Getting To Know Them

By WALTER SHAPIRO

The scene is a composite of dozens of war movies, one of those celluloid images that have become part of the collective mythology. In the foxhole, the baby-faced private is writing a last letter home; the hillbilly soldier is whistling a ballad; the taciturn corporal is just staring wide-eyed into the darkness. Finally, the battle-hardened sergeant speaks, as he lights his last Lucky. "The waiting," he says. "The damn waiting. That's what kills you."

Des Moines, this week, is a city of anxiety-filled foxholes. For the eleven campaigns in both parties actively contesting next Monday's Iowa caucuses, the emotions shift with each rumor, each leaked tracking poll, each new television commercial. Campaign chiefs monitor news reports like CIA analysts poring over satellite photos, searching for images that will give meaning to the muddled mosaic. By late this week an estimated 3,000 journalists will be in the state raising the fever pitch to Super Bowl levels.

The volatile Democratic contest, in particular, is straight out of an antacid commercial. No candidate has much margin for error: one gaffe, one stumble, one strategic miscue could spell the difference between heartburn and heartthrob. With a tightly bunched field and estimates of turnout as low as 90,000 Democrats, the support of a few thousand caucus attendees may be all that separates the victor from also-ran status. The latest political tout sheets label Richard Gephardt as the freckle-faced favorite; he put on last week's most elaborately choreographed media event, importing 42 House colleagues to stand with him on the state capitol steps. The message was simultaneously powerful and confusing, since this impressive exhibit of insider solidarity jarred with Gephardt's suspect, but successful, anti- Establishment claims.

Running neck and neck with Gephardt are Michael Dukakis and Paul Simon. Dukakis, in particular, remains formidable with his no-fuss, no-muss campaign style. "Dukakis gets the safe-driver award of this campaign," concedes David Axelrod, Simon's media adviser. "He never goes more than 40 miles an hour, but he never gets into any accidents." Dukakis unveiled last week a series of ! skillfully produced television ads, designed to convey passion without committing him to specifics beyond Democratic Party boiler plate. In one TV spot, picture-perfect toddlers gambol in front of an oversize flag as a toy piano plays America softly on the sound track.

Gauzy images may be fine for Dukakis, who can always fall back on his commanding lead in the Feb. 16 New Hampshire primary. Simon does not have the luxury of any second-state strategy: he must finish near the top in Iowa. But, of late, Simon's nostalgic appeal to old-line Democratic constituencies has appeared tired, especially in contrast to Gephardt's high-intensity push for a tough trade law and a farmers-first agricultural policy.

Confronted with declining poll numbers, Simon's advisers debated breaching the Democrats' high-minded phobia about negative TV ads. The outlines for a series of get-Gephardt commercials were readied: recitals of the Missouri Congressman's votes for the 1980 grain embargo and the 1981 Reagan tax cuts. But Simon vetoed the ads. "You have to do things you are comfortable with," he explains. Instead, his media effort will try to recapture his initial odd- duck, antipolitician appeal. One artful spot shows a montage of cartoons spoofing Simon's physiognomy, while the candidate repeats his avowal, "My bow tie in a sense is my declaration of independence."

Courageous independence also remains Bruce Babbitt's message, but he is running out of time to translate his press applause into caucus support. In contrast, lackluster debate performances seem to have permanently derailed Gary Hart's comeback crusade. Where just a month ago polls gave Hart a paper lead in Iowa, now he barely registers as an asterisk in rival campaigns' tracking surveys. Hart now could finish behind Jesse Jackson, who has appealed to radicalized white farmers.

For all the tempest and tumult, the Iowa Republican caucuses boil down to a simple, nonideological question: Can Bush's organizational strength overcome Bob Dole's just-neighbors popularity? If Iowa were a primary, Dole would probably win handily. Bush told TIME last week that he attributes his Iowa problems to the "common analysis that our Administration isn't as popular here as elsewhere." But that deficit may not be fatal; the caucus system allows the Bush team to exploit its tactical advantages of experience and discipline. While Dole still seems likely to prevail, the contest may turn out far closer than the polls suggest.

+ In the closing days, there are a few signs that Jack Kemp's belated revival in New Hampshire may extend to Iowa as well. True, all that is at stake is beating Pat Robertson for a weak third-place finish. Dole is also beginning to feel the pressure from Kemp's attacks on his plan to freeze federal spending, which seemed to place a lid on Social Security benefits. In a speech last week, Dole retreated a few steps. He now favors a one-year cap on all federal programs at 2% above current levels. This "2% solution" would modestly increase Social Security benefits.

The Iowa caucuses mark a watershed in the political calendar, that moment when the voters at last seize control of the debate from the press, the pollsters, the fund raisers and the political consultants. Almost all the skirmishing up to now has been something of a phony war: a contest to win the hearts and minds of the cognoscenti. Yet the phony war, as evanescent as some of its battles may have been, has not been without significance. Most important, it has offered insights about the capabilities of the various candidates to serve as President.

Even though the two leading Republican contenders were well known when the race began, they have already buried several important myths by the side of the campaign trail. After two months of nasty wisecracks about Bush's privileged background, it is hard to remember all the solemn discussions of the "new" Bob Dole, a man whose rapier wit allegedly had been sheathed by marriage and maturity. In truth, there is nothing like a new Dole; there remains a cutting edge, even a mean streak, to much of his humor. But there are healthy signs that he can direct the barbs at himself when warranted. When his snideness is under control, the wisecracks and one-of-us message make Dole one of the better stump speakers in the presidential pack.

For all the humor, there is another, less noticed side to Dole: a taciturn quality, almost like the lone gunfighters of the Old West. Aboard his campaign plane, if Dole does not like a reporter's question he will just stare stonily as if he did not hear it, letting the silence linger awkwardly until someone else changes the subject. These days Dole can at least joke about his continuing inability to delegate authority and accede gracefully to the advice of others, even his wife Elizabeth. Despite the success of Dole's off-the-cuff improvisations, this go-it-alone style is a worrisome sign of how he would approach the presidency.

. This cuts close to the real contrast between Dole and Bush: the small-town entrepreneur vs. the no-fingerprints manager. Bush's strengths are in precisely those areas that elude Dole, such as organizational competence. That was evident on Friday in Michigan, where the Bush forces teamed up with Kemp's to outmaneuver Robertson at the Republican state convention. Bush wound up with 37 disputed delegates and Kemp with 32, while Robertson's supporters cried foul and walked out after getting only 8. Dole skipped the contest.

Not only has Bush recruited a top-flight campaign staff, but he also has, as he put it in an interview last week, "learned that you don't get bogged down in a lot of details or run the campaign yourself." Bush's new take-no-guff political persona is, of course, one of the major surprises of the campaign. Bush's stiff but improving podium personality can be viewed as an ability to learn from earlier mistakes and to patiently absorb the coaching of others.

The Democratic quartet leading the field in Iowa shares one characteristic: an admirable ability to endure adversity. Babbitt, for example, is almost a model of humor and grace in the face of an indifferent electorate. And Simon survived a rocky start-up phase in mid-1987 when his campaign was derided as little more than an ego trip to nowhere. Like Dole, his initial campaign organization was a study in amateurish chaos, but Simon also belatedly displayed the grit necessary to move aside longtime friends in favor of political professionals.

It is easy to caricature Gephardt as a soulless technocrat masquerading as an angry populist. He has been derided for changing his tune on issues like abortion and moving away from his centrist record. But even when he seemed to be fading in Iowa last fall, Gephardt never jettisoned his controversial trade amendment, despite heavy criticism. Like Babbitt, Gephardt is willing to bear the bad-news message that America's economic distress stems from deeper causes than the budget deficit alone. And he has shown an attribute that should not be underestimated: no candidate in either party surpasses Gephardt in dogged determination to get to the White House.

Dukakis, in contrast, sometimes campaigns like he is already there. He carefully calibrates his promises and commitments, confident in the faith that he may soon be asked to fulfill them. That may partly explain his stubborn reluctance to offer a realistic plan to stanch the deficit; he was defeated for re-election as Massachusetts Governor in 1978 largely because he raised taxes. For all Dukakis' unquestioned managerial competence, there are also hints that the blandness of his vision reflects a certain constriction of the soul. When he speaks of his passions (housing, education), he seems to be reciting them by rote. Dukakis has access to leading academic thinkers, yet he still repeats many of the same cliches with which he began, especially in his gooey rule-of-law foreign policy rhetoric. Still, he surrounds himself with competent people and inspires loyalty and trust. His trustworthy image helped him survive the revelation that his campaign manager had leaked the "attack video" that destroyed the candidacy of Joseph Biden. There was a certain prissy high-mindedness to Dukakis' response, but that too is an authentic glimpse of his underlying character.

All these assessments, both positive and negative, are merely first-take snapshots of how the candidates would perform as President. That is the one defense of the long and laborious campaign: the voters -- and, yes, the press -- keep on learning. And now the time has come to start winnowing the field as the all-too-fast caucus and primary season begins in earnest next week.

With reporting by Michael Duffy and Alessandra Stanley/Des Moines