The Political Interest

By Michael Kramer

This was not the "Four more years" crowd. These were defectors -- eight prominent Republican activists who had never strayed before but were about to now. They had attended G.O.P.conventions in the past; but as George Bush accepted their party's nomination in Houston, they were 1,400 miles from the action, watching on television. They chuckled at the laugh lines but mostly grimaced. They were all business, and they were taking notes. In 12 hours, they would publicly endorse Bill Clinton, and they said they were eager for fodder -- or even, as several mused, "for something that might turn" them "from this course." They didn't hear it.

On paper, this particular group of turncoats was just one of 17 similar organizations around the country that within hours of the President's speech would confirm their rumored disaffection -- the timing of their crossovers having been quietly coordinated by the Clinton campaign. But these folks were different; they live in Orange County, California, the wealthy citadel of conservative Republicanism that was home to John Wayne, a place, the Duke once joked, where "due process is a bullet."

Before the polling gap between the two candidates tightened last week, Bush's aides said privately that California was lost. Clinton's 30-point lead there was deemed insurmountable, and even in Orange County the Democrats held a seven-point advantage. But California has 54 electoral votes (a full fifth of the 270 required for victory), and history alone will force the G.O.P. to reconsider: since 1880, no Republican has captured the White House without winning California -- and no Republican in modern times has taken the state without amassing a huge plurality in Orange County. In 1988, Bush's Orange plurality of 317,000 votes represented 90% of his statewide margin.

But paradise is in trouble. "Forever, or so it seems," says sociologist Mark Baldassare, who has studied Orange County for 10 years, "this place was on the steepest of upward curves. But today, with every index down, the people who thought they were immune to recessions, the Republican white collar workers, have been caught. Bush will likely carry the county again, but if he doesn't get a 300,000-vote plurality here, there's no way he'll take California." And that, says Representative Robert Dornan, one of the county's five Congressmen, "is iffy at best, unless there is a measurable and perceived economic upturn."

It's "not just the economy," says Anita Mangels, one of the Orange Eight. "Until Clarence Thomas, I've voted Republican despite being pro-choice. Now the Supreme Court is only one vote away from outlawing abortion, and the Houston convention showed that that's what will happen if Bush is back. A majority of Orange Republicans are pro-choice, and this issue is finally resonating with them." It's "not just the economy," says Harriett Wieder, an Orange County supervisor. "I have to deal with the growing number of white collars who are crowding our emergency rooms. We need national health care, and Bush doesn't get it."

But it's mostly the economy. The Orange Eight are led by Roger Johnson and Kathryn Thompson. Johnson runs Western Digital, a Fortune 500 computer-parts manufacturer; Thompson is the county's second largest real estate developer and a former member of Team 100, the superexclusive organization of wealthy Republican fat cats. Since 1988, Thompson has poured almost $200,000 into G.O.P. campaigns. "I spoke to the President about the economy last fall, and he told me there was no recession," Thompson says. "He had said that publicly, but he knows me, and when he said it to me privately, I couldn't believe it. So I hosted two gatherings for Clinton in the hope of getting Bush to focus." The only focus Thompson has noticed has been unwelcome. In Houston last Tuesday, Representative Dornan told me, "Thompson wants to play hardball, O.K. But she better watch out, or she may find her business hurt."

Thompson seemed subdued as she watched Bush last Thursday, but she and Johnson went ballistic when the President crowed about homeowners refinancing their mortgages. "That's an achievement?" Johnson said incredulously. "People are losing income, so they have to refinance. The guy doesn't have a clue."

If the Orange Eight were unimpressed, they are not optimistic. They know their neighbors, and Johnson and Thompson predict Bush will recover much of his support in the county. "I can see how that speech could work well for him here," says Johnson. "That and whatever else he comes up with in the next two months," says Thompson. "He's real good at sounding good." As their voices trailed off, the last of a squadron of F-18 fighters flew low over the Pacific outside Thompson's home on its way to a landing at a nearby military base. "They're practicing their night stuff a lot more these days," contended Thompson. "Yeah," said Johnson, shaking his head, "it's like it was right before the Gulf War."