Charisma, Calluses & Cash

Outwardly, the rites and rallying cries seem to vary little from one election year to another. At fund-raising banquets from Ogunquit, Me., to Ojai, Calif., the steak, like the rhetoric, is overpriced and overdone. On TV, the candidates' canned homilies and tanned profiles intrude irksomely on program schedules. The biennial profusion of campaign billboards and posters stipples the land that Lady Bird wants to beautify and Lyndon yearns to own. Yet the art of politics is not immutable, and this year's mid-term elections highlight a host of developments that are changing the nature of campaigning in the '60s.

Given the uncertainties of the political climate this fall, more and more candidates find it expedient to run as individuals rather than party men. In the age of artful image making, a legion of polished professional consultants are managing gubernatorial and congressional campaigns from coast to coast. Opinion sampling and analysis have become an ever more sophisticated and valued tool.

Television, which once seemed a magic carpet to elective office, seems to have lost some of its talismanic quality, and is least effective in local races. More than ever, the ingredients of political success are charisma, stamina-and lucre. Indeed, whether or not inflation proves a telling issue with the voters in November, politicians agree that the cost of campaigning has soared almost beyond reason.

Help from the Top. The Republican National Committee estimates that G.O.P. fund-raising groups at the national level plan to dispense $6,100,000 to assist House and Senate candidates, nearly twice the figure for the last off-year election. The Democrats, still paying off 1964 debts, say they will be able to supply only about $500,000 from Washington, not counting the $ 1,000,000-odd being spent--almost entirely on Democrats--by the A.F.L.-C.I.O. Committee on Political Education. This is in addition, of course, to the millions being expended at the local and state levels. One U.S. Senator calculates that the price of running has risen one-third in the past six years.

The costliest item in most campaign budgets is TV. Half an hour of prime time in New York City costs at least $75,000. Elsewhere, congressional candidates pay $2,000 or more for a one-shot, one-minute spiel--in which, understandably, they tend to decry the high cost of living. TV politicking has progressed from the soapbox to the spectacular. The image-conscious candidate today is not content merely to exhort or debate in a studio. To hold his audience, he commandeers dramatic vignettes and perky musical numbers. In Congress, many incumbents studiously identify themselves with the controversial issues that will assure them net work exposure (see cover story). Some astute--and affluent--candidates even hire their own film crews to shoot live campaign scenes, then turn over the film to local TV news programs.

Six Figures. The biggest proponents of television are the new breed of campaign management firms. For a fat fee --into six figures for a major statewide contest--the freelance image polishers will take over as much of the administrative work and thinking as the candidate will allow and pay for. They will handle his advertising, fund raising, research, direct mailings, speechwriting, and just about everything else short of representing his district after election. These backroom brains seldom meet the people, rely instead on elaborate research and computers to determine what the voters want to hear.

If political strategies seem to be shifting, the traditional tactic--getting out and meeting the voters--is more effective than ever. Far from eliminating leg work, television has accentuated the candidate's need to campaign in the flesh, especially at the level of the congressional district and below. The cost of paid TV spots often makes them a prohibitive luxury until the final weeks of a campaign. Yet in something of a TV backlash, the very fact that television has made political performers commonplace makes it harder for candidates to attract crowds.

300 Palms. As a result, they now pump hands with a scientific assiduity that would have made the late Estes Kefauver look like a basket case. Can didates for congressional and statewide races nowadays do their best to avoid neighborhood coffee klatsches as too time-consuming in terms of voters palmed per hour. Instead, they bustle through factories, supermarkets and bowling alleys, developing calluses as they strive for 300 hands an hour. This year especially the individual candidate must grope his own way to success, since there are no presidential coattails to hang on to.

Though it is only common sense to de-emphasize the party label in areas where a candidate's party is in a distinct minority, the tactic is no longer so clear-cut. Republicans and Democrats--and not only in the South--are both playing the no-party game. Emotional issues such as Viet Nam and the race question are not delineated neatly by party or region, and thus many candidates' overt ties with the national parties seem, on the surface, to be more financial than ideological.

Indeed, driving across the country this fall, a foreigner might conclude that the U.S. has a no-party system. In state after state, signs blazon forth the candidates' names, faces and slogans, but, often as not, neglect to mention, or note only in microscopic type, whether they are Democrats or Republicans (see billboards). "Whatever your party --he is your man," proclaim the posters of Iowa's John Kyi. "Vote Volpe-he does what he says" is the message in Massachusetts; "Milton Shapp, a man you can trust!" in Pennsylvania; "Sparkman best for Alabama" in the Yellowhammer state. Even Robert Taft Jr., son of "Mr. Republican." has signs that fail to mention that he, too, belongs to the G.O.P.

$15 Non-Tickets. So local politics still involve the old-fashioned combination of shoe leather and vote-catching gimmicks. One Chicago hopeful tours bowling alleys distributing plastic earrings bearing his name to the ladies. In California, a congressional candidate has his volunteer aides play a short tape recording of his pitch from door to door. To raise funds, Connecticut Republicans are auctioning baseballs autographed by Babe Ruth. Wisconsin Republicans sell cookbooks at $2.50 each. A California Congressman gave away a $5,000 Cadillac as a door prize to attract potential contributors. Most thoughtful of all was the Michigan candidate who netted $2,000 by selling $15 non-tickets for the privilege of not attending a campaign cocktail party he promised not to give.

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