Men of the people?
A pair of blue-blooded candidates try to connect with regular folks
White House officials made sure to tell reporters that President Bush went for a bicycle ride and did some fishing on the morning before his big debate with John Kerry last week. Meanwhile, Kerry's staff let it be known that the Democratic challenger relaxed by tossing around a baseball with a few aides. It wasn't a big moment in the campaign, but it was a revealing one. Both sides were trying to foster images of their candidates as just plain folks, men whose private pursuits aren't much different from those of the average Joe.
Of course, those images are more than a bit misleading. Both Bush and Kerry are blue bloods from distinguished New England families, reared in an elite atmosphere of wealth and privilege, attending the best schools, benefiting from the best connections, and bred for a life of success.
There is nothing new in this. Most of the nation's greatest and most popular presidents, after all, were not Horatio Alger types but men of wealth and power, like George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Franklin Roosevelt, and John F. Kennedy. But each found a way to connect with everyday Americans, through FDR's reassuring fireside chats on the radio, for instance, or Kennedy's projection of a new spirit of vigor and deft use of television.
The challenge for Bush and Kerry in the remaining month of the campaign will be to make that same connection, despite their highfalutin backgrounds. So far, Bush has done the job far more effectively. A recent Washington Post- ABC News poll (taken before the debate) found that while 51 percent of likely voters considered Bush personally appealing, only 32 percent felt that way about Kerry. About 45 percent said Bush was honest and trustworthy, while 38 percent applied that description to Kerry.
The Florida debate may have altered that dynamic somewhat. A post-debate focus group conducted by Republican pollster Frank Luntz in Coral Gables, Fla., found that Kerry scored well on personal characteristics such as likability and competence. He had rarely done that before in public-opinion surveys.
After watching the debate, swing voters who made up the panel were asked how the candidates came across in personal terms. Bush won plaudits for steadiness and the clarity of his positions but was widely criticized for giving a disappointing performance and for seeming ill-prepared. Kerry was praised as "empathetic," "more intelligent," and "more gracious" and for showing "more charisma." But given how far behind Kerry was in the personality derby, he faced a greater challenge than Bush in improving his image.
ESTABLISHMENTARIAN
Kerry traces his lineage on his mother's side to John Winthrop, one of the founders of colonial Massachusetts. His father was a U.S. diplomat, and his marriage to Teresa Heinz, heir to a Pennsylvania-based food empire, connected him to one of the largest family fortunes in the country. Kerry and his wife own homes in Boston, Washington, D.C., Pittsburgh, Nantucket, Mass., and Sun Valley, Idaho.
While he wants to connect with "real people" and is attempting to seem more approachable, Kerry can't hide his roots. "He considers himself a patrician," historian and Kerry biographer Douglas Brinkley told U.S. News .
Adds a prominent Democratic strategist who worked for Bill Clinton: "Kerry in his bones seems to be very New England secular. . . . Kerry looks like an Establishment figure. And for people who are blue collar, anti-elitist, and populist, Kerry doesn't look like he'll be their advocate."
He wears Hermes neckties and vacations at posh resorts. He goes windsurfing and skiing, pastimes that are beyond the means of most Americans. He appreciates fine wine. He speaks French. He is well traveled. He is thoughtful and well read, taking along five or six books, mostly history and biography, when he goes away for a weekend. He doesn't watch much television and relaxes by playing Spanish classical guitar.
"He's not a gifted campaigner," says Chris Gregory, a longtime Kerry friend and aide. "Kerry's comfortable in a world of ideas. He has no preference for the rich and no ill will toward the poor--it doesn't work that way. It's about ideas. This is his virtue and in some ways his undoing--he has often declined to simplify, and that makes trouble for him." Yet Kerry has been trying to change. In recent weeks, he has been working to sharpen and simplify his message.
Many of Kerry's friends say he is reluctant to show warmth in public, and that's why he comes across as dour. Partly this is because of his New England reserve, a trait he shares with Bush's father, George Herbert Walker Bush, whom Kerry has said he greatly admires. Partly it's because he considers public musings about his feelings unstatesmanlike. "On the campaign, he prefers to display this style of the intellectual, the powerful senator, the orator," says Dan Barbiero, a friend from prep school days. "These are the things that he's comfortable revealing about himself. I don't think he's as comfortable revealing the softness that he has, the vulnerable part, while his opponent relishes in showing that less complicated side."
Adds Brinkley: "The people he emulates all have an aristocratic background. Teddy Roosevelt, FDR, and John F. Kennedy are his three political heroes. Kerry . . . likes Skull and Bones [the Yale secret society that also counts Bush as a member] and the old Establishment empire."
Kerry spent his childhood in elite European and American boarding schools and has an Ivy League education. But he did glimpse a different existence when he sold encyclopedias door-to-door one summer. The experience gave him a sense of the work ethic needed to move up the social and economic ladder, friends say.
His first and apparently only extended foray into a blue-collar world was his Navy service in Vietnam. As a lieutenant and swift boat commander, Kerry was in charge of enlisted men of humble origins. "One of the great things about being in the Navy is that you're thrown in with guys from all walks of life," says David Thorne, a trusted Kerry friend from an affluent family who was also a Navy officer at the time. "You've got to prove yourself or they'll find a way to make your life miserable . . . . [Kerry] grew really comfortable, in that he could rely on everyday guys to watch his back . . . . [These are the] kinds of people you hadn't shared anything with, except perhaps they were the guys who worked on your grandparents' estate. You did develop a sense of affection and [a sense] that their problems were like your problems." Kerry earned their respect by showing competence, loyalty, bravery, and a desire to get the job done without insisting that everything be done his way.
The future senator grew especially close to Tommy Belodeau, a swift boat gunner whom Kerry admired in part because he had the most dangerous job on the vessel. After Vietnam, Kerry maintained his friendship with Belodeau, an electrician who lived near Lowell, Mass. "What Kerry admired about Tommy was his stoicism and his self-assurance," says Gregory. "They were almost polar opposites. Tommy would laugh at Kerry whenever Kerry said anything over the top, like 'My friends, we must do this'. . . . He would look at [Kerry], roll his eyes, and light up a cigarette." When Belodeau died in 1997, Kerry gave the eulogy.
Yet Kerry never shies away from his patrician past. Gregory recalls his seeming out of place amid most of the anti-war activists he led in 1971: "He would come to the meetings, and his effect was huge. You had to have shaggy hair and ratty clothes, jeans, and boots. Kerry would come in with a white polo shirt like he'd just come off a yacht. He never put a shine on it, never backed off it."
Adds George Butler, a close Kerry friend and documentary filmmaker who has made a new movie, Going Upriver , about Kerry's experiences in Vietnam: "I don't think John has a desire to escape his roots or to put on an act."
RELUCTANT BRAHMIN
If anything, George W. Bush's past was even more privileged than Kerry's. His family was wealthy and had entry to the parlors of the rich and powerful all over the country. His father was president from 1989 to 1993, and his grandfather, Prescott Bush, was a senator from Connecticut and an investment banker. The young Bush attended one of the nation's best prep schools in New England but felt more of a connection to Midland, Texas, where he'd spent his younger years after his parents moved there to make their way in the oil industry.
Later, Bush attended Yale and Harvard Business School but tried to come across as something of a rebel. He was a conservative in a world of liberals, and he wasn't shy about proclaiming his allegiances. He played the role of the big-talking Texan amid what he considered rich, elitist snobs, even chewing tobacco and carrying a paper cup to use as a spittoon when he was at Harvard.
Bush benefited from his family connections when he followed in his father's footsteps in the parched, scrub-covered oil country surrounding Midland. He didn't have much success in his own oil industry ventures but found the lifestyle there to his liking. The town's motto was, and remains, "The Sky's the Limit," and he became well known for his optimism and gregarious personality.
One of Bush's biggest strengths--and weaknesses--is that he has never abandoned his connections to Midland. He keeps in contact with old friends there and believes he gets from them a sense of what's going on outside the capital. Others believe, however, that Midland is much more conservative than the rest of the country and pulls the president too far to the right.
Yet in retaining these links, Bush is similar to Ronald Reagan, one of his heroes. Reagan mostly associated with millionaires during his political career, but he always remembered his middle-class roots in Dixon, Ill., and this kept him grounded throughout his life. Midland serves the same purpose for Bush.
Don Evans, a longtime Bush friend from west Texas who is now commerce secretary, told U.S. News that Bush also learned a lot about responsibility back then. When the oil industry hit a downturn, Bush was forced to lay off some of his hands, and he worked hard to find them jobs elsewhere, Evans says. Bush also became involved in community life, teaching Bible classes and working in local charity drives.
His earlier life taught him other skills. His job as managing partner of the Texas Rangers baseball team kept him out front as the public face of the franchise, and he honed his image as a glad-hander and "regular guy." This helped him immeasurably when he ran successfully for Texas governor in 1994 and 1998.
He got reinforcement for his tendency to talk in simple terms, as if he were sharing a beer with pals at a local tavern. (He gave up drinking almost two decades ago, about the time he became a born-again Christian.) And while at times he seems smirky, stubborn, and arrogant, he never comes across as pompous or self-important. Friends say such things are frowned on in Midland.
As he did in Texas, he still enjoys barbecue, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and unbuttered popcorn, and he doesn't follow popular culture. He won't watch much television except for baseball and other sports. He isn't a big reader of books, although he does occasionally delve into biography and history. One of his recent volumes was Ron Chernow's biography of Alexander Hamilton.
Finally, Bush's 1,600-acre ranch in Crawford, Texas, is an invaluable link to his roots. His strenuous outdoor activities--clearing brush and chopping wood--connect him to the manual labor that millions of Americans are familiar with. He also hosts old Texas friends there, first lady Laura Bush told U.S. News , although the guest lists are rarely made public. Mrs. Bush says such get-togethers give her husband a perspective on issues that he can't get in Washington and keep both of them grounded. "It's home," she says.
To that end, Bush believes that his inner circle of Texans also helps him avoid being isolated. He particularly values the advice of Karen Hughes and Karl Rove, two confidants who worked for him in Austin. Hughes is now an informal adviser based in Texas, and Rove is counselor at the White House.
As for his public image, Bush's years as a good-time Charlie and heavy drinker may actually help him draw a contrast to Kerry. Bush led a more "normal" life as a young man, spending his college and postgraduation years partying, chasing women, and raising hell, while Kerry sought academic excellence, positioning himself to be a leader of his generation. Kerry's devotion to high-minded pursuits, first through his combat service in Vietnam and then as an opponent of the war, may have impressed some, but it now is often portrayed by adversaries as opportunistic and self-important. Those accusations are rarely made against Bush, who showed little interest in leadership as a younger man.
In the end, however, Bush and Kerry seem to have paid little political price for their blue-blooded backgrounds. "The country is more comfortable with inherited wealth than you might suspect," says a Democratic strategist. "People think you are not motivated by money, by greed. They think you are more likely to be honest, that nobody is going to bribe you."
Bush and Kerry are hoping, of course, that all this is true--even as they spend the next month arguing that their privileged backgrounds didn't isolate them from the country and its problems.
This story appears in the October 11, 2004 print edition of U.S. News & World Report.