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At the moment, Gore's fanciest move consists of trying to cobble together a new centrist coalition. He is worried that he and Clinton have been so busy welcoming the booming information-age economy that they have left the impression "that we think good is good enough," Gore told TIME. "But we certainly do not. We are restless and anxious to do better still." So in addition to the technology and information workers who would seem his natural constituents, Gore is courting urbanites who voted for such dynamic mayors as Detroit's Dennis Archer and Cleveland's Mike White. But coalitions are built by moving one voter at a time, which is where Gore can fall flat. "Clinton goes into a room wanting everyone to like him," a Gore aide observes, "and Gore goes into a room wanting to convince everyone he's right." Gore once showed up at a dinner party at David Brinkley's Chevy Chase, Md., home toting an easel and flip charts on global warming--which might have gone over better had it not been the height of the Gulf War. Last summer, while Clinton was making the circuit on Martha's Vineyard, Gore was in seclusion at a North Carolina beach house, pleading with his kids to keep him company as he watched a documentary on Lewis and Clark.
Those who have worked closely with both men say Gore is more resolute, more disciplined and by far the better negotiator. "Clinton is anxious to please the person at the other end of the table. Gore understands it's an adversary," says Morris. Clinton, though given to titanic rages, gets past them quickly and listens when staff members tell him he is wrong. Gore never forgets an affront, bristling when his views are challenged, rebuffing the questioner with a put-down. "It's got a lot of edge to it," says a former Administration official who has seen the darker side of Gore. "It's sarcastic, but you can't really tell if it's humor or not." Some former aides say the trait has prevented Gore from assembling a top-notch staff. Last week he beefed it up with two new hires.
Gore's sense of entitlement was ingrained at an early age. For nine months of the year during his childhood, Gore lived a male, Washington-based version of Eloise at New York City's Plaza--with the Fairfax Hotel as his playground and leading pols of the day, from Nixon to J.F.K., as his adult foils. (Strom Thurmond once stepped on little Al's toy submarine in the Senate pool.) But while the fictional Eloise bounced giddily through her hotel, Gore grew a hard shell in his. "I felt like I was on temporary assignment," he once told the Washington Post. The Senator's son had to develop a public self before his private one was fully formed, friends say. Underneath he is cool and watchful.
A few years ago, when his son nearly died after having been hit by a car, Gore launched a journey of self-discovery, immersing himself in the literature of family dysfunction and pondering his own emotional remoteness with the same intellectual rigor he brought to bear on Soviet first-strike capability. Gore knew he would get lampooned for this--Washington is terrified of soul searching--but he did it anyway because it mattered to him.