A VEEP WHO LEAVES PRINTS

By J.F.O. McAllister

George Bush fumed about jokes that he had put his manhood in blind trust to serve as Ronald Reagan's Vice President. The young Dan Quayle never convinced the country he had the gravitas to be Veep, let alone top man. But the cerebral, private, intensely competitive Al Gore has managed the contortionist's feat of projecting an almost perfect loyalty to his boss's re-election without diminishing himself. Clinton's normally understated political director, Doug Sosnik, gushes when the topic is Gore: "There's not one part of the country where Al Gore is not well received, not one group he doesn't do well with. It sounds like hype, but it really is true. He has reset the bar for measuring the effectiveness of future Vice Presidents."

Of course, it serves the interests of Bill Clinton for his aides to portray the Clinton-Gore relationship as a glowing success, as it serves Gore's inevitable run for the presidency in 2000. He will struggle as a campaigner: crowds may like but rarely swoon at his wooden crescendos of passion. But for now, he is securely parked at Clinton's side, where he puts his fingerprints on White House initiatives large and small. It was Gore who suggested the best bit of stagecraft in Clinton's virtuoso State of the Union speech: planting in the gallery Richard Dean, a Social Security Administration employee who had heroically saved lives in Oklahoma City. Dean provoked thunderous bipartisan applause--and then G.O.P. consternation when Clinton noted that the Gingrich-inspired government shutdown had later locked Dean out of his office. It was Gore who forcefully advocated the quick appointment of Mickey Kantor as Commerce Secretary after Ron Brown's death; who persuaded Clinton to rediscover the virtues of being pro-environment; who twisted entertainment executives' arms until they agreed to a "voluntary" TV-violence rating system; who shepherded the huge telecommunications bill to completion. Gore, whose sister died of lung cancer, has also been the single most persistent champion inside the White House of Clinton's year-old campaign to discourage teen smoking, which culminated last week in the decision to allow the FDA to regulate tobacco products for the first time.

On the Myers-Briggs personality-type assessment system used by management consultants, Gore tests out as a mild introvert, which his flesh-pressing boss could never be. Gore loves preparing for meetings with foreign leaders, attending Clinton's national-security briefings, or patiently explaining chaos theory and fractals to staff members as they work all night at his house on an M.I.T. graduation speech, surrounded by note cards and bits of paper stuck on easels. "For him it's like golf. He loves it!" concludes an aide. But beneath this wonkish exterior, the President has found a smart politico. After the TWA 800 crash, Clinton named Gore head of a task force on airline safety--a delicate job, since the report he produces must be rigorous without implying that the President flubbed the issue earlier. Gore is also the favorite mouthpiece for Clinton's rapid-response team, "prebutting" Bob Dole before a big Dole family-values speech, or slashing at Dole's equivocations on which programs will be shrunk to pay for his tax cut.

Gore attends the Wednesday meetings of the President's main political advisers, where message, media buys and campaign personnel are settled, and drives home his views at a weekly private lunch with Clinton, which they preserve even if their stomachs must growl until 3:30. Gore also has regular private meetings with Dick Morris, Clinton's chief political strategist. Morris has proved a crucial ally in moving Clinton back to the New Democrat path Gore always favored: centrist, less partisan, with a more disciplined staff and message. Who is more influential? "The press sets this up as an either-or choice between Dick and me, but it's not," says Gore, ever the good soldier. "We can both contribute."

Being a good soldier has its rewards. Clinton has given a clutch of key jobs to Gore loyalists, a highly unusual sign of presidential trust. Among the chosen ones: campaign manager Peter Knight and media adviser Robert Squier, White House counsel Jack Quinn and budget director Franklin Raines. Gore and his groupies are now working loyally for Clinton; if he wins, they can pivot toward Gore's 2000 bid.

In the meantime, Gore and Clinton, both brainy, moderate Southerners with an abiding interest in the plumbing of government, speak an easy shorthand and razz each other like competitive brothers. For his birthday last March, Clinton gave Gore fake keys to Air Force One and a picture of the pair at the State of the Union address with their faces reversed. "It's a good thing they don't play the same sports," says a Gore aide, not entirely joking. Actually, they are both runners. Of the two, Gore runs slower--but, as seems fitting for a man who first tried, at age 39, to become President, he prefers longer distances.