Bush by a Shutout

By Laurence I. Barrett

If you mentioned George Bush in a game of word association for political insiders just six weeks ago, the responses would have been devastating: loser, wimp, preppie, lapdog. Mention the Vice President now, and the chorus would be loud and clear: Republican nominee for President.

The eternal second banana, the man thought too timid to sculpt his own political persona, the patrician who ran a pallid third in last month's Iowa caucuses and staggered into New Hampshire facing extinction, the bland campaigner who ended one debate by apologizing for his lack of eloquence -- this consensus choice as political nebbish suddenly transformed himself into the prim reaper who could not be denied. Bush last week harvested victories from Massachusetts and Rhode Island to Oklahoma and Texas. His weakest rival, Jack Kemp, promptly quit the Republican contest. Pat Robertson, another ostensible threat on Bush's right flank, collapsed in a puddle of his failings as a candidate, finishing third even in his home state of Virginia. Though still in the race, Robertson receded into a symbolic candidacy and began talking about 1992.

Bob Dole, Bush's strongest adversary, teetered on the brink of withdrawal even as he fought for revival in this week's Illinois primary. Dole cut half his campaign staff and canceled television ads in Illinois while scrambling to broadcast a half-hour final appeal on Saturday night. A frequent adviser who ranks as politics' reigning expert on defeat and redemption, Richard Nixon, wired encouragement: MAKE ILLINOIS YOUR FINEST HOUR.

One frail hope was that Illinois voters, in a sporting mood, would choose to prolong the contest by propping up a fellow Midwesterner. Another thin reed: the possibility that indictments flowing from the Iran-contra probe would somehow slow Bush. Dole was all the more frustrated by his conviction, shared by more disinterested pols, that Bush was winning the nomination for the wrong reasons, that beneath the new veneer of strength old weaknesses festered, waiting to undermine Republican prospects in the fall. Nonetheless, Bush had finally achieved real political momentum, more substantial than his preppie and premature pronouncement in 1980 that his campaign had the "Big Mo," shortly before Reagan rolled over him in a series of primary victories.

Thanks to the Super Tuesday mechanism created by Dixie Democrats, Bush won more delegates (574) and conquered more real estate (16 states) than any other Republican contender ever had on a single day. That gave Bush just over 700 delegates, vs. 165 for Dole; only 1,139 are needed for an absolute majority. Bush thus has a stronger grip on the nomination than Reagan did at this stage in 1980. "This is something historic," said Bush's campaign manager, Lee Atwater. "There will never be another regional primary with this sort of conclusive impact." Bush began to sound credible Tuesday night when he told supporters in Houston, "I'm now convinced I will be the President of the United States."

Soon he had some statistics to support that argument, at least for the moment. Polls as recent as last month showed him behind or at best even with possible Democratic opponents. Furthermore, Dole then appeared more electable than Bush in such pairings. Last week the publicity whoosh of victory propelled Bush to the top of surveys matching him against leading Democrats. In a TIME poll conducted by Yankelovich Clancy Shulman last Thursday, Bush ran slightly ahead of Democratic Front Runner Michael Dukakis (42% to 37%), while Dole was behind (38% to 44%).

Yet even as he bathed in a gusher of success sweeter than any he enjoyed 30 years ago in the oil business, George Herbert Walker Bush showed some of the symptoms of doubt and caution that festoon his political record. On primary night and the morning after, he avoided the ritual TV interviews. No sense in risking a gaffe, his advisers reasoned. In the privacy of his Houstonian Hotel suite, Bush impressed one aide, Peter Teeley, as oddly subdued. Bush seemed burdened with the realization that the nomination was at hand, that a new and even more critical phase was imminent. Now he must address a broader audience with a script about his plans for the future, rather than recite his resume and his fealty to a President already receding into history.

Over many months Bush and his aides displayed a high order of organizational skill and a talent for damage limitation in the face of adversity. Whether seared by Iran-contra or jarred by defeats in Iowa, Minnesota and South Dakota, Bush maintained his strategy. He never let the Reagan mantle slip from his trim frame, never strayed far from the base camp of Reagan policy and Reagan philosophy. When he did utter some minor heresy, it was a denial rather than an assertion. "I want to add here," he said almost parenthetically in one major speech, "that I do not hate government. I'm proud of my long experience in government." That was supposed to be a sign that he was inching toward the future rather than wallowing in the past. But the line disappeared from subsequent speeches. Instead, over and over, Bush hailed the Chief. Occasionally some restless adviser, not to mention platoons of outside critics, urged Bush to stake out territory of his own.

This he resisted, except in token ways, as when he asserted his desire to be the "education President," a nice phrase that remains a flesh-free bone in his skeletal rhetoric. To go much further would be to flaunt the reality that, unlike Reagan, Bush at heart is a pragmatist rather than an ideologue, a manager rather than an innovator. In retrospect, Bush's caution was just right for the orthodox Republican primary electorate in most states, and particularly in the South, where Reagan's popularity rating in the party remains above 80%. But presidential campaigns are about change and the future, themes that Bush has yet to discover.

The fact that the same Republican voters who stampeded to Reagan's banner of radical reform now embrace Bush as the rightful heir speaks loudly about the complacent state of the Grand Old Party. Says Ed Rollins, an alumnus of the Reagan White House who chaired Kemp's campaign: "The kinds of conservatives who were Reagan rebels in 1976 and 1980 have become comfortable with being part of the Establishment. Bush has done a good job persuading these people that he'll protect the Reagan agenda and that they can trust him."

The contradiction in that perception is that the Reagan agenda was dynamic, not static. At its most expansive, when Reagan was still burning at full power, it reached beyond the confines of the traditional Republican minority. Kemp, far more than Bush, attempted to preach a sermon of inclusion aimed at blacks, Hispanics, blue-collar families and other blocs normally considered Democratic property. Partly because of his own failings as a candidate, partly & because he never untangled his jumbled economic theories into a clear line, Kemp was unable to stretch Reagan's populist-tinted conservatism into the future.

Televangelist Robertson reached in another direction, toward alienated social conservatives who yearn for a counterrevolution against "secular humanism." His minions had enough zeal and savvy to take over local party cells in some regions where flaccid G.O.P. regulars slept. But Robertson proved to be so reckless and ineffective a campaigner that his message was never tested amid a blizzard of controversy. Among registered Republicans surveyed last week by Yankelovich Clancy Shulman, 58% had a generally unfavorable impression of Robertson.

Dole tried his own version of a broad appeal. Unlike Kemp and Robertson, he has the stature and maturity to be credible. But he based his claim on his personal conviction, bordering on obsession, that he is better equipped to run the country. His constant attempt to depict himself as the man of steel tempered in adversity, in contrast to Bush as an empty Brooks Bros. suit, was a promising beginning. But there was no ending, no compelling message extending beyond Dole's own considerable grit and intelligence.

In this atmosphere, it was relatively easy for Bush to exploit the royalist genes that linger in the Republican bloodstream despite the transfusion of Reaganism. None of his rivals could make a convincing case that the normal line of succession should be suspended in 1988. On Tuesday night one of Dole's Democratic friends, Party Elder Bob Strauss, was visibly saddened by the G.O.P. election returns. Then he brightened and observed, "The Democratic Party may be better off with this result." However, such doubts about Bush's ability to defend the Reagan palace, either in November or in the White House, were invisible among Republican voters on Super Tuesday.

To its credit, the Bush team recognized nearly two years ago the potential of the unprecedented regional primary. Campaign Manager Atwater, who grew up with the then infant Republican Party in South Carolina, invested early and heavily in organization across the Old Confederacy and border regions. From the handful of Republican Governors down to county chairmen, party centurions were wooed and won long before Dole's emissaries began courtship. That foundation was invaluable during the campaign's final fortnight. Under little pressure from his floundering opponents, Bush was able to coast on a risk-free cloud. For ten days he avoided interrogation from the national press corps following him in a separate plane, preferring the gentler treatment of local reporters.

Bush's speeches on deficit reductions without tax increases, on education and the drug problem, tended toward the broad and bland. His managers used negative TV advertising reluctantly, poking at Dole on the air only in media markets where the Senator struck first. The Bushies enjoyed the front runner's luxury of emphasizing the positive -- a biospot, an endorsement by Barry Goldwater, a montage stressing their man's leadership ability. By the last weekend the scent of a blowout was in the air. In North Carolina, Missouri and Oklahoma, however, Dole still seemed to have a chance. Bush strategists added a modest $50,000 for more ads in those states to their already swollen TV budget of $1.8 million. They canceled live appearances in Alabama and Louisiana in favor of four more stops in Missouri, where the Senator from next-door Kansas is popular.

As the vote tallies accumulated Tuesday night, it appeared for a time that the Bush effort had fallen short by a scant 3,000 votes. "Missouri is definitely lost," Communications Director Teeley remarked. But when the last precincts in St. Louis suburbs were heard from, Bush had won by a margin of 4,500. Dole had failed to carry a single state, while Robertson's organizers managed to win the poorly attended caucuses in Washington State. Talking about the primaries, Atwater exulted, "A clean sweep. A shutout. It doesn't get any better than this."

In taking a clear majority of the popular vote (57%), Bush, according to the ABC News exit poll, carried all age and income groups. But despite that tide, surveys indicated potential weaknesses. Among voters who based their decision on the candidate who can best "get things done," Dole got a plurality. Those who listed their main concern as reducing the federal deficit went for Dole by a 2-to-1 majority. TIME's survey showed that among Democrats Dole continues to enjoy a much higher "favorability" rating than Bush does. Dole is viewed favorably by 48% of registered Democrats and unfavorably by 25%. For Bush, the balance is negative: 39% favorable, vs. 46% unfavorable.

But such statistical footnotes offered the Vice President's opponents no consolation. As the winner lingered in Houston for two days of tennis and strategy sessions, Kemp returned to Washington to write a gracious withdrawal speech. The New York Congressman said he would end his 18-year legislative career as well as his presidential campaign. He claimed to find solace in the fact that some of his original causes, like growth through lower taxes, are now party dogma. Robertson, once considered a threat to fracture the party in the South, had seen his support drop ten points even among his core constituency. His predictions for success in Dixie shattered, the ever facile former minister used the tenderfoot alibi: "It isn't that bad for an amateur, but it's not what I expected."

Dole, making a last stand in Illinois, had a more plausible explanation for his disaster. "I can beat George Bush," he said repeatedly, "but I can't beat Ronald Reagan." Nothing was working right for him, not even his chartered aircraft, which at one point refused to take off. "Let's get another plane," he muttered to frazzled aides. In keeping with his losing streak, there was no other plane; the Senate minority leader had to wait for repairs. His campaign organization, never a model of efficiency or unity, also needed work at a time when Dole had no margin for error. Some advisers urged that he follow Kemp to the exit promptly, before suffering more humiliation. That advice soon made the airwaves, increasing the already huge doubts about Dole's viability. He ricocheted between pity and resolve. "Nothing is easy in life for me," he groused. In the end, clinging to pride, he asserted, "I do not give up easily."

In the abstract, Dole appeared an almost romantic figure, the brave underdog who would not yield. Visiting the Chicago hospital where his war wounds had healed, he announced, "I'm starting my road to recovery again in Illinois, just like I did 40 years ago." But 40 years ago, the surgeons could X-ray the damage and prescribe detailed treatment. Last week Dole had no 5 for his political malady. The "one of us" line that had served him well in Iowa and South Dakota was wearing thin. One of Dole's shrewdest advisers, Tom Rath, observed, "You can't wage an insurgent candidacy with an Establishment candidate." With a weekend Chicago Tribune poll showing Bush ahead in Illinois 62% to 28%, Dole was reduced to a vague hope of rescue by some deus ex machina. "Who knows what's going to happen next week or the week after?" he mused in a fatalistic tone.

What should happen, one of his top aides suggested, is that Dole craft an elegant farewell statement for delivery around midweek. That would clear the & way for an early healing of intraparty wounds and allow Bush to get a large jump on his eventual Democratic opponent. It might also encourage the Vice President to venture out of the bunker of blandness from which he has waged his nomination campaign. When he arrived in Chicago last week to seal his victory, Bush seemed to lean in that direction. Sounding more than a bit like Dole, Bush promised to preside personally over a Washington summit to resolve the budget deficit. He inveighed against ethical lapses in government, an implied criticism of the Administration's laxness on that subject.

Ironically, that statement came just a day before Robert McFarlane, Reagan's former National Security Adviser, pleaded guilty to four misdemeanor charges for misleading Congress about aid to the contras. With other criminal action still likely on Iran-contra, Bush may have to endure yet another round of what-did-you-know, what-did-you-do interrogation. That is just one potential cloud on the Vice President's horizon. Though he currently rides a high wave because of Super Tuesday, and because the Democrats are still immersed in their own combat, most experts expect that advantage to wane. "This week's survey results," said Pollster Richard Wirthlin, who advises Dole, "are written in sand at the seashore."

Bush arrived at the brink of nomination with amazing speed, but he did it without displaying either charisma or substantive weight. The arena in which he fought was the narrow slice of ground dominated by party regulars. In states like Iowa, where Reagan's standing is relatively low, Bush encountered indifference from even the majority of Republicans. Often a vigorous primary campaign sharpens a candidate for the fall. In Bush's case, the opposite may have happened. He has invested so much in his status as Reagan's heir that he is likely to have difficulty playing to the larger audience for whom Reagan is becoming a benign relic rather than remaining a revered totem. In any event, George Bush will soon discover what every newly hatched candidate learns: the politics of nomination is far different from, and often easier than, the politics of election. Fortunately for him, he will have plenty of time to absorb that lesson.

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With reporting by David Beckwith with Bush and Alessandra Stanley with Dole