TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/111191/1111105.000

Text File | 1992-10-19 | 9KB | 177 lines

                ( ╙b                                                        ╚NATION, Page 49

PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATES

A Ghetto Kid Who Remembers His Roots


As the only black candidate in the Democratic field, Virginia
Governor Doug Wilder deftly plays the race card while reminding
voters he knows how to sop up the red ink

By LAURENCE I. BARRETT/RICHMOND


    His candidacy, Douglas Wilder says, with unaccustomed
modesty, is the "longest of long shots." Democratic Party
leaders, in unaccustomed consensus, whisper, At least Wilder's
got that right. Granted, the Virginian wrote history in bold
script two years ago by becoming the nation's first black
elected Governor. Certainly he set a record for brass when he
quickly seduced the Great Mentioner -- that Ozlike creature
manipulated by pundits and political junkies that pronounces
instant presidential prospects -- and challenged Jesse Jackson's
primacy as the country's leading African-American politician.
But Wilder for President?

    He has no nationwide organization, no cadre of experienced
advisers and scant prospects for raising a large campaign chest.
He is emphasizing a message of fiscal austerity that puts him
to the right of many Democratic primary voters. A party
strategist who knows Wilder well describes his guiding
philosophy as "none, zip, zero." Wilder's insistence on playing
the governorship by his own quirky rules has also caused his
Virginia poll numbers to sink. Says Brad Coker, president of
Mason-Dixon Opinion Research: "If he ran for re-election today,
he could not win."

    Wilder has seen this movie before. From the time he
emerged from the genteel poverty of Richmond's Church Hill
section, through a career as a flamboyant criminal lawyer and
real estate investor that made him rich, during 22 contentious
years in politics, Wilder, 60, has dealt repeatedly with
rejection. Defying the Establishment, whether white or black,
is his vocation. "I don't need the anointers," he says. "I don't
need the appointers. Nor do I need the laying on of hands."

    A crucial biographical fact appears only between the lines
of his resume. Almost alone among prominent black politicians
of his vintage, Wilder has not made race his crusade. Neither
the church nor the civil rights movement served as Wilder's
launching pad. A sense of personal entitlement served him
instead, a belief that "as long as the Constitution was written
for others, it was written for me." Often his color represented
an impediment to be surmounted or a weapon to be used. He
learned to do either well.

    Thirty years ago, when so many of Virginia's whites
enlisted in a "massive resistance" movement to oppose
desegregation, Wilder maneuvered deftly among pro-integration
factions. He served occasionally with a moderate group, switched
to a more militant black organization, then back again, flirted
with yet a third outfit composed mostly of white business
leaders. He made friends in all three groups. In 1969 Wilder ran
for the state senate in a special election. Against two white
candidates, Wilder captured 18% of the white vote -- enough to
make him the state's sole black senator. But the new legislator,
liberal by the standards of time and place, was a lonely figure.
Jay Shropshire, then a legislative aide and now Wilder's chief
of staff, recalls, "He was frozen out for the most part,
ignored, bypassed." So Wilder became a leader of the "palace
revolt," in which remnants of segregationist Harry Byrd's
machine were ousted.

    Wilder learned to exercise the power levers well and
eventually became chairman of the group that controlled
committee assignments. After a dozen years, he saw himself as
the "cock of the roost in Richmond," eager and ready for higher
office. But a larger rooster in the person of Charles Robb had
moved into the barnyard, winning statewide elections without
having served an apprenticeship. The advent of Lyndon Johnson's
son-in-law rankled Wilder because it delayed his own ascent. An
ugly feud began that still ignites periodically, burning both
men. In the 1982 round, however, Wilder emerged victorious. He
thwarted Robb's choice for the U.S. Senate by threatening to run
as an independent and sop up the black vote. Robb's candidate,
Owen Pickett, withdrew in favor of a more liberal candidate,
Richard Davis.

    A victory of principle? Hardly. Wilder was simply
strutting his power. He soon reconciled with the ostensibly
conservative Pickett, even blessing Pickett's candidacy for
Congress. Then he broke with Davis. By the time Wilder ran for
lieutenant governor in 1985, he was shedding layers of his
liberalism. "He began to modify some of those positions,"
recalls Joe Gartlan, his longtime ally in the state senate. "He
moved toward the right." Wilder had already abandoned his
opposition to capital punishment. Now he emphasized fiscal
frugality and crime fighting. Some black leaders muttered about
opportunism, but most understood that Wilder had to be perceived
as a centrist to have a shot at high office. Henry Marsh, the
first black mayor of Richmond in the 1970s and a civil rights
activist for decades, says, in Wilder's defense, "Flexibility
is the mark of a successful political leader."

    Wilder's "flexibility" -- along with bumbling by his
Republican opposition -- enabled him to win in 1985 and 1989.
Just as he assumed the governorship, Virginia became an early
victim of the recession. Wilder faced a budget gap of $2.2
billion, but instead of raising taxes, he deftly shaved expenses
without cutting major arteries. He also created a $200 million
contingency fund as a buffer against a 1992 deficit. Even some
of his critics concede that he managed the crisis well.

    The cash crunch inhibited innovation, but Wilder had not
come into office with an ambitious agenda. He has reorganized
the state's antidrug efforts, but that has yet to show concrete
results. He made a token start on improving education
assistance to impoverished districts, but has no resources to
make that change meaningful. Nevertheless, Wilder takes his
Virginia record on the road, contrasting his austere ways with
Washington's profligacy. Unlike the other announced candidates,
he enjoys twitting the unannounced Mario Cuomo. Virginia has
done better than New York in hard times, Wilder implies.
Besides, he observes, "who needs him sitting in the background,
constantly carping, criticizing other candidates. He should come
out here [as an active candidate] or shut up."

    How bold would President Wilder be? His first formal
proposal, announced in New Hampshire, was pea-size, despite its
grandiose title, the Put America First Initiative. He proposed
a $50 billion spending cut, $35 billion in breaks for
middle-class families and $15 billion in "reduce bureaucracy
grants" to states. How this game of musical dollars would lessen
the deficit is murky. Much clearer have been his recent attacks
on George Bush as the first President in six decades to try to
"turn back the clock on civil rights."

    When massaging voters or talking to reporters, Wilder is
genial, open, almost impossible to ruffle. But when managing the
store in Richmond, he operates in a tight circle, rarely
confiding in anyone but a few top advisers. He refused to
consult key legislative leaders on his budget cuts. Public
criticism can bring stern retaliation, even against allies in
the General Assembly. The most recent instance of gratuitous
vengeance involved his former press secretary, Laura Dillard.
Disillusioned with her ex-boss, she told a campus audience that
Wilder was capable of being a better Governor than his
presidential ambitions allowed. Soon after, a leaked story in
one newspaper implied that Dillard was fired for her animosity
toward blacks and Jews. The item was so obviously nonsensical
that no one who knows Dillard gave it credence, but it had the
effect of silencing her.

    Wilder denies being secretive, vindictive or unnecessarily
combative. On the other hand, he says he likes having once been
described as Richmond's "lonely bull." Pointing to his buttocks,
he says, "If a foot is coming toward my behind, I usually grab
it." As he seizes the invisible offender, he adds, "Some people
call that confrontation. I say no, you can't kick me."

    Life experience tells him everything is possible for he
who gambles. For decades, Wilder, grandson of slaves and son of
the ghetto, has taken advantage of every possibility available. A
Virginia Governor cannot succeed himself, and Wilder is in love
with public life; if he cannot get the presidential nomination,
he isn't coy about being willing to take the second slot. "My
future is now," he likes to say. Years ago, even some of his
friends told him he was foolish to try for statewide office. He
sees no reason to believe his adversaries, the insiders whom he
has always confounded, when they tell him that national office
is beyond his reach.