The Ghost Of Gary Past

By Walter Shapiro Sunday, June 24, 2001
    • From the moment Gary Hart punctuated his withdrawal speech last May with a defiant "Hell, no!," the Democratic Party should have seen it coming. Why would Hart have donned sackcloth on national television in September and admitted marital infidelity, unless he felt a compelling political need to get the Monkey Business off his back? At 51, Hart is too ambitious, too driven and, yes, too arrogant to be satisfied with speaking to impressionable sophomores in half-empty auditoriums, just another penitent on the lecture circuit. With the Iowa caucuses and the New Hampshire primary two months away, Hart was still pushing position papers in purgatory, forgotten except as a ribald footnote to the 1988 race.

    But even as the resurrection rumors spread last Tuesday morning, even as 250 reporters and cameramen flocked to the steps of the New Hampshire State House, there was an air of incredulity. Gary Hart is a professional; he has run for President before; he should know the taboos and totems of the trade. Didn't he understand that in the unwritten rules of political engagement there is a codicil that bars from the presidency any married man who has made a fool of himself in public with a 29-year-old model? What about his September promise not to hover around the other six candidates like "some Dickens figure"? A presidential campaign demands money, organization and delegate slates; all Hart has is a handful of volunteers and more than $1 million in leftover 1984 political debts. Even by the traditional standards of Democratic chaos and with the party's long history of bad karma, the step Hart was about to take seemed to soar to new heights of self-indulgent folly.

    But there was the former Colorado Senator, coatless in Kennedyesque fashion, flanked by his long-enduring wife Lee, daring to do the unthinkable. "Sometimes the best thing to do is what you feel you must do," Hart unrepentantly declared, reading from his handwritten speech. "I believe I represent a brand of leadership that draws its strength from its independence, that's experienced in politics but that is not purely political. I have a sense of new direction and a set of new ideas that our country needs that no one else represents. And I intend to resume my presidential campaign to let the people decide."

    Say what you will, snicker if you must, but give Hart his due: it was a great piece of political theater. Rocky, Richard Nixon, Douglas MacArthur, the metaphors of return are all part of the common heritage. So, too, are the religious themes of exile and resurrection. Hart's bumper-sticker rendition of his platform was far sharper and crisper than the rhetoric of his Democratic rivals, but what was most distinctive was the way Hart played the populist poetry of his political predicament. "This will not be like any campaign you've ever seen," Hart promised, "because I am going directly to the people. I don't have a national headquarters or staff. I don't have any money. I don't have pollsters or consultants or media advisers or political endorsements. But I have something even better. I have the power of ideas, and I can govern this country."

    Hart's celebrity status and name recognition put him among the front runners, at least for the moment. To the rest of the Democratic field, however, he was like Dr. Seuss's Grinch Who Stole Christmas, an instant spoiler further disrupting his party's stumbling attempts to rally behind an electable candidate. Like Jesse Jackson, the other leader of the Democratic pack, Hart arouses such high negative feelings in the polls that he is hardly a plausible nominee. Yet together they could draw enough votes to make it more difficult for any of the other five contenders to garner a majority in the primaries. Though the chance of a brokered outcome remains small, it is now more conceivable that, midway through the primary process, the party elders will strongly press for a Mario Cuomo, Bill Bradley or Sam Nunn to come in and pick up the pieces.

    There is a strong romantic streak in Democratic politics, the quixotic Adlai Stevenson campaigns, for example, and John Kennedy's brief, shining Camelot. For the party that nominated William Jennings Bryan three times, choosing a candidate is not a cold calculation of self-interest but a leap of faith, an idealistic commitment. Hart creatively and perhaps cynically used this imagery in recasting himself as the ultimate guerrilla insurgent, scorned by his party and tormented by the press. Of course, some of this live-off-the-land posturing is preposterous. Hart squandered the strongest and most dedicated organization in the Democratic Party last spring for a reckless tryst with Donna Rice, an event that vividly confirmed concerns about his judgment and his character. Even now, as Hart gleefully brandishes his wallet containing $60 as his entire campaign treasury, he hopes to qualify for $1 million in federal matching funds, based on the contributions he raised before he initially withdrew from the race.

    In the two days following his dramatic return from Elba, Hart dominated the television screens like a Mikhail Gorbachev in cowboy boots. Even as he peevishly decried the power of the media, he launched his revival by dominating the news and eclipsing the hapless six other Democrats, who were stuck at yet another of their interminable debates.

    In a TIME poll of likely Democratic voters taken by Yankelovich Clancy Shulman on Thursday night, two days after he announced, Hart was the first choice of 30%, compared with 22% for Jackson and 14% for Michael Dukakis. But these numbers represent the crux of the Democratic dilemma: when those surveyed were asked their impressions of each of the candidates, Hart's "unfavorable" rating was 36%. The only one higher: Jackson, with 37%. Just 51% of the probable Democratic voters said they would be likely to cast their ballots for Hart if he turns out to be the nominee, while 32% said they would not.

    Hart is right about one thing: dissatisfaction with the field is rampant among Democratic voters. Perhaps because all the other Democratic candidates have been diminished by endless TV debates and their uninspired campaigning, they seem to have surprisingly high unfavorable ratings. Dukakis and Paul Simon are the only two with relatively low negatives; Richard Gephardt, Albert Gore and Bruce Babbitt now have unfavorable ratings that are higher than their favorable ones, a marked shift from previous polls. The survey showed that 41% wanted Mario Cuomo to get in the race and 31% wanted Bill Bradley.

    Although 52% said Hart should have re-entered the race, 41% predicted the move would "hurt the Democrats in the 1988 election." Only 30% said it would help. In assessing what descriptions apply to Hart, he got high marks for intelligence (87%) and courage (64%). But 53% of those polled agreed that "uses good judgment" is a description that does not apply to him. More than 40% said Hart "should be a character in a soap opera."

    Ever since George Wallace first ran in 1964, Democratic primaries have proved fertile ground for send-them-a-message protest votes. But never before have the party's two strongest candidates in the polls, as well as its two most adept performers on television, been protest candidates of a sort. Hart represents an entirely new species: for all the merit of many of his stands on issues, his candidacy can only be understood as a passionate protest against his self-inflicted political fate. In a sense, Hart is questing after a national pardon, but he is too proud and too stiff-necked to ask for it.

    Even many old friends are dismayed. "When he left the race in May, he told us that the campaign was not about a candidate, it was a cause," recalled David Dreyer, Hart's former national-policy director. "I don't know of anything that suggests he is going to serve the cause by getting back in." Former Colorado Governor Richard Lamm, an old ally of Hart's, likened him to the "bastard cousin who shows up at the family reunion." Lamm added, "The Democratic Party will forgive past indiscretions, but I don't think the party will forgive someone solely interested in playing the role of spoiler."

    The bitterness of the Democratic establishment toward Hart is palpable. Party Chairman Paul Kirk publicly affirmed that Hart was acting selfishly and said, "Donna Rice is going to be relevant." Charles Whitehead, the Florida chairman, snapped, "If he is a candidate, I am going to Europe during the convention." Democratic Pollster Harrison Hickman said, "We've got a national Gong Show anyway, and here's one more guy in a funny suit coming on the stage."

    Some of Hart's rivals joined the chorus once they discovered that this lone crusader was a relatively safe target. The best and earliest lines belonged to Babbitt. "I think everybody is entitled to a comeback try," he cracked. "But in Gary's case, I don't know if the comparison is to Sugar Ray Leonard or Jim and Tammy Bakker. If this weren't so serious, it would be funny. If it weren't so funny, it would be serious."

    Beginning with David Letterman and Johnny Carson, the first reaction of many was to make Hart the butt of a national laugh-in. A front-page Des Moines Register cartoon showed Hart wearing a dwarf costume labeled SLEAZY, as he pushed the other six candidates off a cliff. Hart was also tagged by cartoonists as HORNY and RANDY. A popular Denver radio show held an hour-long phone-in of the latest jokes about him, most of which tended toward the tasteless. One caller said the best Hart joke was that "Gary is running for President."

    For all the snickers, as Babbitt pointed out, Hart's re-entry is not really a laughing matter: it helps neither the Democratic Party nor the country to < turn the critical process of selecting a President into something that begins to resemble a circus. Hart's action was a symptom of the problems faced by his party. "He appears to symbolize the failure of the established field to catch fire," says William Galston, a 1984 adviser to Walter Mondale. Hart's comeback crusade threatens to become a cause of further disarray. As Peter Hart (no relation), a Democratic pollster, says, "It's destabilizing for the Democrats at a time when they have to start moving forward."

    Hart's return hurts all the charter members of the old Democratic six-pack in differing ways. The second-tier candidates (Gephardt, Gore and Babbitt) can ill afford to be overshadowed in the crucial weeks before Iowa and New Hampshire. Gore is particularly vulnerable since, having all but abandoned Iowa, he needs a respectable showing in New Hampshire to position himself for the Super Tuesday Southern primaries. Compared with Hart, the bow-tied Simon looks like the model of a conventional politician. "Hart will take away the fascination with Simon as the new and different candidate," predicts Democratic Media Consultant Frank Greer. Even Jesse Jackson may slip, as he now must share the name-recognition vote with Hart.

    But it is Michael Dukakis who has the most to lose from Hart and potentially the most to gain. Until now the Massachusetts Governor's hegemony in the neighboring state of New Hampshire was taken for granted. But Hart won a breakthrough victory in that state's 1984 primary, and it is here that he intends to make his do-or-die stand in 1988. "If there's one loser, it's Dukakis," theorizes Political Consultant Ralph Mongeluzo. "When Hart dropped out, a big part of his support went to Dukakis. Now he'll have a shot at getting it back." Early polls show Hart vaulting into second place behind Dukakis in New Hampshire. Yet in the looking-glass world of political expectations, Hart's presence may actually help Dukakis if the Governor can still win in New Hampshire. Such a victory would have been discounted if Dukakis had faced only the pre-existing weak field. But if he knocks off Hart, Dukakis would begin to look more like a real giant.

    Like shipwrecked sailors on an isolated atoll, nervous Democrats have been constantly scanning the horizon for signs that they may yet be saved from having to nominate any of the existing contenders. Needless to say, Hart up to now has not figured prominently in these rescue scenarios. But Robert Squier, | a Democratic media consultant, says that "the more candidates you have in, the more the brokered convention seems feasible." He notes, "It's probably good for Mario Cuomo," who has ruled out a race but not a last-minute call to duty.

    A brokered convention, with party leaders wheeling and dealing through multiple ballots, may be the modern political equivalent of the unicorn: long sought but never actually sighted. A more plausible, though still unlikely scenario is for a period of confusion and bartering that begins midway through the primary season, when no candidate looks likely to garner a majority of delegates. That could open the way for a draft movement for someone now on the sidelines.

    For example, if Hart does well in New Hampshire and Jackson runs strongly in the South, the other five may become even more diminished. Hart may not ultimately win that many delegates: he has neither the time nor the organization to file full slates and get the necessary signatures to be listed in many places. Nevertheless, it will become mathematically more difficult for any of the five others to forge a majority, especially if the popular fascination with Hart and Jackson continues to overshadow them.

    Intimations of a stalemate would provide a window for a last-minute candidacy by Cuomo, Bradley or Nunn -- either by entering a couple of late primaries or by being available when the preconvention brokering begins. Such a confection is still mostly spun sugar, but the re-entry of Hart is certain to keep speculation alive for months.

    Gary Hart has become the Democratic version of Richard Nixon: a political leader of vast talents and conspicuous flaws, a man who seems to draw strength from his own humiliation, and a natural loner in a profession that places a premium on warmth. Like Nixon, he is a fascinating touchstone of the times, whose character and psyche are both intensely familiar and strangely unfathomable. The ill-concealed bitterness that the political establishment displays toward Hart is more than merely political and situational; it is rooted in anger at an iconoclast who scorns convention. Mocking the pretensions and smugness of the system is not a new pose for Hart: he did it as George McGovern's campaign manager in 1972 and as a new breed of maverick candidate in 1984. As in his personal life, he tries to live above the accepted rules. Now he has embarked on the most daring odyssey of a public career built entirely on risk, and the political power structure looks on in % horror and asks, "Why?"

    The most cynical interpretation is that Hart is doing this merely to qualify for roughly $1 million in federal matching payments. But even if Hart were to receive this money, which is subject to the approval of the Federal Election Commission, the funds would go to his new 1988 campaign committee, not into his wallet. Nor is it certain that this money would ever be applied to his $1.1 million 1984 debt which, legally, is not owed by Hart personally. Only if Hart gets the matching funds, drops out of the race again, and wins FEC approval might this $1 million jackpot be used to close the books on 1984.

    Issues, Hart insisted in his rhetoric of return, are what propelled him back into the race. "I hoped that my ideas for strategic investment economics, for military reform, and for enlightened engagement would be adopted and put forward by others," he declared. Even though he somewhat arrogantly sent his position papers to the other Democratic candidates after his initial withdrawal, Hart feels that his ideas were ignored. But Hart's strength as a candidate is less as an ideological thinker and more as an adroit packager. When Hart takes questions from an audience, it is striking how formidable he can be in framing his ideas. From toxic waste to the Persian Gulf, he is masterly at weaving single facts into broad solutions.

    Hart may be guilty of self-deception if he believes that his candidacy is an ideological crusade. For once, the Democratic Party is free from divisive debates over issues like Viet Nam and civil rights. On the campaign trail, Hart distributed copies of a 94-page collection of his recent speeches, titled "Reform, Hope and the Human Factor: Ideas for National Restructuring." But the speeches reveal the surprising degree to which Hart is in accord with many of his rivals on policy issues. Hart is willing to raise taxes to stanch the deficit. So is Babbitt. Hart has some innovative ideas on job training and economic development. So has Dukakis. Hart has a subtle understanding of military and nuclear strategy. So has Gore. Hart believes in arms negotiations and limited use of American military force abroad. So do all his Democratic rivals. In short, the question for Hart on the issues this time should be "What's your beef?"

    Although he had been actively mulling re-entering the race since Thanksgiving, Hart made his decision only the weekend before his announcement. That Saturday he asked his daughter Andrea, 23, to drive out from Denver to the Hart home in nearby Kittredge. When she arrived, Andrea looked at her father and asked, "Is it a go?" The once and future candidate smiled and said, "Yep, I think so." On Sunday morning Hart called his longtime aide Billy Shore in Washington for what seemed a routine conversation about an upcoming speech in Iowa. Only after the details were completed did Hart say in a matter-of-fact voice, "Well, I'm going to do it. In the next day or so, I'm going to get back in." Before Shore could say anything, Hart quickly added, "Don't worry, Billy, it's going to work out better than you think."

    Over the past month there were no formal meetings of Hart supporters, just a series of musing telephone calls to a tight cadre of old loyalists. A few, like David Dreyer, who strenuously opposed a resurrected candidacy, were dropped from the loop. Former Deputy Campaign Manager John Emerson warned of the obvious personal and political risks, telling Hart that he "could possibly be blamed if the Democrats lose in 1988." But Emerson sensed that Hart was animated by something deeper, more personal. "If he'll never be at peace with himself," Emerson said, "well, that's another matter."

    In New Hampshire some veteran political organizers have returned to the fold: Sue Casey, co-chairman of Hart's 1984 state primary campaign, and Ned Helms, who has been a prominent Gore supporter. But until they formally open a national headquarters in Denver this week, the Hart campaign is being run mostly out of the Colorado state party offices, where 15 volunteers work the phones. Party Chairman Buie Seawell jokes, "People are calling up saying, 'I've seen a star in the east. Is this the stable?' "

    The apparent reasons that Hart cannot survive much beyond the New Hampshire primary are legion: little experienced staff, the difficulty in filing delegate slates around the country, no money unless the federal matching funds arrive, the high negative ratings in the polls, the danger of new damaging disclosures, the ridicule factor and the enmity of party leaders. It is all terribly convincing, until one remembers that Hart was nearly broke and stuck at 3% in the national polls at this point in 1983. Patrick Caddell, the volatile Democratic pollster who worked for Hart in 1984 and has been without a candidate since Joseph Biden dropped out of the current race, claims effusively, "Yesterday everyone was saying Gary can't get in the race. Now they are saying, well, he can't get nominated. Next they'll say he can't get , elected." Caddell adds with a laugh, "After that, they'll say, well, he can't govern."

    The question of electability masks a much larger question: Is Gary Hart fit to be President? The issue is not merely Hart's amorous behavior, but the pattern of deceit and deception that surrounded his involvement with Donna Rice. "Hart sounds dangerous. The man has an appetite for personally founded illusion," says Political Scientist James David Barber of Duke University. Bruce Mazlish, a historian at Massachusetts Institute of Technology, puts it this way: "What we do know about Hart is enough to make you concerned that this is a man who is reckless and whom you don't want as President."

    These are harsh statements, but they should be tempered by the reality that there is no simple divining rod for predicting presidential performance. That is why the final verdict rests with the voters. The American people can be extremely forgiving; in fact, one sometimes wonders if it is true mercy or just a short attention span.

    Hart lurched back into the campaign because he could not abide being left out of the great national debate. Fine. He has that right. But the American electoral process is not just about ideas and issues. It is about something even more serious: choosing a person to be President. Hart's seeming refusal to draw any lessons from his ordeal other than those relating to his personal privacy, and his declaration that he need not be held accountable for his reckless behavior and deceits, border on self-indulgence. That is what threatens to make his re-entry into the race, a gesture that was at once both grandiose and pathetic, as harmful for a man of Hart's talents as it could be for his party.

    CHART: TEXT NOT AVAILABLE

    CREDIT:TIME Charts by Joe Lertola

    CAPTION: Democrats' reactions

    DESCRIPTION: Hart's re-entry in the race and press fairness to Gary Hart.

    CHART: TEXT NOT AVAILABLE

    CREDIT:TIME Charts by Joe Lertola

    CAPTION:NO CAPTION

    DESCRIPTION: Democratic presidential choices.

    CHART: TEXT NOT AVAILABLE

    CREDIT:TIME Charts by Joe Lertola

    CAPTION:NO CAPTION

    DESCRIPTION: Public unease about Gary Hart.