Veepstakes: Too Much, Too Soon

By WALTER SHAPIRO

Not since Carly Simon allowed one of her most famous love ballads to be used for a Heinz catsup commercial has there been this much anticipation over so little. Suddenly, politicians and pundits have been seized by a peculiar malady known as Throttlebottom Frenzy. Bereft of its Mario scenarios, frustrated in its fantasies of brokered conventions, the political community is now obsessed with demonstrating its collective cleverness by divining the identities of the two vice-presidential nominees.

Every day there is a new rumor, another heartbeat-away boomlet. First it's Sam Nunn, then it's none of the above. Earthbound since 1984, John Glenn once again zooms into orbit. Republicans are beating the bushes in quest of the Vice President's Vice President. The roster of G.O.P. names in play is as long as George Bush's resume. Speculation over the Veepstakes has often enlivened the last weeks before dull conventions, but never before have the guessing games been pursued with this much avidity while most voters still have spring fever.

Boredom is a major part of the explanation. Political reporters are as underemployed as Maytag repairmen. Michael Dukakis steamrollered over Jesse Jackson by almost a 3-to-1 vote in last week's Ohio and Indiana primaries and thereby flattened the last scant hopes of Democratic drama. With the vice presidency now the only game in town, the press is treating it with the same fate-of-the-earth gravity that was once lavished on the Iowa caucuses.

All this frenzy might be a harmless diversion, except that it badly exaggerates the importance of a job that John Nance Garner ridiculed as "not worth a pitcher of warm spit." There are five stages in the downward slide of a Vice President: 1) Euphoria, which rarely outlasts the convention; 2) Examination, as the press rummages through back closets searching for another Ferraro furor; 3) Ennui, which sets in when the nominee learns that he is not permitted to make news as he barnstorms in backwaters like Biloxi and Butte; 4) Ephemeral Elevation, a honeymoon that lasts until the new Veep sees through the pious promises that he will be a "full partner" in the Administration; and 5) Effacement, as the sadder but wiser Veep realizes that he has achieved invisibility in Washington and notoriety at foreign funerals.

Ever since John Kennedy carried Texas in 1960 with Lyndon Johnson on the ticket, the political heft of the vice-presidential nominee has been shrouded in myth. These days, Democrats talk as if a Southern running mate would help Dukakis transcend his New England pedigree. But rarely has the bottom half of the ticket packed such a punch. Political Scientist Steven Rosenstone of the University of Michigan, who has studied state-by-state presidential returns since 1948, says that at best a vice-presidential nominee can add about 2% to the ticket in his home state. Period. Richard Nixon grasped this elusive political truth when he said in 1968, "The Vice President can't help you. He can only hurt you." Such wisdom, of course, did not prevent Nixon from anointing Spiro Agnew.

The flickering odds of the vice-presidential tote boards are certain to dominate the news until the conventions. For all the inherent silliness of the Veep sweep, this leisurely period for reflection should protect Bush and Dukakis from Agnewesque folly. But a protracted and overdramatized fixation on personalities alone could reduce this phase to the political equivalent of the Academy Awards. When Bush and Dukakis finally utter the fateful words, "The envelope, please," remember they are choosing a potential President, not merely the Best Supporting Actor.