Jesse's Sideshow

By WALTER SHAPIRO

The bride wore a tan skirt, the groom sported white Levi's, and the minister was running for President. Jesse Jackson, who has lost none of his fabled flair for the symbolic gesture, readily agreed to perform the ceremony before a recent rally in Santa Cruz, Calif. The impromptu wedding was a media stunt, but Jackson insisted that his only goal was to publicize the plight of Allan Steen, the bride's father, who is a hostage in Beirut. Still, Jackson was beaming avuncularly when the camera crews tromped in to film the candidate, Bible in hand, blessing the happy couple. The only glitch came when the bride, Becky Steen, was asked about her plans for a honeymoon. Jackson stiffened when Steen explained that the getaway trip would be postponed for a week until after the "real ceremony."

That innocent remark can serve as a metaphor for Jackson's ill-focused California primary campaign. Jackson's challenge to Michael Dukakis is at best a sideshow to the "real" campaign between the Massachusetts Governor and George Bush. As Jackson scurries around California, he gives the appearance of a candidate who has rhyme but not reason to keep going. He flits from issue to issue, earnestly discussing relations with the Soviet Union, denouncing crack- dealing youth gangs and even trumpeting plans for the exploration of Mars. The closest Jackson has come to finding a focus for his diffuse California campaign was to use environmental cancer hazards in the farmworker community of McFarland as a symbol of the causes that animate his passions. McFarland, Jackson declared, represents his concern for "the environment, toxic waste, safe food, clean water, health care, abandoned workers, safety ((and)) Mexican-Americans."

Devoid of a major victory since the Michigan caucuses in late March, the Jackson camp harbors no one who believes the fantasy that he can win the nomination. But Jackson keeps running in hopes that a strong finish in the June 7 California and New Jersey primaries will help him exact concessions from Dukakis. The problem is that the usually sure-footed Jackson seems confused about the best way to maximize his influence. In recent weeks this candidate who will not concede has vacillated between his long-cherished role as the ultimate maverick and his fledging status as a highly valued party insider.

Jackson's own uncertainty over what Jesse now wants is a reflection of deep rifts within his entourage. The hard-liners -- mostly black elected officials and veterans of the 1984 campaign -- are urging Jackson to criticize Dukakis harshly and fight for a ban on unelected super-delegates at future conventions. Some ideologues, led by members of the Congressional Black Caucus, even argue that Jackson should insist on the vice presidency as his due. Such a potentially divisive strategy, coupled with unrealistic demands, seems absurd to Jackson's more pragmatic supporters, many of whom are white liberals new to the cause. They fear that if Dukakis rebuffs Jackson at the convention, it could prompt enough disgruntled black voters to stay at home in November to doom the Democratic ticket.

Up to now, Jackson has resisted the pressure to duke it out with Dukakis. This calculated caution may stem from Jackson's awareness of the political paradox of his position. By gently chiding the Massachusetts Governor from the left on such issues as South Africa and military spending, Jackson may be simultaneously advancing the causes he cherishes and enhancing Dukakis' political image. By contrast with Jackson, Dukakis cannot help appearing to be a centrist. As Bert Lance, a longtime conduit between Jackson and the party establishment, puts it, "Jesse gives Dukakis great cover. Dukakis can't have it any better than that."

With reporting by Michael Duffy/Washington and Alessandra Stanley with Jackson