The Patrician and the Preacher

By Laurence I. Barrett

For Pete du Pont, the 1988 playbook writes itself. Right now the former Republican Governor of Delaware rates no more than an asterisk in the polls, and that only because of his name, ambition and prior public service. But last week, an hour after becoming the first major politician to announce his presidential candidacy, Du Pont set out on the familiar path of aspirants who need miracles: he was en route from Wilmington to the first skirmish sites. "I'm in Iowa and New Hampshire," he observed cheerfully, "from here to eternity."

For Pat Robertson, the plan is as intricate as a biblical genealogy. The televangelist from Virginia, though campaigning for months with a prophet's passion, wants to hold on as long as possible to his electronic pulpit at the Christian Broadcasting Network. Once he is a formal candidate, he will have to step down because of federal equal-time requirements. At the same time, he must try to energize the diverse evangelical community behind him. So last week he rented Constitution Hall in Washington for an elaborate production of music and exhortation beamed by satellite to invited audiences at 216 sites. Having repeatedly said he needed divine guidance about seeking the nomination, he now solemnly reported, "I know God's will for me in this crucial decision."

But he will not take the plunge just yet. Instead, he gave his supporters a year to round up 3 million signatures from voters who pledge that "they will pray, that they will work, that they will give toward my election." In a finale that no secular politician would risk, Robertson asked every member of the audience, live and remote, to give $100 on the spot. A check, cash or a credit-card number would do.

Despite the many contrasts between Du Pont and Robertson, their announcements reflected the status of the Republican Party in the last stage of the Reagan era. Conservatives who differ only marginally on most issues control the nominating process. Both Du Pont, a nuts-andbolts pragmatist, and Robertson, an ideologue preoccupied with moral issues, are trying to challenge Vice President George Bush from the right.

That may prove more difficult for Du Pont, 51. One of the heirs to the family chemical fortune, he has a Princeton engineering degree, a Harvard law diploma and an aversion to the use of his full name: Pierre Samuel du Pont IV. His squarejawed phiz recalls Nelson Rockefeller, another millionaire Republican who inched to the right but never erased his progressive image. As a member of the U.S. House for three terms (1971-77), Du Pont compiled a moderate voting record. His views began to change, he says, during his successful tenure as Governor, when he adopted a species of supply-side policies that worked well in Delaware.

If he is to attract attention, Du Pont must distinguish himself from the better- known competition with arresting ideas. To stop the spread of narcotics, he argues, all public-school teenage students should be compelled to take drug tests. (Du Pont did not go to public school.) The present welfare system is a failure and should be largely abolished. Government should offer extensive vocational training and temporary public jobs paying 90% of the minimum wage. All agricultural subsidies must be phased out over five years, after which market forces would govern farming. Any of these proposals would detonate controversy once the campaign is fully engaged. But Du Pont insists that he will lay out provocative ideas no matter which interest groups are offended.

Robertson does not have to think of new ways to be provocative. His assaults on "secular humanists" and the Supreme Court, his oblique allusions to the superiority of "Christians" as he defines them, aroused a backlash even before his announcement. Education Secretary William Bennett, a staunch conservative Reaganaut, condemned some of Robertson's rhetoric as "invidious sectarianism that must be renounced in the strongest terms." People for the American Way, a liberal organization that has fought a guerrilla campaign against the religious right, produced a videotape with a telling sequence in which the preacher claims to have diverted Hurricane Gloria last year through prayer. It also includes a series of his inflammatory statements.

Such attacks from outside the evangelical community are encouraging some of Robertson's rivals inside the family to rally around. Televangelist Jimmy Swaggart, who had been openly critical of Robertson's political plans, reversed his position two weeks ago. At Constitution Hall, Oral Roberts was a late addition to the speakers' list. The next day Jerry Falwell, Bush's most prominent supporter among fundamentalist leaders, made the surprising announcement that he would curtail politicking in order to concentrate on his ministry. For his part, Robertson was sounding more parochial than ever. His speech was directed almost exclusively at the converted, summoning them to war against the "small elite of lawyers, judges and educators" who have "taken the Holy Bible from our young and replaced it with the thoughts of Charles Darwin, Karl Marx, Sigmund Freud and John Dewey." Though he ostensibly courts all Republicans, he failed to mention Reagan's name.

While Robertson and Du Pont were making their announcements last week, Bush was back in Michigan, where he thanked supporters for overcoming challenges by Robertson and Jack Kemp last month in the first stage of the state's convoluted delegate-selection process. But the race is now entering a low- profile phase. Kemp, bumped to third place in Michigan by Robertson, is running for re-election to Congress. Nevada Senator Paul Laxalt, after dropping broad hints about 1988, appears to be having second thoughts. Senate Majority Leader Bob Dole has concentrated on the hectic legislative session and campaigning for colleagues who are up for re-election. Though he still lacks organizational heft, his decision to tend to Senate duties seems to have helped Dole emerge as Bush's most formidable competition. For the moment.