The Other Running Mate

As he stands before the cheering delegates at the Republican National Convention, his arms held high with those of the polished performer who put him on the ticket, George Bush will appreciate that he faces a daunting task. Reagan will be running against Walter Mondale, a known political quantity if ever there was one. But after four years of studious self-effacement, Bush will have to do what no major-party candidate has ever done before: pit himself against a female opponent, a brash and buoyant counterpoint to the buttoned-down Texan from Connecticut. "I'm a candidate for an office people used to ignore," he recently told a Knights of Columbus meeting in Denver. "This year it's a little different."

Indeed it is. Some Republican strategists wonder whether Bush is up to battling an energizing female foe under full media glare. Despite his impressive resume (former U.N. Ambassador, CIA director, two-term Congressman, envoy to China), they fret that he is not a "proven vote getter." In the past he has lost two Senate races

in Texas and could not continue his initial "Big Mo" in the 1980 Republican primaries. Until he found a niche as an industrious cheerleader for Reagan's views, Bush's own ideological stance was never quite clear to voters. Even after four years of unwavering fealty, the man whose most memorable phrase was correctly calling Reagan's 1980 budget-balancing promises "voodoo economics" has only partially mollified his party's right wing.

Bush is not always at ease in the spotlight. After making recent statements about future tax increases that seemed slightly out of step with the White House, he proved testy about the media badgering that followed.

"He can be thin-skinned," admits a former aide. "When he goes on the attack he appears harsher than he is."

Bush could be hampered by his Establishment background (old money, Andover, Yale) and his brittle mien. His somewhat shrill voice, unmodulated even after professional coaching, could grate next to Ferraro's homey lilt. "He sounds a little too hyper, a little too screechy," the ex-aide concedes.

Bush's campaigning skills have improved notably in recent years. In the 1980 primary, he had a Jimmy Carter-like tendency to numb audiences with superfluous detail. Once he became the vice-presidential candidate, he developed a more seamless approach. "He was always hard-working and frenetic," observes a colleague. "As the campaign wore on, he came to focus better on what he wanted to say." The party line is that he will do well because he has more experience and self-confidence now.

Bush's first real test could come in a televised debate with Ferraro, a contest Republicans would just as soon avoid. Until then, Bush will remain the President's surrogate, stumping in such states as Connecticut and Texas, where he has pull, and fanning out to remote regions Reagan lacks the time to reach. The running mate traditionally takes over the low road, but slinging mud at a woman is as yet an imperfect political art. Bush so far has limited his jabs to Mondale, waiting for the novelty of Ferraro to wear off. "George by nature is not a slasher," assures a current campaign official. However, notes Bush's press secretary, Peter Teeley, "we're not running for statesman."

For all its risks, serving as the counterpart to Ferraro offers Bush a rare chance in the spotlight. The Vice President's tacit reward for eight years of loyal service could be a leg up toward the Oval Office; the opportunity he faces this fall is to prove himself as a campaigner. "He hasn't been the most visible Vice President," notes one observer. "It's the first time he has been showcased since 1980." As a diligent centurion in the Reagan legion, Bush has been careful so far to avoid establishing an independent identity. Both to counter the Ferraro factor in 1984 and to position himself for 1988, he will have to navigate deftly between being a loyal surrogate for Reagan and a political force in his own right.