Broke But Unbowed

By SAM ALLIS BOSTON

Paul Tsongas is one of the stranger stars in the political sky. He is a telegenic disaster with a sophisticated message and an aversion to hardball. Unlike Bill Clinton, he enjoys almost anything more than shaking hands with strangers. Yet when he ended his crusade for the White House last week, Tsongas in his own weird way had accomplished a lot. He had moved the Democratic Party toward the economic center, where he thought it belonged. He had gained respect and departed with uncommon grace. He had even complimented the media.

Tsongas claimed at the beginning of his 11-month campaign that if the people were ready for his message, it didn't matter who the messenger was. Two days after his resounding defeats in Illinois and Michigan, it was clear they were ready for neither. Tsongas knew that when he stood on a chair in his Boston headquarters and told his true believers that he was quitting the Democratic race. They were stunned. They shouldn't have been. Tsongas has had an exquisite sense of timing throughout his charmed political career from city council to Senate. It was time to go.

The reason was that Tsongas was broke. "If money is the mother's milk of politics, our mothers didn't show up until late January," he quipped at a press conference. The problem, he said, was not the amount of money coming in this year. "This campaign was lost in 1991 because of lack of resources," he argued. Although he had raised $2.8 million since the beginning of February, his organization was already starved by then. There were no reserves to pay the huge costs of the media war against Bill Clinton in the South and Midwest. The specter of an ugly, expensive New York primary on April 7, where his penury would have left him naked once more against waves of Clinton television broadsides, was too much. "I would have been defined by others and unable to defend myself," Tsongas explained. "Worse, my message would have been wounded, and all that we worked for this past year would have been put at risk. The message must endure."

Moreover, Tsongas believed he would have helped George Bush win another White House tour had he stayed in the race. "The alternative was clear -- to play the role of spoiler," he said. "That is not what I'm about. That is not worthy. I did not survive my ordeals in order to be the agent of the re- election of George Bush."

A few staff members had begun to wonder about his future last Wednesday, when the candidate seemed lackluster during appearances in Connecticut following his stinging defeats in the Rust Belt. Tsongas publicly pledged to fight on, but his doubts were growing. That evening at his Victorian home in Lowell, Mass., he agonized about his future with his wife Niki; his campaign manager and best friend, Dennis Kanin; and fund raiser Nicholas Rizzo. Kanin told him he would need at least $1.5 million to be competitive in New York. The money wasn't there, and the campaign debt was approaching $500,000. At 9:30, Tsongas decided to withdraw. The group begged him to sleep on it. He did and told his staff the grim news the next morning.

From the start, Tsongas' campaign was a long shot. He had been out of the Senate for six years when he declared his candidacy last April in Lowell. At the time, Bush's popularity was in the stratosphere and better-known Democrats declined to enter the race. He ran on a pro-business platform that appealed to affluent suburbanites and independents but sounded suspiciously like warmed- over Republicanism to union members, minorities and liberals. In an era when elections are determined by televised campaign advertising, his most effective weapon was an 85-page book in which he spelled out his plan for restoring American competitiveness. To overcome doubts about his health after his long struggle with cancer, some of his TV ads featured footage of Tsongas vigorously doing the butterfly stroke in a swimming pool. He did not seem comfortable firing negative TV spots against Clinton, but he fired them nonetheless. "He began to lose his sense of originality after New Hampshire," says an adviser. "He began to behave like an ordinary politician, which he isn't."

Tsongas remains very much a player in this election. He refuses to endorse either of the two remaining candidates and is mum about running with Clinton in the fall. In the past, he denied repeatedly any interest in the vice presidency, and those who know him well doubt he is suited to the job. He is supremely independent, and would chafe at the limits of the office.

Still, the idea of a Clinton-Tsongas ticket has appeal. Tsongas would bring integrity and credibility to a nominee perceived to be in short supply of both qualities. More important, he could attract independents and moderate Republicans fed up with Bush's inept handling of the economy.

Technically, Tsongas "suspended" his campaign as opposed to shutting it down. Under party rules, this ensures that a greater number of his 430 delegates will reach the convention in New York City this summer still in a position to cast their votes for him if they choose to. He intends to use his remaining muscle to shape the platform and incorporate his views in the fall campaign, when voters may get the chance to decide whether they like Tsongas' message better if it comes from a different messenger.