Five Who Fit the Bill

Savvy, Gravitas And a Good Resume

The President could choose no more experienced man-in-waiting than Dick Cheney. Consider his resume: Secretary of Defense; former White House chief of staff; former Republican whip in the House of Representatives; co-author with wife Lynne, who heads the National Endowment for the Humanities, of a lively book about past leaders of the House. Cheney is a pragmatic conservative who earned the respect of liberal Democrats with his good humor and willingness to hear -- if not heed -- opposing arguments.

At 50, Cheney is a political generation younger than Bush. Yet he conveys a sense of assurance and gravitas -- what the British call bottom -- that the callow Quayle may never attain.

The son of a former Department of Agriculture employee, Cheney was born in Nebraska but grew up in Caspar, Wyo. He won a scholarship to Yale but dropped out after three semesters. "I wasn't a serious student," Cheney told the Washington Post. After bumming around the West for a couple of years, he enrolled at the University of Wyoming and graduated in 1965 with a B.A. in political science.

While working toward a doctorate in that subject at the University of Wisconsin, Cheney plunged into politics and hardly ever looked back. He went to Washington in 1968 as a staffer to a Republican Congressman, who soon loaned him to Donald Rumsfeld, head of the Office of Economic Opportunity. When Rumsfeld moved to Nixon's White House as counsellor, Cheney went along as his deputy. He escaped the Watergate tarnish by resigning in 1973 to work for a firm of Washington lobbyists.

A year later, Rumsfeld and Cheney were back in the White House as part of Gerald Ford's transition team. Cheney succeeded his old pal as chief of staff, gaining a reputation as a cool, self-effacing, politically shrewd manager. After Ford's loss to Jimmy Carter, Cheney ran for Wyoming's one seat in the House. He won, although during the G.O.P. primary he suffered the first of his three heart attacks, at the age of 37.

In his six terms in Congress Cheney built a rock-solid conservative record, supporting such favorite Reagan programs as Star Wars and military aid to Nicaragua's contras. Despite his lack of military expertise, the Senate easily confirmed him as Secretary of Defense after rejecting Bush's first choice, John Tower. Cheney quickly showed his mettle by publicly censuring the Air Force chief of staff for appearing to negotiate strategic missile-deployment options with Congress without authorization. In joint TV appearances with General Colin Powell during the gulf war, Cheney impressed Bush -- not to mention millions of other Americans -- as a captain in command.

Cheney's record and his proven skills at stroking Congress would be solid pluses for the Defense Secretary as a running mate for Bush. Some Washington insiders believe he would take the job if offered it. He is very low key as a campaign orator, however, and three years ago he underwent a heart bypass ) operation. His doctor says he's fine. But Democrats could, not unfairly, ask whether the men on a Bush-Cheney team had a good ticker between the two of them.

First in War, Second in Peace?

No sooner had the Persian Gulf war ended when polls showed that a large majority of Americans preferred Colin Powell to Dan Quayle as a running mate for Bush in 1992. Powell's response was double edged. "I have no interest in politics at the moment," he declared. At this moment, at least, no one is even sure whether Powell leans toward the Republicans or the Democrats. (He's registered as an Independent.) But if the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff could be persuaded to reconsider his not quite Shermanesque refusal, Bush could hardly choose a more symbolically powerful running mate -- or a more capable one. During the war, Powell not only became a national presence but emerged as a model of Americans as they like to imagine themselves. He seemed a man of action who was deeply reflective as well -- direct, lucid and unflappable. His presence on the ticket would be a palpable reminder of the (mostly) successful U.S. war in the gulf.

While Quayle sometimes brings to mind Bush's own privileged background and occasional air of pale inaction, Powell could underscore the side of Bush that the President would like voters to keep in mind: the grave and decisive commander. The tale of Powell's childhood in the South Bronx, where his parents were Jamaican immigrants, could even provide a countervailing mythology if the Democrats nominate Mario Cuomo, with his famous saga of growing up in nearby Queens as the son of an immigrant Italian grocer.

Powell is perceived by some critics as a "political general," closely attuned to congressional sensitivities and the slow drag of the legislative process. But such proclivities could just as easily be read as assets for a Vice President. Though he has never held elective office, he can claim almost two decades of political experience in Washington. After completing two tours in Vietnam and serving in a series of other military posts, Powell came to the attention of official Washington in 1972, when a White House fellowship placed him in the Office of Management and Budget. He rarely ventured outside the Beltway again, meanwhile filling some of the most powerful jobs in America, including National Security Adviser to Ronald Reagan and his current post as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. "I don't know anybody in this town who's served so long in such sensitive jobs who's been as free of criticism as Colin," says former Secretary of Defense Caspar Weinberger, Powell's onetime boss.

Despite his impressive credentials, the most potent quality that Powell would bring to the Bush ticket would be his race. For the most part the general has sidestepped any attempt to categorize him as a prominent African- American. And for the most part he has succeeded. Yet the significance of making Powell the first black nominee for the vice presidency would be profound. In narrow political terms, it would almost certainly attract large numbers of black voters who could otherwise be counted on to support the Democrats. It would go far toward allowing George Bush to put behind him the dismal misuse of Willie Horton in 1988. But no matter what Powell's presence might mean for the Republican ticket, more important by far is what it would mean for the nation.

Talk Softly and Carry a Big State

If Bush were to dump Dan Quayle for Pete Wilson, voters might be forgiven for thinking the new G.O.P. ticket was composed of clones. Drawling a speech on the hustings, the recently elected Governor of California sounds amazingly like the President. When he screws up his face, he even looks a bit like Bush. There is a political resemblance as well: both are moderates distrusted by the Republican right wing.

Conservatives' misgivings might not dissuade Bush from selecting Wilson if Republican strategists concluded that the President's re-election chances were in jeopardy. Because California's population grew 6 million, to more than 29 million during the 1980s, the state will have 54 electoral votes in the 1992 election -- nearly one-fifth the 270 needed to capture the White House. Despite a lack of charisma so glaring that the Los Angeles Times recently dubbed him Robopol, Wilson, 57, knows how to carry California. He has won three tough statewide elections, including a 49%-46% defeat of feisty Democrat Dianne Feinstein in last year's Governor's race.

Wilson would also be an appropriate choice if Bush wants to beckon to the political center outside California. Wilson is a solid supporter of a strong U.S. military and reduced government spending. But his approval of abortion and advocacy of limits on oil drilling would appeal to youngish suburbanites, who, for the first time, may be a majority of voters in next year's race. G.O.P. conservatives are not likely to abandon a Bush-Wilson ticket, but there is a political risk: if it won, Wilson would have to leave California in the hands of a Democratic Lieutenant Governor and the Democratic-led legislature.

Like countless other Californians, Wilson came from someplace else: Chicago born, he grew up in St. Louis. He got his start in politics as a law student at the University of California, Berkeley, where he organized a campus Young Republicans Club. In 1971, after serving five years in the state assembly, Wilson was elected mayor of San Diego. During three terms in city hall, he imposed restrictions on the city's untrammeled growth.

In 1982, Wilson ran for California's then vacant Senate seat and beat ex- Governor Jerry Brown. Wilson was a true-blue Reaganite in backing the Strategic Defense Initiative and Robert Bork's nomination to the Supreme Court. But he also voted to override the President's veto of civil rights legislation.

In his four months as Governor, Wilson has sought to establish himself as a tough fiscal manager. Confronted by a stagnating state economy, a $12.6 billion budget gap, and a drought that has threatened California agriculture, Wilson has proposed slashing welfare payments and state aid to local school systems. The state's voters appear impressed by his activism, even though the success of such proposals remains to be seen.

Wilson's aides say the Governor would not leap to join the ticket, although he makes little effort to conceal his plans to run for President in 1996. But Wilson might be tempted, since the exposure he would gain by serving as the President's standby could help him to achieve that goal.

From Kansas with Plenty of Moxie

It's hard to imagine Nancy Kassebaum playing second fiddle, even on a national ticket. The three-term Kansas Senator -- one of just two women in the upper house of Congress -- is famous for the independent streak that led her to oppose Ronald Reagan on school prayer, Star Wars and a balanced-budget amendment while supporting abortion rights and sanctions against South Africa. Despite powerful pressure from her own party, she was the only Republican to vote against George Bush's choice of John Tower to be his Secretary of Defense.

Perhaps she inherited her ornery side from her late father, Alf Landon, the 1936 Republican presidential candidate and longtime icon of Plains state Republicanism. Wherever it came from, her independence has helped make Kassebaum her state's most popular elected official -- take that, Robert Dole! -- while at the same time leaving the G.O.P. right wing deeply suspicious of her.

Her undoctrinaire conservatism could be just the thing, however, to help the G.O.P. attract suburban swing voters who may identify with the party on economics but are put off by the more strident right-wing positions on social questions like abortion rights. Kassebaum's unemphatic but unmistakable feminism could also help Bush close the gender gap by luring female voters away from the Democratic Party. Her recognized talent for building coalitions would make her an effective lobbyist for the Administration on Capitol Hill, which is one role that Vice Presidents customarily play.

Kassebaum is not the only prominent Republican woman whom Bush might consider. The short list could include U.S. Trade Representative Carla Hills; former Secretary of Transportation Elizabeth Dole; and Secretary of Labor Lynn Martin, a Bush favorite who helped him prepare for his 1984 vice-presidential debate against Geraldine Ferraro.

None of them, however, can boast the legislative experience and proven vote- getting ability of Kassebaum. But if Bush chooses the Kansas Senator, he should not expect a retiring running mate. After she was named deputy chair of the 1988 Republican National Convention, she passed up the opening night, preferring instead to attend a county fair in Abilene, Kans. As she pointedly told a Wichita newspaper, "I'm happy to speak on substantive issues. But to be treated as a bauble on the tree is not particularly constructive, is it?"

Where He Goes Dixie Follows?

If few Americans are familiar with the South Carolina Governor, the President knows him well. Bush included Carroll Campbell on his short list of vice- presidential possibilities in 1988. Since then, the 50-year-old Governor has only enhanced his image as a prime mover in the G.O.P. effort to push the South more firmly into the Republican column.

Campbell's political fortunes have been a bellwether of the Southern white voter shift away from the Democratic Party. In 1978 Campbell became the first Republican ever to be elected to Congress from his state's fourth district. Eight years later, when Democrats still outnumbered Republicans in the state legislature 6 to 1, he became just the second Republican to be elected Governor since Reconstruction. Though he squeaked by with 51% of the vote, he racked up 71% last November after a re-election campaign that pitted him against a black opponent, state senator Theo Mitchell.

An early and vocal supporter of Ronald Reagan, Campbell has attempted to position himself as a nondoctrinaire conservative. Though he sides with the right against abortion and for school prayer, he has linked himself to issues like education and the environment. In a state whose per pupil expenditures rank near the bottom nationally, Campbell has helped increase state funding for schools. He has also provided money for public health programs to combat infant mortality.

Campbell has known Bush since the early 1970s. A man who can spin some of the funniest shaggy-dog stories ever heard around a cracker barrel, he has the shoes-up-on-the-coffee-table style that the President likes. More important for a campaigner, he's a relaxed and confident speaker in public.

He could still be vulnerable over lingering charges that he exploited anti- Semitic sentiments during his 1978 congressional campaign, in which the Democratic candidate was Jewish. Campbell angrily denies the charge, though there remain suspicions that his unofficial campaign adviser, the late Lee Atwater, may have done some underground Jew baiting on Campbell's behalf. A more immediate problem for Campbell is that he's an unknown to most voters. Then again, so was Dan Quayle in 1988.