A Quick Lesson in Major-League Politics

By Laurence I. Barrett

Speaking in measured, mournful tones, the G.O.P. vice-presidential nominee drew his audience in slowly. "You are going to be the first to know these very personal, intimate things about Dan Quayle," he said, pausing for dramatic effect. "I did in fact eat graham crackers, drink milk and take naps in kindergarten." The candidate grinned broadly as 1,300 members of the National Guard Enlisted Association exploded with laughter and applause. Quayle joked his way through other "confessions" before getting to his punch line: "Nearly 20 years ago, I had no reason to be ashamed of my service ((in the Indiana National Guard)). And you know what? I'm sure as hell not ashamed of it now."

In his first full week as George Bush's running mate, the young Senator from Indiana attempted, with a mixture of indignation and forced humor, to exorcise a tag-team of ghosts haunting the Republican ticket. Did his family wealth and connections get him into the Guard while other young men went to war? Did he proposition Party Girl and Lobbyist Paula Parkinson? As Quayle swatted away one spook, another replaced it. When he declared an end to the discussion about his past and sought to go on the offense, he tripped over his exaggerated resume. The Cleveland Plain Dealer disclosed on Friday that Quayle spent just a few months, not two years as he claimed, as chief investigator of Indiana's Consumer Protection Office.

Beyond the questions about which corners Quayle cut as a young man lurked a far more relevant issue: whether he has the qualifications to be a heartbeat from the presidency. Placards at one appearance were succinctly cruel: SISSY RICH BOY and INTENSELY MEDIOCRE. Conservative Columnist George Will argued that Quayle desperately needed a "stature transfusion" and even set a deadline: by Labor Day the candidate should "be good or be gone" from the ticket. The Des Moines Register, a prominent editorial voice in the usually Republican heartland, called on Bush to drop Quayle. The New York Times said, "If Mr. Bush wanted someone against whom he could brightly shine, he could hardly have made a better choice." David Hill, a Houston-based G.O.P. ! pollster, called Quayle's standing "a source of enormous frustration to Republicans. There's a feeling that we're trapped, held hostage." Bush, said Hill, had an obligation to the party to consider replacing his Veep choice.

Bush would have none of that. "I'm not going to let insidious rumormongers drive me into changing my mind," he declared. By week's end Quayle was making tactical progress. Tenacious digging by reporters had turned up no conclusive evidence that rules were broken by his quick admission to the National Guard. The managing editor of his grandfather's newspaper, Wendell Phillippi, had indeed called an old acquaintance, the Guard planning officer, on Quayle's behalf. This old-brass network clearly expedited Quayle's access to a relatively safe haven, but such transactions were common throughout the country during the Viet Nam War. Thousands of other Americans, including Senators Bill Bradley of New Jersey and Don Nickles of Oklahoma, sat out the war in the National Guard or military reserves (though they were not, like Quayle, outspoken advocates of the Viet Nam War).

A further annoyance to Republicans was the brief revival of unsubstantiated speculation that Quayle flirted with Parkinson during a Florida golf outing in 1980. That half-forgotten episode, getting new currency because of a Playboy story to be published soon, aroused gossip about a variety of capers. According to notes taken by her lawyers during a 1981 FBI interrogation, Parkinson told federal agents that Quayle propositioned her. "Quayles ((sic)) made a pass," read the handwritten notes, made available last week by Washington Attorney Glenn Lewis. "Said would like to sleep with you. Said no -- I'm ((with)) Tom. Quayles only one. No other passes." The 20 pages of notes did indicate that Quayle avoided other indiscreet behavior.

There was no way to know if the notes were an accurate account of what happened. On Tuesday the candidate confronted reporters who had staked out his driveway. He called Parkinson's version "an absolute, flat-out falsehood" and complained that he was suffering from "one bad rap after another." The encounter ended only when his wife Marilyn pulled him away from the TV cameras.

Bush's advisers insisted that Quayle would yet become an asset to the ticket. Said Craig Fuller, the Vice President's chief of staff: "There's clearly a sense that the media attacks on him were overdone, and people are interested in judging him for themselves."

While Republican efforts to blame Quayle's problems on the press found some public resonance, there was notably little enthusiasm for the man. "He would not have been my first choice, or my choice at all," said Los Angeles Councilwoman Joan Milke Flores, a Republican. "If we could change the nominee . . . well, I regret it all." The same polls that showed Bush pulling even with, or slightly ahead of, Michael Dukakis also indicated skepticism about Quayle. An NBC/Wall Street Journal survey last week found that, by 2 to 1, voters preferred Lloyd Bentsen over Quayle as President.

Quayle's initial attempts to build his stature were halting. His touted expertise on national security -- he told an Ohio audience that the U.S. is "naked, absolutely nude" before a Soviet nuclear attack -- drew groans of exasperation from Bush's senior aides and top White House staffers. A cadre of advisers assigned to him by Bush to plane down his splintered style found an unexpected ally in Marilyn Quayle. "Ever since Dan got into politics, I have been his adviser," she told TIME last week. "In his first congressional campaign, I made all the decisions. He has always treated me as a coequal adviser to anyone he has ever had." Last week, when the Senator challenged recommendations in one prep session, Marilyn told him firmly, "Listen." Listen he did.

Much more listening will be necessary. Talking to farmers in Sedalia, Mo., Quayle floundered when he tried to explain his opposition to a major farm bill. Asked his view of a complex local agricultural issue, he replied with a joke: "Whatever you guys want, I'm for." That echoed his opportunistic statement to the Veterans of Foreign Wars in Chicago that a July vote against the creation of a Cabinet-level Veterans Department was a "mistake" resulting from "youthful indiscretion." He later tried to deny using the phrase, even though it had been broadcast on national TV, then explained that he thought his vote had been correct on the merits.

In surviving his first week's trial, Quayle demonstrated that he has the feisty spirit necessary on this year's campaign trail. He has yet to make a convincing case that he could assume the presidency should that ever become necessary.

With reporting by Alessandra Stanley with Quayle