Campaigning in the Golden State

California is more a state of mind than a slate of the union, and outsiders view the complexities of California politics with commendable apprehension. But despite the atypical and unpredictable nature of its politics--or perhaps because of it--the conventional West Coast wisdom is that what California is today, the nation will be tomorrow. The nation's most populous state is a melting pot of about 20,000,000 people: 9% Mexican-American, 7% black and 2% Oriental. Foreigners, including those from England, Germany, Italy and Canada, make up about 25% of the population. There are 9,104,406 Californians registered to vote in the June 6 primary; 56.4% are Democrats, 37.3% Republicans, and the remaining 6.3% are independents or members of parties such as Peace and Freedom, American Independent and La Raza Unida. Two TIME correspondents have been traveling with the two chief candidates since the start of the campaign, Hays Corey with Hubert Humphrey and Dean Fischer with George McGovern. Their reports:

THE strain of campaigning sometimes shows in the deepening lines that crease Hubert Humphrey's face near the end of his 18-to 20-hour days. At other times he looks younger and full of bubbly vitality, especially when he talks to a responsive crowd that cheers his every utterance. Though he sports double-knit suits and fashionably longer hair, Humphrey still suffers from being as out of style as the crew cut, the rumble seat or high-button shoes in a state where voters like their politicians to be with it. As one ranking Democrat in California cracked: "Hubert Humphrey is to politics what Lawrence Welk is to music."

There is little hostility to the Humphrey campaign. Occasionally a jovial supporter will cry out "Give 'em hell, Hubert!" particularly when Humphrey compares himself with Harry Truman. Sometimes a few young people show up at Humphrey rallies carrying McGovern banners. They usually kibitz, with shouts of "What about the war, Humphrey?" But Humphrey has a thick skin. Always the tireless campaigner, he usually tries to pump every hand in sight. At a Chicano rally in East Los Angeles, he vigorously attempted to shake hands with members of the band --while they were still in the process of playing.

Crowds at most Humphrey rallies have been sparse, usually a mixture of labor union members, blacks, Mexican-Americans and the elderly. They respond to Hubert with warmth and affection, but there is a woeful absence of the fiery spontaneity that greets a Wallace or a Kennedy or even, sometimes, a McGovern. An integral fixture of the national Humphrey campaign has been the potbellied union leaders who could double as precinct bosses. Their rye-and-gravel voices and center-city accents prompted some newsmen following Humphrey to invent a mythical character named Augie. Introducing Humphrey to union crowds, California Labor Chieftain Joe Mazzola likes to tell his audiences: "This man speaks nuttin' but the trut'." He then sternly admonishes the workers: "Get off your butts."

DESPITE the alarm caused by the Wallace shooting, McGovern still seems comfortable in the huge crowds that come to see and hear him. He wades into the throngs, smiling confidently, patting a shoulder, pausing now and then for a "Hi, how are you?" On the podium, however, the smile is replaced by a seriousness that transforms him into a political preacher of fire and brimstone crusading for a righteous cause. Like an Old Testament prophet, McGovern talks of good and evil, light and darkness; his tough speeches are sprinkled with biblical quotations. He always gets loud applause from the audiences that seem to follow him everywhere.

In San Francisco, Sacramento, Fresno and Los Angeles, supporters met McGovern at airports, hotels and wherever he stopped. Though mostly young, the crowds cover the full range; husky longshoremen stand with gray-haired grandmothers, middle-aged matrons and denim-jacketed students. There is no Kennedy-style squealing in a McGovern crowd. Instead, there are shouts of "We love you, George!" and "God bless you, McGovern."

Perhaps because of his stand on issues like the Viet Nam War, McGovern has only rarely been plagued by trouble with dissidents, and when it happens it causes more laughter than concern. Outside a longshoremen's headquarters where McGovern spoke, a brassy San Francisco redhead caused something of a stir when she paraded on the sidewalk with a sign urging

AMNESTY FOR ALL POT SMOKERS.

McGovern has had to waffle a bit on the touchy subject of gains won by farm workers. Seated under a walnut tree on a grape and plum farm near Del Rey, McGovern was questioned by wary fruit growers about his support of Cesar Chavez, the farm-labor leader who endorsed McGovern last week. "I'm not in a position to say every single aspect of Chavez's program is 100% right," he ventured. "I supported him because I thought he turned the public spotlight on the plight of the farm workers." One of the newsmen following McGovern quipped: "Yesterday we came to praise Cesar. Today we came to bury him."

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