Reversed Roles

It had been a folksy campaign talk, pleasantly short. The voters who had gathered in the United Congregational Christian Church of Conneaut, Ohio, picked up their coffee and cake, looked around to chat with the candidate. He was not in sight. Newsmen, along to report the gubernatorial campaign in one of the nation's key races, finally found Republican James Allen Rhodes, 53, dribbling a basketball in the church gym.

"How much do you weigh, Jim?" asked a reporter. "Oh, about 193." "Di Salle's got you beat--he weighs 208." "Yes." replied the 6-ft. Rhodes, rubbing his stomach, "but I'm in better shape."

Challenging the Challenger. Anatomically, and politically. Rhodes does seem to be in better shape than elliptical Democratic Governor Michael Di Salle, 54. So far Rhodes has succeeded in reversing the ordinary order of political candidacy, in which the incumbent stands calmly on his record and the challenger moves like mad, making all sorts of promises and--if nothing else works--just criticizing.

Rhodes is conducting a low-key campaign in which he takes to the stump only a few times a week, holds no press conferences, rarely mentions Di Salle. refuses to face him in debate. Di Salle, on the other hand, has stumped every one of the state's 88 counties, visited some 130 towns he had never seen before, and is eager to draw Rhodes into any sort of head-on clash. Playing the role of challenger rather than incumbent, he has listed 32 questions that he wants Rhodes to answer. Example: "Will you support public-school education at existing state levels, lower levels, or higher levels?" Complains Di Salle: "Ordinarily it is the incumbent who opposes debates, so as not to give the challenger exposure. I want to give Rhodes exposure."

Rhodes has considerable cause for confidence. Di Salle was elected Governor by a smashing 454,000-vote margin in 1958. But ever since he has been burying himself beneath his own political problems. Determined to upgrade Ohio's highway, education and mental-health programs, Di Salle persuaded a Democratic legislature to raise state taxes by some $310 million during his first two years in office. Corporations, motorists, bar patrons, smokers were among those who got hit hardest where it hurts most. Gas-station attendants would collect from a driver and quip: "That's $3--$2.50 for me and 50-c- for Di Salle." In 1960, Ohio's voters made it plain what they thought about the whole business. Di Salle was a preeminent Kennedy supporter, and in Ohio the presidential issue was less Kennedy v. Nixon than Di Salle v. the voters. Nixon won over Kennedy by 270,000 votes, and Republican majorities were elected in the Ohio house and senate.

From almost that moment, tubby, quippy Mike Di Salle seemed a changed man. He quarreled with everyone. He submitted a huge budget without giving a hint about how the money could be raised to meet it; he vetoed one whole appropriations package passed by the legislature. He got into a fruitless fuss with Ray Miller, Cleveland's Democratic boss. For a while he said that he would not seek reelection, changed his mind, beat Attorney General Mark McElroy in the primary by a bare 33,000 votes.

Just Reasonable. Rhodes, meanwhile, was gaining a reputation as a political independent who might attract many Democrats. Elected mayor of Columbus in 1943. he proved a sound administrator through nine years in the office. He moved up to state auditor in 1953, was soundly whipped by Democrat Frank Lausche when he ran for Governor in 1954, was reelected to his third term as auditor by a remarkable 700,000 votes in 1960. While Rhodes remained aloof from the state G.O.P. organization, he nursed his personal public relations, turned a room next to his private office into a statehouse reporters' lounge stocked with coffee, cheese and peanut-butter sandwiches.

Against Rhodes's I'm-ahead-so-you've-got-to-come-get-me tactics, Di Salle has only recently come out of his sulk. At his best he is very effective, with a combination of good humor and emotion that can swing votes. He tackles the touchy issue of his tax increases squarely. "The highway worker complains about the gasoline tax," Di Salle tells his audiences. "But he still has his job and is building more highways, isn't he? The schoolteacher complains about the sales tax, but she is making a better salary, isn't she?"

So far, Rhodes has remained noncommittal on taxes. When pressed, he still replies: ''I will make my position clear as the campaign progresses.'' He has issued five ''white papers" calling for such programs as a new industrial-development authority financed by $100 million in revenue bonds ("at no cost to the taxpayer'' ); "golden age" villages for people over 65 now in state institutions (also financed by revenue bonds); a $150 million expansion of the state universitity (from surplus capital funds). His closest approach to an attack upon Di Salle is his mild observance that "the attitude of the elected official must be reasonable."

A month or so ago. almost everyone in Ohio agreed that Rhodes was a cinch to win. As of last week, the consensus was that Rhodes was still ahead--but by no means a cinch.

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