California's John Tunney

WHEN John Varick Tunney was first approached to run for Congress, he reacted with a frankness that he has since learned does not often make for political advantage. "People really think I ought to run for Congress," he wrote his wife. "Can you imagine that!"

It took some imagination. Tunney was a liberal, had been a registered Republican, and the district--the 38th, which included Riverside, his home--was markedly conservative. It also took some special insight by a pretty fair political professional, President John F. Kennedy. His advice, relayed through Edward Kennedy, Tunney's law-school roommate and close friend: drop the name Varick, by which Tunney had been called since childhood. The skeptical Tunney ran a poll: 66% of his potential constituents associated the name Varick with Russia and/or Communism. (In fact, it was the surname of a Revolutionary War ancestor.) At that, even his wife began calling him John. Finally, it took the Johnson landslide of 1964, and Tunney was in Congress. From that day to this, a lot of hard work in his district, a friendly gerrymandering to add Democratic votes, and vigorous campaigning have kept him there.

His just-completed Senate race, however, put an unaccustomed strain on the Tunney reputation. His performance in a primary he narrowly won was often wooden, and he vacillated on issues. He was described by critics as a "lightweight"--an obvious wordplay reference to his boxer father, former Heavyweight Champion Gene Tunney.

The dominant Tunney image, however, almost parallels the Kennedys'. Tunney is tall, handsome, athletic--he skis, climbs Alps, scuba dives, sails--and his speech pattern and even his heavy shock of hair are pure Kennedy. His two brothers became his campaign managers--at Teddy's suggestion. His wife Mieke, a beautiful blonde he met in The Netherlands, and three children tend to make his Riverside base a kind of Hyannisport West. In Washington, the Tunneys often give quiet dinner parties at their mansion; the wine comes from a well-stocked cellar. Their social circle is an orbit close to the Kennedys, and includes both political and media names.

The naturally gregarious, sometimes rumpled-looking Tunney (he once began a campaign day wearing jacket and pants from different colored suits) has shown flair for publicity. While other politicians walked the beach to demonstrate their concern for offshore pollution, he proved his by diving 175 ft. to the bottom of the Santa Barbara Channel and coming up with a handful of mud and a nosebleed.

That kind of flair and determination came late to him. Clouded by his father's shadow, he was an indifferent student. He admits now that he never tried hard because he feared that failure "would be a traumatic experience."

A sophomore slump at Yale--"the deans were calling me in and giving me a hard time"--was his low point.

He got a degree at the University of Virginia Law School, spent three years in the Air Force doing legal work, then settled in Riverside. When he takes his Senate seat in January, he will have achieved a kind of championship of his own. At 36, he will be almost two years younger than any of his peers. He still must prove that he belongs with the heavyweights he will find there, but even his critics must concede that he hit hard enough in the general election to deserve the chance. Confounding every pollster and prognosticator, he ran ahead of the California champ, Ronald Reagan, drawing 54% of the vote to Reagan's 53% .

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