INSIDE BOB DOLE'S BRAIN BACK ON TOP IN THE PRIMARIES, HE MUST NOW FOCUS ON THE EVEN TOUGHER RACE AHEAD IN THE FALL. WHAT'S HE THINKING? LISTEN UP.
(FORTUNE Magazine) – So I've pulled off one of the toughest tricks in American political history: I've become a late bloomer at age 72. That was no picnic. But it's nothing compared with what I have ahead of me. I'm gonna have to bring this party back together. Then I've got to beat Bubba. I can't do one without doing the other. And there won't be much time. God, things are a mess out there. I've been running around the country, mouthing those platitudes about leadership or whatever. I barely survived. There are all those angry people with Buchanan, more Democratic than Republican. I've got to get them before Clinton pulls his "come home" act. (The guy's a McGovernite, sure as I sit here, and he's without shame. He'll actually say that.) There are all those people with the rich kid, Forbes. I need them too. I can talk flat tax. One thing all the wise guys say: That Dole sure can talk flat. I'm gonna have to reach out. Never done that before. Never really trusted anyone, not since the war injury in Italy. I was on my own then, on my own for 39 months, but then I was fighting for myself. Now--all the smart people tell me this, and I'm starting to believe it myself--I'm fighting for something bigger. Whatever it is. So stealing people from Elizabeth's staff, which is about as far as I've ever gone before, won't be enough this time. I'm gonna have to bring in some of the folks I've been whacking all winter. Actually, I might even like that, making them think they have to grovel, when the truth is, I'm the one who needs to grovel. I want those wiseacres who are working for Lamar. (We know they can make a dull guy look interesting, make a moderate seem conservative if he has to, a liberal if he needs to.) I can learn something from Buchanan. He and his sister beat me up with nothing more than a PT boat while my guys were operating out of the Queen Mary. Maybe a cool $10 million from Forbes might help. Think of it as war reparations. (No, no--erase that. Didn't say that. Stay cool, Bob. Be presidential.) The trick will be to make myself over without triggering any "New Dole" garbage. I absolutely hate that. Sounds like Nixon. Or Clinton. I remember something Mitterrand once said: "My strategy is to have only tactics." That's me, all right. Tactics. A makeover isn't gonna be easy for a guy like me. My problem isn't age, it's attitude. I know that. I was reared in the Depression in the dust bowl of Kansas. I grew up poor and pessimistic. I'm not one of those howling Gingrich conservatives who chatter all day about entrepreneurship. Their heroes are guys out looking for a bank loan to launch a software company. My hero's the skeptical midwestern banker: parsimonious, full of memories of being burned. The new guys think about the next boom. Great. I worry about the next depression. They talk publicly about faith and luck, sometimes even kismet. My faith is my business, not the press's, and you can see what kind of luck I was having until recently. As for kismet, don't even bring it up. But I'm gonna have to swallow some of this rubbish. I'm gonna go out there, talk about growth and opportunity. Maybe throw in some stuff about "limitless possibility" too, and hope I don't choke. (Malcolm Forbes taught his son: Take risks. My father ran a cream and egg station and carried two 100-pound milk cans at a time. He taught me: Watch out. Damn good lesson, too.) Clinton worries me, worries me like crazy. Guy's a good campaigner, great talker. And he doesn't have to do some do-si-do about abortion every 15 minutes. (I thought they were the party with factions, not us.) The polls show him ahead, but you don't win with polls, you win with electoral votes. He needs an inside straight: the northeast, the industrial midwest, the Pacific West. No margin of error. So if I can't get Powell, I can choose some midwestern governor like Thompson or Engler or Edgar for a running mate (those guys are duller than I am) and make his life a misery. Plus I've got Hillary on my side. Talk about high negatives! Gotta love that woman. (No, no. Didn't say that.) In this race I've gotta be the grownup. Easy. They're the adolescents. Know-it-alls. Liberals. Only Bush could lose to a bunch of jerks like that. (Steady now, Bob. Control yourself. Pop off like that and you're gonna live in this tiny Watergate condo the rest of your life. Think Lincoln bedroom. Think helicopters taking you to Camp David.) Right. One more thing, though. I'm always on the defensive. I'm ready to take steps to deal with whatever crisis might present itself, but not ready to show I can make the world over. That's the key to making myself over. I can do it. I can. All my life I pushed myself--pushed with that lead arm cast with two hinges that old Adolph Reisig, bless him, soldered together so I could develop my muscles and tendons. I pushed to take a few steps, then to walk down to the railroad tracks, then to run for office. But I never pushed my imagination. Never pushed to dream. So I'll do it. I'll talk about my dreams. Whatever they are. I will. They want vision, I'll give them vision. I'll do it. I will. Even if it kills me. David Shribman is Washington bureau chief for the Boston Globe and a Pulitzer Prize--winning political reporter. |
|