Meet George W. Reagan

By ERIC POOLEY

A week into the race, it's clear what kind of choice George W. Bush wants to offer America: Reagan vs. Bush. But this time Bush will play Reagan and Gore will play Bush. Get it? George W. hopes to sketch this contest (he's already thinking general election) as the sunny, straight-talkin', conservative cowboy from out West against the tense, aloof, out-of-touch elitist from back East. In other words, he's trying to assume the role perfected in 1980 by Ronald Reagan (but without all that pesky ideology) while casting Al Gore as the pencil-neck child of the Establishment. During the 1980 G.O.P. primary, that thankless role was played (and this is what makes the whole thing so delicious) by W.'s father George Herbert Walker Bush. "That elitist label was so unfair," says George W.'s strategist, Karl Rove, who has to say that sort of thing or the Bushes will lash him to the Kennebunkport rocks at low tide. "But Gore is a true elitist--went to the best schools, lived in a hotel, doesn't really seem to like people, whereas the Governor is outgoing and optimistic and has a bold vis--"

You get the idea. But young Bush (no stranger to great schools) has a way to go before he assumes Reagan's mantle. He looks the part, but he hasn't displayed anything like Reagan's ability to deflect attacks or deliver warm words and one-liners to a camera. (He may need those gifts because his grasp of world issues seems at times Reaganesque.) Nor does Bush have Reagan's base of true believers, since he hasn't been espousing a consistent ideology for 20 years. Or even 10. "Reagan had earned his spurs by 1980," says his former campaign manager, John Sears. "George hasn't."

Reagan's 1980 campaign has been a template for G.O.P. front runners ever since. First among its lessons: Send out a genial, general message early, and avoid specific proposals. Reagan learned the danger of specificity in 1976. He was poised to snatch the nomination from President Gerald Ford--but then he delivered his infamous "$90 billion speech," which called for gutting that much from the federal budget and turning power over to the states. Ford's team jumped on it, and the uproar helped drive the winning margin to Ford. So three years later, Reagan, by then the undisputed G.O.P. front runner, spent the summer of 1979 holed up at his California ranch because Sears didn't want to risk trotting him out. Even after Reagan declared his candidacy, in November, he ducked debates with rivals, who howled that no one knew where he stood. Only after he lost the Iowa caucuses did he oust Sears and join the fray.

It's a cherished ritual: the front runner hides or glides above the pack, the underdogs issue position papers and attack the leader for dodging tough questions. Vice President Bush did it in the summer of 1987, and George W. is doing much the same thing. The rule doesn't apply to the Democrats this time because Gore, with his welter of proposals, is already fighting the general election, and the gauzy Bill Bradley is, as always, playing by his own rules. Gore's pollster, Mark Penn, notes that when voters are asked about Bush's stands on specific issues such as abortion (he is pro-life), his ratings drop. Gore hopes to bury Bush's style with his substance. "The problem with that strategy," says consultant Hank Sheinkopf, a veteran of Clinton/Gore '96, "is that no one is listening to Gore's substance. It's too early."

Bush is too smart to chase Gore down some policy rabbit hole. Instead, he'll trump him with vision--if he can find one. "The public's attention is with him," says Sears. "Does he have something to say? People want to hear two or three simple, powerful ideas. Maybe he can get elected without that, but to exercise real power as President, he's got to have it." And that's the true lesson of Reagan.