What Happened to Muskie?

IN just one month, Maine's Ed Muskie slipped from the position of the serene front runner to that of an embattled man on the verge of being knocked completely out of the race for his party's nomination for President. Before the plunge, much of the press (including TIME) and many politicians saw him as almost a certain first-ballot winner at the Democratic Convention in July. Now he could easily turn out to be what President Nixon derisively termed him after the 1970 Congressional elections: "the George Romney of the Democratic Party." What went wrong?

No single reason, or incident, can be cited to explain Muskie's decline. There was, in fact, a whole series of mistakes made by political pros, journalists, Muskie strategists and Muskie himself. In the first place, he probably should never have been rated so far ahead. That status was based largely on the fact that national surveys showed him to be the Democrat with the best chance to defeat Nixon--but those polls do not translate into strength in state primaries (see box, page 18).

Yet that impression of Muskie's popularity had never really been tested in voting booths nationwide. Muskie had looked cool and impressive as Hubert Humphrey's running mate in 1968, and he exuded much more of a presidential aura than did his G.O.P. counterpart, Spiro Agnew. Yet few voters select a President primarily by looking at the vice presidential candidates, and Muskie's appeal was not really an issue in that election. Muskie was now recognized by most Democratic voters all right, but how did they really feel about him? No one could be sure.

Euphoric. Nevertheless, Muskie and his advisers almost euphorically accepted the pleasant notion that he was far ahead of the field--and they designed a campaign based on that assumption. He would speak cautiously, even vaguely, if need be, on most issues, so as not to antagonize any large blocs of voters. Ignoring his rivals for the nomination, he would campaign against the President. The essence of that campaign would be to portray Nixon as an excitable, expedient politician whose statements were rarely credible. By contrast, voters were urged to "trust Muskie," the man of integrity.

That strategy might have been sound if the premises had been right. Muskie at his best is far more inspiring than Nixon, who does have credibility problems and is unpredictable. Nixon had sounded shrill and unfair as he tried to link Democrats with crime, drugs and antiwar violence during the 1970 congressional campaigns, while Muskie on that election eve effectively deplored such tactics and appealed for a return to reason. Perhaps the voters did long for a calmer, loftier leader.

To further the bandwagon psychology, the Muskie strategists won endorsements from big names in the party: California Senator John Tunney, Ohio Governor John Gilligan, Illinois Senator Adlai Stevenson III, Iowa Senator Harold Hughes, Pennsylvania Governor Milton Shapp. Each new name made the nomination seem that much more inevitable. This was organizing the party drive from the top down, rather than from the bottom up.

Suddenly, the edifice began to crumble, and the entire strategy was shattered. Democratic voters showed that in primaries, at least, they were not all that concerned about finding a contrast with Nixon. They were not looking for a unifier and mollifier. They were in a balky, grumpy mood. They wanted specific answers to specific problems that plagued them. They were more interested in voting against the status quo, and men like George McGovern and George Wallace seemed to offer that chance to protest.

Moreover Muskie hurt his own image as the judicious, controlled candidate by sobbing in the snows of New Hampshire, ironically at the very time that Nixon in Peking was acting as the healer of international passions. This outburst was partly the result of Muskie's emotional and physical fatigue. Trying to be all things to all people, and torn by his commitments to so many primary campaigns, he lost his sense of direction, creating doubts about his ability to stand up under pressure.

Fed Up. Muskie's overconfident staff had also erred badly in ignoring grass-roots organizational work. In a primary, voters have to be coaxed to go to the polls and persuaded to select a particular name out of a crowded field. In New Hampshire, the Muskie camp had to send out-of-state organizers in at the last minute to get out a favorable vote.

Muskie now concedes that entering the Florida primary was a mistake; once Wallace had entered, he should have known it was hopeless and avoided that first big blow to his front-running status. He relied heavily for support in Florida upon its Democratic state legislators--but they were tied down by their duties in Tallahassee and were of little help.

Muskie came out of his Florida defeat in a new fighting mood. He tackled specific issues, such as taxes and the economy, and began berating his competitors. Yet the turnabout gave Muskie the impression of a man lashing out in desperation, seeking a new image.

Muskie's dilemma is painfully difficult. He has come across as a fuzzy Establishment kind of politician in a year when voters seem in revolt, and has been unable to put his brand on any issue that can attract that fed-up, turned-off voter. If he cannot beat such lesser-known Democrats, how can he be seen as the man to beat Nixon? "He's got to find the ways to tap the anger and frustration that people have about big government and big business," says Senator Tunney, one of his now-disillusioned supporters. "I know Muskie favors reform of institutions, but he hasn't been able to convey that." There is perhaps one consolation in all of the Muskie miscalculations so far. If the voters are as unpredictable as the early primaries indicate, similar troubles could lie ahead for the other candidates. Muskie may be no more finished now than he was a shoo-in in January.

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