The Democrats The Duke Of Unity

By WALTER SHAPIRO

His gaze is usually impenetrable and impatient, but on this night his brown eyes glistened with moisture. His smile is generally a measured half-moon, but on this night his mouth widened into a toothy grin. From the moment he ascended the multi-tiered podium in Atlanta, before he uttered a single syllable, the Democratic nominee seemed a man transformed. Punching the air in triumph, blowing kisses to his wife: these were not the metronomic gestures of a soulless technocrat. Could that be Michael Dukakis, the unflappable exponent of cool reason, choking on his words? Yes, there was a catch in his throat as he said softly that tonight his dead father Panos "would be very proud of his son."

The first three days of the Democratic Convention had been devoted to the quest for party harmony and the celebration of its attainment. Dukakis had been the adroit negotiator who had framed an unprecedented covenant of cooperation with Jesse Jackson. From his suite atop the Hyatt Regency, the Governor had proved in a way that was far more tangible than his stale talk about a Massachusetts miracle that he could handle tough problems and people. His prize was a choreographed convention, free of the furies that once plagued the party's psyche, but so denatured of passion that it could have passed for a Republican production.

But if it was Dukakis who controlled the convention's machinery, it was Jackson who held its heart. There was a mood of almost religious rapture in the Omni Tuesday night as the preacher restated the riffs and rhapsodies that had carried him to within sight of the mountaintop. His praise for the Massachusetts Governor and his crowning metaphor of "common ground" was all that Dukakis could have hoped. But in ceding the spotlight, Dukakis became almost a spectator at his own coronation -- an image that he underlined when he said that watching his own nomination on television was a "little bit like a play."

Successful drama demands a strong final act, an inspirational address that seemed beyond Dukakis' rhetoric range. Could the no-nonsense nominee reach within himself to discover the language of leadership? Could he go beyond the pedestrian promises of "good jobs at good wages" to give voice to a new Democratic vision? Having achieved unity, could he now explain what its purpose was?

In a speech that had a lilt and a majesty unlike any other he had given in his 16-month quest, Dukakis found the answer. "It is the idea of community," he said. "It is the idea that we are in this together; that regardless of who we are or where we come from or how much money we have -- each of us counts." Using the image of community as a contrast to the "cramped ideals" of the Reagan years, he challenged his listeners "to forge a new era of greatness for America."

Political metaphors are never completely new; like movie scripts, they re- cycle the heritage of the past. Dukakis traced the concept of mutual obligation back to the first Massachusetts Governor, John Winthrop, the 17th century embodiment of the Puritan ideal. He could have equally credited Governor Mario Cuomo, who offered the Democrats in 1984 the abiding myth of the nation as an entwined "family." Or he could have traced it back to the Greek notion of polis, those ancient city-states whose sense of community became the wellspring of modern politics. But whatever its roots, "community" is an ideal that could reinvigorate the flagging liberal spirit and provide the Democrats with a pointed philosophic challenge to Reagan-era retrenchment. And for a few moments last week, it provided a way for Michael Dukakis to express the values and emotions that buttress his commitment to competence.