Over the Top, Barely

By Ed Magnuson

For weeks Walter Mondale had predicted with facetious precision that he would acquire the magic number of 1,967 delegates needed to pin down the Democratic presidential nomination at 11:59 a.m. on the day after Super Tuesday III--the final day of one of the most grueling, frenetic and unpredictable primary seasons ever. Now on election eve Mondale's campaign plane was over California, nearing the end of a 25-hour, 5,620-mile coast-to-coast blitz. The candidate had been in fine fettle, rousing partisan audiences in New Jersey, West Virginia and New Mexico. He seemed somehow to be thriving on the hectic pace and its near sleepless nights. Finally confident that the elusive goal was at hand, the Minnesotan's staff broke out bottles and let spirits soar. The former Vice President gleefully awarded T shirts imprinted with I SURVIVED AIR MONDALE to those who had made the trip, and read a "wimp list" of correspondents who had begged off doing so. His aides led weary reporters in a stir-crazy version of the Wabash Cannon Ball:

From the Bond Court to the Fairmont, the hotels have been great,

A different bed each evening in a different state.

Our sex lives are terrific, celibacy is fine.

We're in a flying convent, Flight 11:59.

Waiting out election results in home state, Mondale heard nothing shake his buoyant mood. His foe Gary Hart was carrying South and New Mexico, as expected, but delegates were at stake. Mondale sweeping West Virginia. The news New Jersey was dazzling. A hefty 107 delegates were the prize, and Mondale, capitalizing on the state's district election system, seemed to be taking an amazing of them to Hart's none and Jesse Jackson's four. The voting booths had closed in California, with its enticing of 306 delegates, but early exit polls indicated a tight race. Arriving at a party in St. Paul's Radisson Plaza Mondale reached out to his rivals and their backers. "I want your support," he said, "and I intend to earn it." After delivering a Satchel Paige warning to Ronald Reagan, "Don't look back, somebody's gaining on you," the contented Mondale ordered a batch of cheeseburgers, celebrated with friends in his 17th-floor suite and drifted off into a long-awaited deep sleep at midnight.

But for Mondale's aides, the euphoria gave way almost immediately to a bout of Hart-induced nightmares. Back in February, the Colorado Senator's stunning upset in the New Hampshire primary (he had risen from a mere 3% following among Democrats nationally just a month earlier) shattered the notion that an invincible Mondale machine would crush all opposition early. After a string of Hart wins in New England, Mondale had doggedly fought his way back with victories in Alabama and Georgia on Super Tuesday I. Then he seized Illinois, New York and Pennsylvania, setting up another knockout chance on Super Tuesday II. Yet the equally dogged Hart had jolted pollsters once more, winning in Ohio and Indiana. Early on Wednesday morning, Mondale's strategists found the reports from California turning sour. Would their man be stymied short of a delegate majority after all?

At 3 a.m. Mondale Campaign Coordinator Tom Donilon was awakened by one of the staffs delegate counters. The news from California was dismaying. Hart was headed for a remarkable victory in the state. In the end Hart won 32 of California's 45 congressional districts, Mondale only nine, Jackson four. That translated into a nearly 3-to-l Hart victory over Mondale in delegates: 205 to 72 (Jackson got 29). Donilon relayed the discouraging report to Campaign Chairman James Johnson and Adviser John Reilly. The acute problem was to avoid the debacle of Mondale having to confess at his 1 1:59 a.m. press conference that despite his boastful prediction, he did not have the needed 1,967 delegates after all.

At 7:30 a.m. aides began contacting uncommitted delegates, mostly elected Democratic officials and regional party leaders, to ask them to stand by for a call from Mondale. The candidate, refreshed and unshaken by the reports from California, turned on his powers of persuasion. He made some 50 telephone calls, reaching such party luminaries as Atlanta Mayor Andrew Young, New Jersey Senator Frank Lautenberg and Alabama Governor George Wallace. The unstated threat: Mondale was certain to win, and late arrivals on the bandwagon were less likely to be remembered favorably by the candidate. About 40 recipients of the Mondale message took it seriously enough to join him.

That, by the reckoning of Mondale's aides, put their boss over the top. He had gone into the final day of primaries just 225 short of a convention delegate majority. He had picked up a respectable 201 delegates on the with sey's wipeout of Hart partly offsetting the California defeat. The time difference from the Pacific Coast had blunted the impact of California. Most TV viewers had gone to bed, like Mondale, with the expectation that the nomination fight was over. In much of the U.S., the next day's morning newspapers conveyed the same impression. Mondale was determined to keep that idea alive.

As reporters, cameramen and his aides counted off the seconds ("nine, eight, seven"), Mondale strode to the microphones in the Radisson Plaza at 11:59 a.m. on the dot and declared, "Today, I am pleased to claim victory I am the nominee. I've got the votes." He cited a precise number of delegates behind him: 2,008. Mondale pledged to work for "a unified convention," saying that he would make personal appeals to both Hart and Jackson to join him in that effort. He conceded under questioning that the friction among the candidates had been great, but he tried to down-play it. "Our Democratic Party is a family," he said, "and as families sometimes do, we squabble. But our bonds are stronger than our battles."

Most independent counters agreed that Mondale had achieved a majority. The U.P.I, tally, generally considered the most reliable, placed Mondale's strength on Wednesday at 1,969, two delegates more than needed. Hart had 1,212 and Jackson 367. By U.P.I.'s count, Mondale at week's end had gained six more delegates. An additional 379 were still to be chosen, were uncommitted, or had been pledged to candidates no longer in the race. The presumed inevitability of a Mondale nomination seemed likely to solidify and enlarge his support by the start of the Democratic Convention in San Francisco on July 16.

Hart hoped to use his California victory to block the Mondale bandwagon. But he was slow to capitalize on it, mainly because he had been caught off guard by the magnitude of his California win. His last day of campaigning had gone dismally. After some morning stumping in New Jersey, where his weariness had earlier caused him to praise a supporter for coming "here for the New Hampshire primary," Hart's aides found that early exit polls indicated he was going to lose the state. Shortly after his chartered Boeing 720 took off from Philadelphia, an engine caught fire and the cabin filled with smoke. Hart's wife Lee ran from a rear seat through the plane because "I thought we were going down and I wanted to be with my family." The aircraft landed safely, and Hart's shaken entourage took Ozark Air Lines planes to St. Louis and California. Unaware that he was on the way toward a dramatic and offsetting win on the West Coast, Hart canceled election-night network interviews in Los Angeles, missing a possibly vital chance to call attention to his California triumph. NBC had promoted its scheduled interview with Hart on the nightly news. When he bailed out, Correspondent Roger Mudd put questions to an empty chair, a bit of low-blow journalism that enraged the candidate when he heard about it later.

Hart awoke Wednesday morning to discover belatedly that he could declare sa "spectacular, prodigious ? victory" in California. He also whipped Mondale, 51% to 39%, in South Dakota, where Jackson got just 5%. Hart had almost as large an edge in New Mexico, 46% to 36% over Mondale, with Jackson at 12%. In West Virginia, however, where unemployment runs at 16% and the coal-mining industry is depressed, Mondale won easily, 54% to Hart's 37% and Jackson's 7%.

What mattered most, however, was New Jersey and California, two states that were considered somewhat similar in their demographic makeup but turned out to be in contrasting political moods. Hart's blunder in lamenting that he had to campaign in New Jersey amid toxic wastes 'while his wife had the pleasure of stumping California had hurt him in the sensitive Garden State, which lives in New York's shadow. Mondale, on the other hand, could not overcome Hart's more macho appeal in California, where the image of a Colorado outdoorsman backed by a bevy of movie celebrities gets a friendlier reception than that of a buttoned-up Washington-trained political operator. Mondale ran well in urban districts around Los Angeles and in one San Diego district but was blanked throughout northern California.

Even though its impact was muted in the East, the California result gave Hart an important lift, at least delaying any concession that Mondale had the nomination wrapped up. Said Hart: "Welcome to overtime." He declared his campaign "must go forward, and we will." Oliver Henkel, Hart's campaign manager, insisted that "Mondale's claims of 2,008 delegates are bravado. He's still in the 1,800s by our best counts." David Mixner, a key Hart strategist in California, argued that even if Mondale winds up 200 votes over a majority by convention time, "it's a slim margin. One event, one thing done wrong, and he's gone." If Hart kept Mondale from a first-ballot win, delegates might desert Mondale in droves.

The Hart camp argues that the Coloradan is, by many yardsticks, a stronger candidate than Mondale. Hart won twelve primaries to Mondale's eleven. When states where delegates were chosen by caucus are added, the two contenders tied 24 to 24. Mondale failed to win a Western or New England primary. Hart consistently showed more strength than Mondale among independents and also won the most Republican votes in those states where party crossovers were permitted. Since neither Democrats nor Republicans command a majority of registered voters (a recent estimate: Democrats 40%, Republicans 25%) independents and Republican defections might possibly hold the key to Democratic hopes in November.

The validity of any continued Hart candidacy thus rests on the theory that he has a better chance of defeating Reagan than does Mondale. Hart once commanded a surprising lead over Mondale in polls pairing the two against Reagan. Hart actually led Reagan last March in a Gallup poll, 52% to 43%, while Mondale trailed the President, 45% to 50%. Recent poll readings are less definitive. The latest Gallup findings, taken early in May, show Reagan leading Mondale by 50% to 46% while the President edges Hart by 49% to 45%. Most Democratic political pros estimate that Hart's margin over Mondale against Reagan would have to be at least 10 percentage points to influence many convention delegates. The Hart strategists are eagerly awaiting new polls in the hope that Hart's strong showing in California will push him higher.

The Mondale strategists counter that many of Hart's primary wins were in relatively small states, some of which Reagan seems certain to take. They note that Mondale led Hart in the popular vote 4.9 million to 4.5 million. Even in California, estimates of the untabulated raw votes by candidate had Mondale running close. California, like New Jersey, has a process in which delegates are elected directly by districts. Even a slight edge in popularity is usually enough to sweep a district, since voters tend to pick a candidate's full slate of delegates.

Some analysts contend that Mondale would have knocked out Hart midway in the primary season if Jackson had not been pulling a large black vote, which is seen as more liberal and less favorable to Hart. Others argue that Jackson created a following of his own that would not have voted at all without his candidacy. In general, Mondale's aides claim, Hart was merely a receptacle for anti-Mondale votes and had no real constituency to take into the general election. The Hart rebuttal is that Mondale's traditional party support is too limited and that in a fight against Reagan it would go to Hart anyway.

While the long argument over each candidate's relative electability lingered, so too did the personal friction among the three contenders. Their tenth and last major debate, televised nationally from Los Angeles two days before Super Tuesday III, showed again that the Democrats' wounds are deep and festering. Mondale glared at Hart and heatedly objected to the Senator's suggestion that the Justice Department may investigate the labor-supported PAC funds that had helped elect many Mondale delegates. NBC Moderator Tom Brokaw asked Hart, "Do you want to look him in the eye and say that you didn't accuse him of criminal activity?" Hart: "He knows I didn't." Mondale: "Did you not suggest a possible judicial investigation?" Hart: "I said that the Reagan Justice Department would be very likely ..." Mondale: "Now what do you think that suggests? Overparking?" Hart tried to deflect the direct challenge, claiming that "civil laws" were involved in election practices and adding, "I never said anything about criminal." Moments later, Hart accused Mondale of running "a campaign of distortion and"distraction." He cited a TV ad used by Mondale's campaign in New Jersey that attacked Hart's unwillingness to support legislation against handguns. Hart says he favors state controls on such weapons and contends that the ad portrays him as soft on criminals. But he described the ad's contents inaccurately and admitted later that he had not seen it.

Beginning to abandon his role of debate peacemaker, Jackson belittled the "rat-a-tat" of Mondale-Hart, while jabbing playfully at what he considered unfair media coverage of his campaign. Jackson's demeanor was much more strident, however, when he was away from the other two. Speaking on election day in Los Angeles, he said harshly that Mondale and Hart "mean well, but they aren't tough enough to lead." At the site of the Watts race riots of 1965, Jackson shouted: "There's Mondale--the same man who tried to defeat Harold Washington. The same man who sits on the board of Control Data doing business with South Africa [Mondale resigned last year]. The same man who can't make up his mind on voting rights. And there's Hart--don't bother."

Earlier in the acrimonious campaign Hart had told an interviewer, "Mondale is mush. He is weak and his managers know it." On the PAC issue he suggested that Mondale had adopted "the ethics of Ed Meese," a reference to Reagan's choice for Attorney General, whose financial dealings are under investigation by a special prosecutor. A Hart ad strongly implied that Mondale's Central America policies would lead to American battle casualties in the region. Mondale in turn termed Hart's foreign policy views "naive," suggested that he was not "seasoned and experienced" and did not "know what he is doing." Mondale dramatized the point in ads that showed a red telephone ringing in the night and suggesting that Hart should not be trusted with a potential doomsday decision.

In the end, the clashes between the candidates, while demonstrating that it would be difficult for them to develop any real rapport, were far less brutal than the party's brawls over Viet Nam in 1968 and 1972. Only two of the unkind labels each tried to affix to the other seem likely to stick: Hart's tagging of Mondale as the candidate of "special interests" and Mondale's "Where's the beef?" query, implying that Hart's "new ideas" and "new generation" themes are empty slogans.

As Mondale continued to pick up a delegate here or there through the end of the week, Hart traveled to Washington to consult key Democratic leaders. Most of them urged that he restrict himself to a highroad preconvention campaign in which he would avoid any divisive attacks on Mondale. Cautioned Speaker Tip O'Neill: "People love a fighter, but they hate a spoiler." Said Hart: "He's exactly right, and I have no intention of being one." Hart indicated that he did not plan to stage furtive raids on Mondale delegates or mount numerous seating challenges at the convention.

But in an interview with TIME last Friday, Hart seemed determined to carry on his quest for the nomination. "I intend to go all the way to San Francisco and I intend to be nominated on the first ballot," he asserted. "Six weeks is a lifetime in politics," he added, referring to the preconvention period. "Remember New Hampshire? Remember Florida?"

Hart then softened his certitude a shade, conceding that "it's going to be an uphill fight. It always has been, but it's still possible." Yes, he had weighed the pros and cons of persisting into the first ballot. "There are lots of positive reasons to go on and very, very few negative ones. We have been advocating moving this party into the future, and a great many people have responded. That element of the party should and must be heard through to the convention."

As for yielding to Mondale's call for party unity, Hart said he will "try to avoid conflict." He had talked to Mondale on Friday, he reported. "It was very pleasant. He didn't ask anything of me. I didn't ask anything of him. He said it would be a good idea if we got together soon, and I said, 'Great, the sooner the better.' I told him I'd be continuing to run a positive campaign, that I had no intention of fighting a rearguard or a spoiler action, because that's not the kind of person I am. It's not in my nature."

Flying to his home state's Democratic convention, Hart received an emotional welcome on Saturday. To standing ovations, he declared, "We have a duty that goes beyond a candidate or party. The defeat of Ronald Reagan is our moral imperative." Spacing his words for emphasis, Hart vowed: "I--do--not--quit."

In practical terms, Hart's gentlemanly approach suggested that his would be more of a symbolic reach for attention and influence at the convention than a serious final drive for the prize. He and his delegates would get their well-earned spotlight in the party's prime-time televised assembly. To abandon his bid for the nomination and withdraw his name completely from consideration at the convention would reduce his clout in shaping the party's platform and in working with Jackson to overhaul the delegate selection rules, which were shown to be unfair this year. "The 1,200 delegates he has now need a leader," said Connecticut Senator Christopher J. Dodd, a Hart supporter. "At the convention you can do a lot of things other than just pick a nominee."

For one thing, Hart may challenge the seating of six of Mondale's 77 Florida delegates and all 53 of his Puerto Rico delegates, arguing that election procedures in those areas violated party rules.

While still protesting that Mondale's PAC-funded delegates were "tainted," he showed no desire to seek a ruling on the issue from the convention credentials committee. The delegates involved in the controversy are from New York, Pennsylvania and Illinois, all of which were carried convincingly by Mondale. Hart knows that he would risk a sorehead image if he were to push that challenge personally at the convention.

Hart had his political future to consider. "You'll make a great President," predicted O'Neill as he spoke to Hart in a fatherly way. "But not this year." The implication was clear: if Hart plays his cards right, he would be the early Democratic favorite for 1988--that is, if Mondale does not win this fall. Arizona Congressman Morris Udall, acting as a mediator between Mondale and Hart, said of the Senator: "He knows the importance of defeating Ronald Reagan and I'm convinced he'll play a constructive role in the weeks ahead." Many Democrats are even touting him as an ideal running mate for Mondale (see following story).

In any unity drive, Mondale's political agility may be tested more in seeking Jackson's support than in persuading Hart that his long-term political interests lie in bowing to the party's majority sentiment. After winning four delegates in New Jersey, where he got 24% of the vote, and picking up 29 delegates in California, Jackson candidly assessed what Mondale and the convention planners must do to satisfy him. Said he: "The bottom line is my self-respect, and that's what they must come to grips with."

The black preacher's blurry blend of ego and principle presents the conventional Mondale with a most unconventional problem. A practitioner of political compromise, Mondale frequently asks reporters who have covered Jackson, "What does Jesse want?" The larger issue of dealing with a fervent black movement seems to elude him. Jackson, who took black votes from Mondale in the primaries but whose followers are vital to Mondale's chances in November, must be subtly massaged. He cannot be assuaged with something like a promise of a Cabinet post or an ambassadorship.

Jackson's specific demands can apparently be accommodated if the resulting compromises are couched in rhetoric that gives the civil rights leader a face-saving reason to accept them. His complaint that the party's presidential primary rules are unfair, sometimes awarding a candidate far fewer delegates than his electoral strength would warrant, is valid. Ironically, it was Mondale last week who complained that the rules were stacked against him in California, where his share of the delegates was far less than the percentage of votes his delegates received. A new party commission to reform the rules once again is necessary, although changes could hardly be applied retroactively to the 1984 primaries.

Jackson's insistence on an end to run-off primaries for congressional, state and local offices is a pricklier problem. Under the runoff system, mostly in effect in the South, if no one gets more than 50% of the votes cast, the two top vote getters in a multicandidate field are pitted against each other in a second election. Jackson claims that such runoffs are inherently discriminatory, since blacks rarely constitute a majority and thus have difficulty beating a white head to head. One possible compromise: holding runoffs only when the first-round winner receives less than 40% of the vote. The issue will apparently be thrashed out in the convention's platform committee, which Mondale delegates will control. Jackson feels certain that he can get enough support on the committee to take a minority report backing his position to the convention floor, where it could stir strong" emotions. While platform planks have little practical effect, the fight could especially embitter white Southern Democrats, most of whom are strong advocates of the runoff system.

Jackson is being counseled by seasoned black politicians not to play a seriously disruptive convention role. Above all, they want to see Reagan defeated and black voting power increased. Among those giving Jackson such advice are Mayor Marion Barry of Washington, D.C., Mayor Richard Hatcher of Gary, Ind., California Legislator Maxine Waters and former Manhattan Borough President Percy Sutton of New York City. All are experienced in negotiating delicate political compromises and could help limit any potentially damaging disagreements at the convention.

Far harder for any party leaders to influence, are Jackson's grandiose foreign policy forays. Last week he announced that he will fly to Havana later this month at Fidel Castro's invitation. Jackson says he will try to persuade Castro to renounce the Soviet Olympic boycott and send Cuban athletes to Los Angeles. He plans a July 2 trip to the U.S.-Mexico border, where, he says, he will lead demonstrators to protest the Reagan Administration's policy on Central America and demand that the Western Hemisphere become a "war-free zone." Meanwhile, Jackson's political associate, Louis Farrakhan, leader of the black Nation of Islam organization, visited Libyan Leader Muammar Gaddafi in Tripoli. The trip reinforced the impression among American Jews, who are some of Mondale's keenest supporters and most generous contributors, that Jackson is radically pro-Arab. As a result, Mondale cannot be seen to be conceding too much to Jackson for fear of a backlash that could drive Jewish voters into the Reagan camp.

Whatever the remaining perils on the path to San Francisco, Walter Mondale has clearly earned a rest. Quipped he: "I think I'm going to sit down and read my old speeches because I want to get a nap as quickly as possible." Symbolically, the self-declared champion of America's underprivileged chose an odd place to vacation for a week: the sumptuous seaside estate of New York Investment Banker Herbert Allen in Long Island's exclusive Southampton. But in another sense, the choice was apt. One of Mondale's main remaining tasks before the convention will be fund raising. His campaign spent heavily in the quest for a quick knockout, and the long ordeal left it some $2 million in debt.

Mondale had also earned a moment of self-congratulation. He had shed enough of his Norwegian reserve to kill the old suspicion, once expressed by his Minnesota mentor Hubert Humphrey, that he lacked "fire in the belly." Still carrying Humphrey's banner of liberalism and contending that his was the party of compassion, Mondale bucked the austere, antigovernment spirit of the times. At several junctures he was down and almost out; each time he bounced back and recaptured the lead. If he scores his expected nomination victory, he will start the November race a heavy underdog. But he will start it as Fighting Fritz, a man who has shown he can win over a long and demanding course.

--By Ed Magnuson.

Reported by Sam Allis with Mondale, David Beckwith with Hart and Jack E. White with Jackson

With reporting by Sam Allis, David Beckwith, Hart, Jack E. White