruckelshaus was approached first by Sears and Laxalt, but was never firmly offered second place. Says he: "About three weeks ago, it became clear to me they were serious." Ruckelshaus told them he favored Ford, and only if Reagan got the nomination would he consider joining the Governor. He was not approached again.

The two Reagan operatives had settled on Schweiker by Friday, July 16. Laxalt tried to reach him in Washington, but discovered he was on vacation. He could not make contact until the following Monday, when Schweiker returned his call from a pay phone in Ocean City, N.J. Laxalt said that he had something so important to discuss that he could not reveal it on the phone. Schweiker agreed to meet him and Sears in Washington on Tuesday morning. At a 90-minute meeting in Laxalt's office, Sears recalls, "we told him if he was agreeable, we would recommend him. He was quite surprised, but he pulled himself together and he was able to be quite responsive."

Schweiker recalls it more dramatically: "It was a stunning shock. I was numb. It crushed me down." He conceded that he had "some negative conceptions" about the offer and asked for time to think it over. He spent most of the night weighing it with his wife. Finally he decided to accept. Though he talked about wanting to help unify the party, it was clear that he was also tempted by what almost certainly was his only long-shot chance to be more than just another U.S. Senator. He expected criticism from friends but was surprised at their cries that he had betrayed his beliefs. Their reaction on the first day, he says, was "shock and bitterness. The second day, the bitterness had worn off. By the third day, the shock was starting to wear off."

With their selected candidate in hand, Laxalt and Sears moved to persuade Reagan. "It was too sensitive to telephone Governor Reagan about," Laxalt explained. "We decided he should be told personally." Sears flew to Los Angeles on Thursday night, July 22. On Friday morning he told Reagan and his wife Nancy for the first time about the Schweiker choice. That day Schweiker, traveling under the alias of Troy Gustavson, an aide, checked into the Beverly Wilshire Hotel in Los Angeles. He was told by Sears to meet Reagan on Saturday at noon. He spent a restless night.

Even though Reagan had Schweiker under the most serious consideration and was about to discuss the vice presidency with him, the former Governor told Los Angeles Times Reporter Richard Bergholz in an interview on Saturday morning: "The compatibility of the political philosophies of the presidential and vice-presidential nominees is preeminently important. I don't rule out balancing the ticket geographically ... Philosophically is the only place where I say it is hypocritical to choose some one of the opposite view."

On that same day, Reagan and Nancy served a tuna salad lunch at their home to Schweiker, Laxalt and Sears. The talk in which the deal was struck lasted at least six hours.

Despite the philosophical chasm between them, Reagan and Schweiker claimed they found some areas of general agreement: skepticism about the Government as the primary means of solving social problems, opposition to busing, amnesty, gun control and abortion, criticism of the Ford Administration's handling of detente, resumption of the death penalty for heinous crimes. Reagan was especially impressed by Schweiker's devotion to religion and his family. According to an aide, Reagan concluded that Schweiker was "a guy he can live with." Yet on many of the topics discussed, the conversation was strained--until Reagan said, "Dick, I'd like to have you as my running mate." After that, things went smoothly.

Schweiker was grilled further that night by some of Reagan's close friends, including Justin Dart, the chief of Dart Industries, and Holmes Tuttle, a millionaire Ford dealer. They were satisfied. Tuttle rationalized: "A running mate does not have to be a Charlie McCarthy. Senator Schweiker voted for some social-reform bills that haven't worked, but he realizes now that they should be changed." Added Dart: "No one should think that the Governor is changing his basic posture. If anybody is changing, it is Senator Schweiker."

Reagan then decided to break tradition and disclose his choice before the convention. His announcement last Monday described his compatibility with Schweiker in the broadest of generalities. Both believe, he said "in a strong America able to preserve the freedom of its people." He added that Schweiker "has not become a captive of what I call the Washington buddy system." In sum, he blandly and incorrectly implied that they had few differences. Reagan did not make the almost mandatory claim that he had selected the best man to take over the presidency if necessary.

Ford's backers pounced--hard.

Terming the Schweiker choice "the political boner of the century," Harry Dent, the President's chief delegate hunter in the South, argued: "Reagan people are supposed to be purists, but this is a very impure act." Reagan's embracing of Schweiker, declared Illinois Congressman Henry Hyde, was like "a farmer selling his last cow to buy a milking machine."

Nelson Rockefeller did not seem overly amused that he had withdrawn from consideration as Vice President in order to appease the conservatives, and now found Reagan turning to a running mate even more liberal than he. Said Rocky: "The pureblood conservatives--the ones I've come across--will not accept a voting record like Schweiker's."

The Reagan troops expected this sort of thing from the Ford backers, but also braced themselves for the expected assault from conservative supporters--yet they were jolted by its ferocity. Fumed Mississippi Congressman Trent Lott: "He blew it. Reagan took a long shot, and it isn't going to pay off." Later Lott switched to Ford. North Carolina Senator Jesse Helms had been given advance word in a phone call from Reagan at 9:05 p.m. Sunday. "I looked at my watch because I wanted to know the time in my life when I was most shocked." Helms called the ticket "a coalition with the widest wing span in all history" and said he might fight any Schweiker nomination.

"It's the dumbest thing I ever heard of," declared Ohio Congressman John Ashbrook, who vowed not to work for

Reagan any more. New Hampshire's ultra-conservative Governor Meldrim Thomson Jr. insisted that "this type of deal exemplifies why politics and politicians are held in such low esteem by all Americans. I will not assist in selling this opportunistic team to the Republicans." Then he cashed in his ticket for Kansas City.

On the other hand, Writer William Buckley argues in a column to be published this week: "The ideological coloration of one's running mate isn't a part of one's 'philosophy.' It is a matter of adaptation to political reality. Roosevelt had his Garner; Adlai Stevenson his Jim Crow running mate, John Sparkman; John Kennedy his Lyndon Johnson--it is a tradition as old as Jackson and Calhoun." The Buckley line was echoed by other sophisticated political augurs. It did not take into account, however, the fact that Reagan, unlike the other candidates mentioned, had spectacularly insisted on ideological purity and compatibility with his running mate.

THE DELEGATE CHANGES

Frantically, Reagan and his aides worked the phones to check the outcry. From his Santa Ynez Ranch, the candidate himself called some 100 Republicans. All things considered, Reagan's cajoling held his conservative lines remarkably well. Outside of Mississippi, there were no delegate defections from Reagan throughout the South. Accepting Schweiker, conceded Delegate Bob Beckham of Georgia, is akin to the dilemma of a father "whose favorite son marries a girl you don't particularly like--you just do the best you can with it." More sympathetically, Guy Hunt, chairman of the Alabama delegation, agreed that "the church ain't just for the righteous. Sinners can come in too."

But the critical and still undecided fight was in Mississippi, which plans under a "unit rule" to cast all 30 votes for one candidate. The Magnolia state could well do Reagan in. Its 30 delegates and 30 alternates each cast half a vote, and the majority had been leaning toward Reagan. Yet the group has not yet polled itself, and soundings by reporters in recent weeks showed Reagan's margin narrowing.

The key to which way the delegation would finally go seemed to lie with its chairman, Clarke Reed. Reed, a wealthy businessman (construction, barges and farmland) who smiles readily, loves parties and delves into philosophy, denies he has any "kingmaker" role in influencing the Mississippi delegation. A political purist who would like to see the two major parties divide along liberal-conservative lines, he switched from the Democratic Party in 1950 to push his conservative beliefs. Reed had professed to favor Reagan, but was thought by some insiders in the delegation to be awaiting an excuse to move to Ford. The selection of Schweiker gave Reed that excuse. After taking phone calls from both Ford and Reagan, he finally convened a press conference in which he denounced Reagan's selection of Schweiker as "wrong and dumb. It was an act of desperation. It was a double sin inasmuch as it didn't work." Concluding that "the nomination contest is for all practical purposes over," he said he would support Ford, who had assured him that he would name a vice-presidential candidate who is "philosophically compatible with the mainstream of the Republican Party." Reed probably carries enough clout to make the difference in Mississippi.

As Ford visited the Mississippi delegation at week's end, he got a warm reception but no commitment on how the votes there would go. TIME'S count of the delegation showed that the President held a solid edge with 27 delegates favoring him, 16 leaning toward Reagan and 15 uncommitted (two were on vacation and unreachable).

Regardless of what happens in Mississippi, simply holding the conservative lines would not be enough for Reagan. For the Schweiker ploy to work, it would have been necessary to win over delegates in New York, New Jersey and, notably, Pennsylvania. So far, that simply has not been happening. Schweiker insisted on Wednesday that he would pull as many as 20 Ford delegates from Pennsylvania into either the Reagan or uncommitted columns--but he did not produce a single name.

The Pennsylvanians visited Washington last Thursday, stopping first to listen to Schweiker on Capitol Hill. He got a polite hearing with his plea that "if Governor Reagan can cross the sound barrier and ask me to join him, I can cross the sound barrier and join him in a coalition for victory." Even a longtime Schweiker friend and former campaign manager, Drew Lewis, urged support for Ford. James Stein, 21, once a Reagan admirer, said Reagan had lost "credibility" with him. "At least I know where Gerald Ford stands, and I can take him at his word."

After a 90-minute audience with the President at the White House, six delegates--who had been considered uncommitted--came out publicly for Ford. Reagan and Schweiker may meet jointly with Pennsylvania and New Jersey delegations this week to try to persuade delegates to switch; they also plan to address the Mississippi delegation.

Reagan's aides insist that the strategy will pay off before the convention. Campaign Manager Sears argued that the plan all along was to spend the first week after the Schweiker announcement just explaining the odd coupling. In an implicit admission that the Reagan cause only days earlier had seemed lost, he claimed: "People are saying, 'Now we really can't tell who's going to win.' " Sears seemed to be hearing voices inaudible to almost everyone else.

By naming his own vice-presidential choice early, Reagan hoped to goad Ford into doing the same. Ford told TIME that there is "a possibility" he will reveal his decision before the convention. Much of the speculation centered on former Texas Governor John Connally. Connally, long stubbornly neutral in the Ford-Reagan battle, flew off to Washington the day Reagan announced his choice of Schweiker. Reagan, he had long ago concluded, was an intellectual and political lightweight who had now made a bad miscalculation.

In Washington, Big John joined the President in an endorsement press conference, pushing himself onto Page One. But he was jumping on the bandwagon rather late. Ford could have used his support long ago in the Texas primary, where he was shut out by Reagan 100 to 0. Reagan's man Sears scoffed at Connally's influence over other Republicans, calling him "a phenomenon of the press and his own wits," who "has no constituency outside a few friends in Texas." Connally has not run for office in ten years and, even if Ford picks him as his running mate, he probably could not bring heavily Democratic Texas into Ford's electoral total. Already a group of ten Northeastern Republican state chairmen are considering a plea to Ford that he bypass Connally as a running mate. Insisted one of Connally's most prominent rivals for the vice-presidential nomination: "Connally would be a disaster. He's got the milk fund, he's got the wheeler-dealer image, he's got the party switch, you close your eyes and you hear Lyndon Johnson."

FORD'S VEEP LISTS

Certainly, Reagan's embracing of a liberal has opened Ford's Veep options. It is hard to see how the Reaganites can complain if Ford chooses anyone to the right of Schweiker--which includes just about every prominent Republican.

Through the week, the President's associates flatteringly floated a number of new names as vice-presidential possibilities, including that of such a nationally unknown Senator as New Mexico's Pete Domenici, 44. Also on new Ford lists were Ambassador to Great Britain Anne Armstrong, 48, and Housing and Urban Development Secretary Carla Hills, 42. Commerce Secretary Elliot Richardson, 56, would deflect most Watergate-related attacks by virtue of his Saturday Night Massacre heroics. Treasury Secretary William Simon, 48, would draw attention to Ford's success with the economy and is a strong manager. Besides, cracked a wag during a meeting with Ford: "Simon's perfect; he's a Catholic with a Jewish name."

Washington Governor Daniel Evans, 50, could bring some of the Reagan Far West popularity and non-Washington image to the ticket. Illinois Congressman John Anderson, 54, a moderate, is popular in the House and Midwest. U.N. Ambassador and former Pennsylvania Governor William Scranton, 59, is an able Ford friend and confidant who is also highly popular with moderates, intellectuals and Easterners; but his name evokes memories of the bitter 1964 Republican Convention, when he made a late and abortive effort to block Barry Goldwater's nomination.

Should Ford be elected, he would be ineligible to seek re-election in 1980. The 22nd Amendment to the Constitution bars anyone who has served a full term and more than half of another from running again, and Ford in January will have served almost 2 1/2 years of Nixon's second term. So in picking a running mate, Ford may also be selecting the future leader of the party, a factor that argues against such aging men as Nelson Rockefeller (67) and Reagan (65).

Aside from promising to choose a running mate whose ideology is similar to his own and in the party's "mainstream," Ford was listening--but not talking. Some of the party figures who meet his criteria and who are known to be highly regarded by Ford are:

CHRISTOPHER ("KIT") BOND, 37, popular Governor of Missouri, who would bring to the ticket a fresh face, unscarred by scandal--and not identified with Washington. Bond has trimmed Missouri's 87 state agencies to 14. Wealthy, self-assured, he has successfully fought against graft, and is so middle-of-the-road that both Reagan and Rockefeller have campaigned for him. Liabilities: limited experience and the fact that his elevation to the ticket could cost the G.O.P. the governorship.

ROBERT RAY, 47, Governor of Iowa, whose approval rating in his fourth term is an astronomical 82%. Ray is more liberal than Ford, favors the Equal Rights Amendment and abortion--and opposes capital punishment. He helped bring about broad tax reform in Iowa, including repeal of levies on food and prescription drugs, while staving off any general tax increase. Major drawbacks: he would bring to the ticket only what fellow-Midwesterner Ford already gives it--honesty, simplicity--and blandness.

BILL BROCK, 45, currently favored to be re-elected to the Senate by Tennessee voters next November, would hardly offend the right wing (his recent ratings by Americans for Constitutional Action have ranged from 86% to 94%). He is against school busing, increases in foreign aid and licensing of handguns. But Brock is colorless as a campaigner, and if he withdrew from the Senate race, his seat could be captured by the Democrats.

HOWARD BAKER, 50, the Watergate TV star who is Tennessee's other Senator, is far better known and more moderate than Brock. Says he: "In Washington I'm thought of as a conservative, but in Tennessee I'm thought of as a Bolshevik." He supported fair housing and opposed repeal of the one-man, one-vote principle. He also opposes busing and the Consumer Protection Agency and often votes against Pentagon cutbacks. His ACA ratings in 1975 dropped to 54% from previous ratings in the 70s. But he has never taken pains to ingratiate himself with party stalwarts; he is known as a poor organizer and is not personally close to Ford.

JOHN RHODES, 59, who succeeded Ford as House minority leader, will be chairman of the Kansas City convention. A Goldwater conservative from Arizona, Rhodes is popular with many moderates as well. His opposition to environmental issues has landed him on a list of a "Dirty Dozen" marked for defeat by preservationist groups. His House background (a member since 1953, minority leader since 1973) is too similar to Ford's to do anything to blunt Jimmy Carter's non-Washington appeal.

At week's end Ford declared his intention to consult all convention delegates, alternates and major Republican officeholders throughout the nation on their choices for a running mate. The gesture will engender a widespread feeling of participation, but in the end the decision will be made by Ford and his inner circle.

KANSAS CITY--AND BEYOND

As Ford moves into the convention with the nomination nearly guaranteed, he enjoys the prospect of far less blood-letting than was expected before Reagan's blunder. While Reagan was acting from personal motives in choosing Schweiker, last week's failure of that strategy may have served the G.O.P. well by contributing to the kind of unity Reagan professed to be seeking.

Kansas City can never produce the kind of love-in enjoyed by the Democrats in New York. But if Ford, as expected, rolls to a quick victory, no one expects Reagan or many of his followers to protest that it was not a fair fight. Republicans are already speculating that Reagan, a team player, would be a graceful loser, campaign aggressively for Ford, and that he might even accept a post in his Cabinet if the President wins.

The post-convention job facing the minority Republican Party is immense. The Harris poll last week showed Carter leading Ford by an astounding 66% to 27%, and Reagan 68% to 26%. The gap will of course narrow after the Republicans have their candidate and the fall campaign progresses. Solid, unflappable--and lucky--Jerry Ford is on the verge of winning the toughest battle of his career so far, in Kansas City.

All week long Ford had gained stature mostly by doing nothing. His reaction to the frantic Reagan maneuvering had been low-key. Perhaps he had learned the old wisdom of Texan Sam Rayburn's curt advice: "The three most important words in the English language are 'wait a minute.'" Since his hasty pardon of Nixon, Ford has typically moved slowly, listened widely to advice and pushed steadily on, waiting for his adversaries to slip. Reagan did so last week. Ford just puffed on his pipe. He asked the S.O.S. and Chowder and Marching Club (Republican hail fellows from Congress) to the White House for a chat. Then he sat back and listened as about 40 of them vented their views on whom he should select as a running mate and how he should run against Carter. Ford listened and smiled. One man present, an old college friend of Ford's from the Big Ten, recalled the words of Ohio State Coach Woody Hayes: "Three yards and a cloud of dust--the way to win football games." If Ford finally wins in November, the friend thought, that is the way he will do it.

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