Mario in Motion

TIME Correspondent Frank McCulloch traveled through the boroughs of New York City with Mario Procaccino. Here is his report on a day with the candidate:

THE Astoria neighborhood of Queens is just across the East River from Manhattan, but an ocean away in tempo and texture. Things move a bit slower here; pedestrians wait for the signal light before crossing. Steinway, a commercial street in the working-class area, could pass for the main avenue of a decaying Middle West town. On this stage, all parts of the overture sound simultaneously: an ersatz locomotive clangs and toots; an accordionist squeezes out The Sidewalks of New York; a sound truck emits the appropriately upbeat Buckle Down Winsocki.

Out of a station wagon step Procaccino and his two running mates. The crowd is friendly, the candidates cheerful, the encounter an instant success. A woman approaches, gray, wrinkled, ancient. "I voted for him," she says of John Lindsay. "But I hate him. I hate him! You got to get him out of there." Procaccino replies with his customary vehemence: "I got news for you. We are going to get him out. But I want to remind you of why you voted for him. Because he's pretty, that's why. Now I'm not pretty. But I'll tell you something else: I keep my promises."

Apart from the scarcity of Negroes in the crowd, there is nothing tangible to suggest the campaign's racial undertones. But here, as at other stops, a white citizen gets the candidate's ear, whispers urgently. Procaccino steps back and says: "Listen, I just want you to know that as far as I'm concerned, each man in this city is as good as any man." The leader and entourage sweep down the street. Procaccino stops at a pizza stand, buys wedges for himself and his running mates. Nibbling from his left hand, shaking with his right, he continues without missing a voter, getting tomato paste on his suit or egg on his face. Procaccino used to be known for his gaffes--as, for instance, telling an audience that a political ally of his "grows on you, like cancer"--but he is more circumspect these days.

On the way to the next stop, Procaccino sinks into the car seat. "I tell you, fella, this is the tough way to do it. If I had the money, I wouldn't do it this way, but I don't have any choice." When the conversation turns to his record and Lindsay's, he recalls that he has been in the public employ for 25 years. "I challenge you to tell me what mistakes I made in those 25 years."

In Jackson Heights, the people are better dressed, younger and even friendlier than in Astoria. Procaccino's right thumb is swollen and painful. The crowd pushes, pats, pummels him. He is near exhaustion, but enjoying him self. "Sometimes," he says once he is back in the car, "I don't think I'm going to be able to make it." He is asked why, in view of the wear and tear, the enormous problems of the job, his wife's reluctance about his running, is he making the race. "I guess it goes all the way back to how I was raised in Italy. We grow up there respecting our parents and our priest and our teachers and our officials. To be a leader of any kind was to be respected. So when La Guardia gave me a chance in 1944 to become an assistant corporation counsel, I never thought twice. Public service gets in your blood.

The final stop in the day's effort is a club where Queens District Attorney Thomas Mackell is to give a cocktail party for Procaccino. But there has been a foul-up in the schedule; Procaccino has arrived two hours early and is disinclined to wait. His entourage is invited in for a drink. "Mackell going to pay for this?" Procaccino asks. Assured that refreshments are indeed on the missing Mackell, the candidate suddenly snaps his fingers. "As long as I've got the night off," he announces, "I'll take the wife and daughter out to dinner." He finds a pay telephone and is about to dial when he notices that a reporter is watching him. "You're the one from Washington, aren't you? What's the matter, the President of the United States doesn't do things this way?" Then he gets through to Marie and tells her not to cook dinner, he'll take her and Marierose out to eat in New Rochelle.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.