(2 of 4)
Supply-siders excluded, many economists applaud the Tsongas message, though some fear he is kindling economic nationalism. A number of union leaders consider Tsongas a turncoat, even though his voting record over the years has been prolabor. Democratic elders are warily assessing public reaction. Potential presidential candidates, such as Iowa Senator Tom Harkin, are already sniping at Tsongas. Instead of more tax breaks for greedy businessmen, they complain, why not more of them for the middle class? Tsongas labels such criticism myopic. Only business can bake a bigger pie.
Audiences in Iowa, where the first nominating caucuses will take place next February, have rarely heard a Democratic candidate utter such heretical words. Many bob their heads in approval. If Tsongas seems bland, his words are not. Ten years ago, he explains, he made similar speeches but no one listened. "There are moments in history when ideas catch fire," Tsongas says. "Back then I lit a match and nothing happened. Now gasoline is all over the floor." His own liberal voting record takes much of the sting out of the blunt talk.
Aloof and sometimes quirky, Tsongas is a man who wastes scant time on political heartiness. "He gives little feedback," says one of his top aides. Escaping political orthodoxy appeals to him. The higher a person's standing, staff members say, the more likely Tsongas is to ignore him. He is incapable of rudeness, but there are glints of social defiance in his nature. In nine years in Washington, Tsongas says, he never held a dinner party. The Senator needs few people aside from his wife, Niki, and three daughters, Ashley, 17, Katina, 13, and Molly, 9. He is fanatically devoted to his family. "Otherwise," says a longtime member of his staff, "it's almost like he exists alone."
There is a moralistic streak in Tsongas. His speeches are apt to include denunciations against those "who ought to be ashamed of themselves." In conversation, his comments, no matter how calmly uttered, can have a know-it- all ring. He is sometimes referred to behind his back as St. Paul. Still, he does not close off argument and is willing to change his mind. Unlike most Democrats, he supports nuclear power. His conversion occurred after experts convinced him of the lasting, dire effects of oil and coal on the environment.
Tsongas and Dukakis keep a friendly distance. After Dukakis appointed him chairman of the state board of regents, Tsongas publicly criticized the Governor's education cuts. Dukakis was startled. The two men are mostly unalike. Tsongas has an easy sense of humor and is far less stiff around people. His ready quips are regularly turned on himself. Often he tells audiences he is thinking of becoming a Swede. Tsongas rarely holds grudges. When staffers urge him to retaliate against renegers, he usually waves them off.
How the man from Lowell picked up such vast self-confidence is a mystery he is at a loss to explain. His youth, Tsongas remembers, was mostly not a happy one. He never knew his mother, who suffered from tuberculosis and lived in a sanatorium. One day young Paul, age 4, was driven to see her. A ghostly figure, Katina Tsongas, gazed down from an upstairs window and waved to her son. He never saw her again. She died when Paul and his twin sister, Thaleia, were seven. A grandmother, whom the children soon called Ma, took her place.