The First Face-Off

Once again, the din of the candidate's radio and TV spots is battering the ears of New Hampshire voters. Gerald Ford: "He is the only Republican who can win in November." Ronald Reagan: "He will provide the strong new leadership America needs." Jimmy Carter: "A calm voice in a sea of shouters." Mo Udall: "The Democrat for President." Birch Bayh: "It takes a good politician to make a good President." Which pitch will set this year's perhaps unprecedented numbers of undecided voters to humming the candidate's tune? First in New Hampshire next Tuesday, then a week later in Massachusetts and a week after that in Florida, the answers will be on the way.

As the voters of New Hampshire either patiently endure or perversely enjoy their brief quadrennial moment in the political sun, they will try to send the rest of the nation a message. Above all, the opening primary may provide the first solid evidence of which way the multitudes of "not sure" voters throughout the nation may jump when their own turn comes.

The race in both parties is wide open. President Ford, despite the advantages of incumbency, is generally considered the underdog by a slim margin to Reagan, who has never had to act on issues transcending the borders of California. Yet canvassers report that half of the Republicans and independents whom they reach have not made up their minds. Indecision runs even higher on the Democratic side, where five major candidates and nine others jam the field. Some 60% of voters reached by the canvassers do not know--or will not say--how they will vote.

High Stakes. Further complicating the decision in New Hampshire is the fact that 140,000 voters are designated as independents and can vote with either Republicans (who have 164,000 registered) or the Democrats (116,000). In the polling booths, all voters not only can indicate their preference for President (the "beauty contest") but also choose from a bewildering array of delegates either "pledged to" or "favorable to" a candidate. Neither George Wallace nor Henry Jackson are entered in the preference race but anyone can be written in.

The personal stakes are high. This is particularly true for the unelected President. One of his campaign aides concedes they first ran an "essentially negative campaign" against Reagan, assailing his proposal to lop $90 billion off the federal budget. But in his first campaign foray into New Hampshire two weeks ago, Ford turned more positive and presidential. On his budget, for example, he demonstrated his impressive grasp of its complexities, although his speeches were unexciting.

Ford has concentrated on some of the larger cities: Manchester, Nashua, Concord and the university town of Durham, counting on the publicity there to reach the more widely scattered Republicans. Though his advance men distributed 15,000 leaflets announcing his airport arrival time in Manchester, only 400 people showed up in the 10DEG cold to greet him. On a thawing Sunday, on the other hand, Ford lured some 1,000 enthusiastic well-wishers to a cake and coffee reception in Concord. He won strong applause at the University of New Hampshire for his patient and controlled responses to the heckling questions of radicals.

Tirelessly working even the smallest of towns, Reagan has been generally successful with his flashing smile, flawless speech delivery (see box next page) and well-rehearsed responses to all of the expected questions. Last week he made a shaky major venture into foreign policy. He saw no "coherent global view" in U.S. policy, citing American diplomacy in Cyprus, Lebanon and Angola as confused and Secretary of State Henry Kissinger as unrealistic in expecting Congress to approve aid to Angola when the Administration had failed to explain why this was vital to U.S. national security. When Republican Governor Meldrim Thomson predicted last week that Reagan, whom he backs, would win more than 50% of the vote, other Reagan strategists insisted on lower estimates; part of the game, of course, is to underestimate the candidate's strength so anything better will look like a "victory."

Both candidates are employing banks of telephones and computerized voter lists. But Reagan, who signed up a campaign committee chairman in each of the state's 236 cities and towns by last December, seems to have an edge in reaching his quarry. "We do our politicking in the kitchen," explains Reagan Chairman Gerard Schacht of Effingham (pop. 338), who prefers neighborly persuasion over coffee to the ringing telephones that can turn voters off. At week's end, in Florida, Ford publicly expressed a view that aides said he had long held in private. Apparently to counter Reagan's tough stand on crime, the President told a Miami dinner of the South Florida Bar Association that he believed the death penalty should be imposed in the federal criminal system "upon conviction of sabotage, murder, espionage or treason."

Among the Democrats, the surprising Georgian, Jimmy Carter, seems in a tight race with Arizona Congressman Mo Udall. The pressure is heaviest on Udall, since Carter has already shown strength in early caucus states and could readily survive a loss in New Hampshire. But Udall has been throwing most of his efforts into his gamble for a New Hampshire triumph. For more than a year he has been working the entire state, and he is the best-organized Democratic candidate. This week his canvassers will begin their third round of reaching the 35,000 Democratic households in the largest cities to make low-key, door-to-door efforts of persuasion.

Udall has had trouble stamping his identity on the voters. Full of quips at first, he seemed almost too casual to be taken seriously. Prodded by advice from party leaders and friends who know him well, he has turned scrappier, even more liberal (he would break up General Motors, as well as the big oil companies). Says one high national party official: "His organization is beginning to click and he's becoming his own man."

Old Values. Carter's quick smile and friendly style are proving more effective in encounters with voters. His lively yet unemotional speeches leave many convinced that he is whatever they wish him to be. Although she is a delegate candidate for Udall, New Hampshire Democratic Committeewoman Maria Carrier says of Carter: "His essence is that he was perceived as a conservative--old-fashioned values, family, patriotism, religion--and has also engaged some liberals. He is formidable here because he has the center to the right side of the party all to himself."

Like Reagan, Carter emphasizes his non-Washington background--and the upstart, nonEstablishment image seems popular in the state, as it may be elsewhere this year. A top party strategist says that if Carter wins in New Hampshire and runs impressively against George Wallace in Florida two weeks later, then "who's going to stop him? Only Humphrey can."

One other Democrat is given an outside chance to prove his candidacy in New Hampshire: Birch Bayh, the late-starting Indiana Senator. Agile and often charming as a personal campaigner ("Oh, he's so handsome," women often say), he hopes to get much support from organized labor. He will need it to compete with the clearly liberal candidates: Bayh, Udall, Sargent Shriver, Fred Harris and in later primaries, Frank Church.

Perhaps unfairly, Bayh tends to attract more criticism than the other liberal candidates on some emotional issues. Because he presides over a Senate subcommittee that rejected proposed anti-abortion amendments to the Constitution, he is plagued by the aroused right-to-life advocates. He also suffers the agony of having a factory worker brush off his handshake with a gruff: "He wants to take my guns away." But he professes no overriding concern: "This campaign is like a marathon dance contest--it's not the hottest dancer in the first hour, it's who's still on his feet after 24 hours."

Other Democrats hope that New Hampshire will prove its contrariness by pushing one of them to the front. Fiery Fred Harris, most liberal of the lot, has a following that will stick with him to the end, but he needs to show a broader appeal. Sargent Shriver, campaigning with zest and flair, is making the most of his Kennedy connections, hoping they will be enough to keep his candidacy alive.

Whether over coffee, by telephone, through broadcasts or by the candidates personally, the New Hampshire voter is being coaxed and cuddled. Just how he reacts may well influence the course of the 1976 election. Since the state began its beauty contest in 1952, no candidate has gone on to become President without first winning his party's primary in New Hampshire.

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