He has to hope so. It’s of course way early in the race, and the economy still is on his side. Gore’s handlers are plotting yet another rollout of their candidate, this one a massive ad campaign based on the notion that he’s not so much an alpha male as a thinking man with a heart: a former journalist who used his time in Congress to educate himself, and the nation, on over-the-horizon issues; a man of profound, restless intellectual curiosity–unlike a certain governor of Texas.
In the meantime, even Democrats think Bush won the spring, and they worry about signs of drift in the Gore campaign. Bush, as methodical as ever, moonwalked away from the religious right, engineered photo ops with the likes of Colin Powell and unveiled surprisingly well-received proposals on Social Security and nuclear-arms control. Gore, stuck in the attack mode he used to shred Bill Bradley, counterpunched acidly, and dismissively–but not very effectively. “Bush used the time well,” said Democratic Rep. Harold Ford of Tennessee. “Gore’s campaign needs to focus.”
But there are new distractions. Bill Clinton is one. It’s not the scandals; everybody knows about those. It’s his sheer presence. Rather than lower his profile, a la Ronald Reagan in 1988, the limelight-loving Clinton has raised his. Last week he scored what arguably was his most lasting legislative achievement–the China trade bill–then boogied with Lenny Kravitz on the stage of the biggest fund-raiser ever. Lobbying for the trade bill, a leading member of the administration was astounded to hear one lawmaker declare that a Gore defeat wouldn’t matter, since Clinton could run again in 2004. (It’s unconstitutional.)
The China deal was a headache for Gore in another way. A team player, he championed it despite having pledged to union leaders last year that he’d be leery of such legislation in his own administration. Most of the AFL-CIO brass was eager to forgive and forget. But there is a rejectionist front–the Teamsters, United Auto Workers, United Steelworkers–and they are clustered in the storied “battleground” states of Michigan, Ohio and Pennsylvania. “Our people are pissed off and won’t forget Gore’s role,” said George Becker, president of the Steelworkers. Few take Ralph Nader or Pat Buchanan seriously, but that’s cold comfort for Gore. “Our guys have another option,” warned AFL-CIO treasurer Rich Trumka. “They could decide to stay home.”
Internally, Gore’s campaign has more open knives than a Swiss Army store. Some advisers grouse that the media consultants, led by the legendary Bob Shrum, have too many lucrative clients–and aren’t giving Gore his due. But most of the cutlery is aimed at chairman Tony Coelho, loathed for his dictatorial management style. Coelho’s business dealings are under investigation by the Justice Department and the State Department’s inspector general. No one has been called to the grand jury, or notified that he would be, but Justice has issued “documentary” subpoenas to his business associates–and his enemies were eagerly waiting (hoping) for more.
Coelho privately has reassured Gore and others, and publicly has said there’s nothing to the charges. But the chairman oscillates between Pattonesque grip-tightening and philosophical musings about post-campaign life. He’s brought new loyalists to headquarters in Nashville, and hosted the Gores at his beach house in Delaware. But he’s also told friends that his aim is to have the Gore campaign running smoothly by the Democratic convention in August, so that he can walk away if he wants to–or has to. And by that time, the polls indeed will mean something, even to Al Gore.
