Des Moines: Cram Course for Pols

By Lee Griggs

As a professional politician, Donald Dworak is used to fielding hostile questions of the have-you-stopped-beat-ing-your-wife variety. But this is worse by far--unfair, underhanded, unAmerican.

Bathed in the bright glare of television lights, he squirms nervously, kneading his hands together tightly, his knuckles whitening. Dworak, a second-term state senator from Nebraska who is considering a run for Governor, manages credible and even convincing answers to probing questions on water policy, a prime concern to Nebraska farmers. But then comes a change-up from his questioner. "What's your favorite color?" Dworak starts to stammer a confused response and finally breaks up in laughter on-camera. "Remember," admonishes the unamused interviewer, "be ready for anything."

Fortunately, the exercise is just for practice, part of a cram course for would-be Democratic candidates who learned a hard and valuable lesson from last year's Republican landslide: backslapping, hand-pumping and getting along still have their uses, but politics is more than ever a cold and complicated science, a bloodless war of expensive software and arcane marketing techniques. No longer can Democrats take for granted a solid blue-collar base or mass backing from minorities. The voter has become increasingly independent of party labels, a finicky comparison shopper among parties, candidates and issues. There are new techniques for wooing this voter, methods so far used most effectively by the Republicans. Don Dworak realizes this all too well. He was a Republican before switching parties earlier this year. For Democrats, even newly minted ones like Don Dworak, this is the first day of school.

The first of three days of school, as it happens. The Democratic National Committee has organized a traveling cram course in the new science of politics, and its first three-day stop is Des Moines, chosen for its central geographic location. To show they mean business, the Dems have rather pretentiously called their course a National Training Academy. It is mostly a mix of skull sessions and pep talks in the garish, maroon-walled ballroom of the Hotel Savery. The subsidized tuition is a modest $95, described by Party Political Director Ann Lewis as "low enough to attract, but high enough to require serious commitment. Lewis is delighted that 240 "students," a third of them women, have come from 30 states to soak up from the pros the fine points of campaign organization, fund raising, canvassing and media exploitation.

School starts with an exhortation from National Committee Chairman Charles T. Manatt, 45, to "rekindle, renew, and put together the building blocks for victory in 1982." Then the lights are dimmed and the enemy appears: Ronald Reagan, in his Sept. 24 address, asking for more budget cuts. He dominates the ballroom from six big color monitors. There is surprisingly little booing and barracking from the partisan audience. "The man may be selling snake oil," observes Jim Hepworth, a farmer who is party chairman in Minnesota's Blue Earth County. "But he sure sells it well."

After that dramatic opening, it is back to basics. Michael Berman, who has run campaigns for Hubert Humphrey and Walter Mondale, warns the assembled students: "You're going to get outspent up to 20 to 1 by Republicans. Save your resources to target on the 20% to 25% of voters who are persuadable in most elections.

He who runs his own campaign is a fool.

Get a manager who shares your philosophy and is involved in the cause, not simply a hired gun."

Fund-Raising Specialist Jim Friedman stresses: "Expect a majority of turndowns, but don't rule anyone out in advance as a prospect, even Republicans.

Fund-raising events are helpful because they require a cash commitment up front from ticket sales. Raise money at least 60 days before you expect to need it. The ideal campaign raises all its money before Sept. 1 and spends 90% of it after that."

Direct-mail experts urge the use of licked-on stamps to add a compelling personal touch, or brown envelopes with blue showing through the plastic windows, which often get opened first because they look as if a check might be inside. Media consultants advise putting campaign advertising into weekly papers instead of dailies because rates tend to be cheaper and the paper hangs around the house longer. Candidates are told to shake hands at factory gates before a shift starts, not at the end, because people coming off work are in a hurry to get home.

When appearing on television, they are told, be concise or else a film editor will chop the pitch to pieces to fit the short-item evening news format. Like Dworak, many of the would-be candidates subject themselves to a mock TV interview in which the questioner deliberately gets hostile to test their reactions under pressure. Colleagues then critique the videotaped replay, zeroing in on such distracting faults as eye-rolling, hand-wringing and scratching. Do not look down or away, they are instructed. Maintain eye contact at all times.

In a final seminar, Nebraska State Legislator Steve Fowler tells how he was targeted for defeat by the New Right and beat back the challenge by borrowing its symbols: the American flag, the fold eagle and the Liberty Bell on campaign literature, and The Battle Hymn of the Republic as background music for his radio spots.

Fowler concedes he disliked using such blatant pitches to patriotism. But he won with them. He advises: "Fight back. Refute charges right away. Don't be afraid to go low if your opponent does."

After three days of instruction on taping commercials, renting mailing lists and hiring pollsters, and other up-to-date advice, the students finally get to do some heavy handshaking--with each other, to say goodbye. But they do not leave emptyhanded. Each carries a bulging loose-leaf briefing book to use against the Republicans back home--and more important, renewed confidence. Says Jim Hepworth:

"We got the proof we needed: the party's alive again." Hepworth climbs into his Dodge Dart with three fellow students for the ride home to Minnesota, armed with new weapons for one of the oldest battles of the Republic. --By Lee Griggs

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.