Nick Jimenez

Sunday, February 13, 2000

Politicians who act like royalty hurt themselves

One of the benefits of this job is that I get to see the transformation that takes place when a candidate becomes an officeholder.
   Now is the time of year when candidates troop through our humble offices as we interview them in connection with endorsements in the coming elections.
   The interviews are about as low-key as we can make them, basically a few of us chatting with the candidate. The object of the exercise is to figure what kind of office- holder the candidate would be.
   Usually the candidate appears alone and that is as it should be. After all, no amount of hangers-on, seconds, sycophants and groupies will make up for an empty candidacy.
   But even the best of candidates can fail to avoid the entourage affliction. I was thinking of this in the wake of the George W. Bush debacle in New Hampshire.
   I first met George W. Bush when he was campaigning against Ann Richards. He was then much the way he is now: personally engaging, mentally quick and with the ability to make instant personal contact. We talked about the prospects of the Texas Rangers as well as his candidacy.
   I was so astute that I thought, "He's a nice guy but he doesn't have a chance." (I don't have much luck at the dog track, either.)
   I don't recall who accompanied Bush to the newspaper at the time, but there couldn't have been more than one or two aides. After his victory, Bush returned two years later. But this time Cleopatra probably had a smaller retinue when she sailed up the Nile than Bush had.
   I knew things had changed when a Department of Public Safety officer called on me the day before the visit to inspect the place for all exits and entrances.
   OK, security is security, but I still remember when Gov. Bill Clements came to the offices with no more ceremony than a customer placing an ad for a used car.
   Now, Gov. Bush was preceded by advance men whose duty, it seemed, was to remove all signs of humanity in his path, a security detail on the lookout to remove any unintended meetings with actual citizens, and the grim-looking fellows with phones attached to their ears talking to God knows who.
   I thought of the great line I heard former state Rep. Eddie Cavazos use one night at a banquet. Acting as master of ceremonies and being pestered by notes asking him to recognize one dignitary after another, he finally announced, "If there's anyone else who thinks they're important, would they please stand?" No one moved.
   I know what happened to Bush in New Hampshire. No one could get near the guy. What's the point of having the skills of a good campaigner, which Bush has, if the candidate is encapsulated by an entourage larger than the herd that surrounded Muhammed Ali in his "Thrilla in Manila" days?
   It's an affliction that cuts across party lines. Richards, in her last visit here, had changed dramatically from the days when she was just the state comptroller. Once the straightforward, no-frills candidate, her arrival on that occasion was preceded by special demands. No, we didn't have to scatter rose petals in her path, but I had the definite feeling that a welcoming bouquet wouldn't have been out of order.
   I have an axiom that has emerged after years of meetings with candidates and special interest spokesmen: the bigger the entourage, the less they have to say.
   Is it any wonder that the voters in New Hampshire were taken by John McCain? McCain was willing to answer questions in give-and-take with the voters. He even had the temerity to give answers he knew the questioners wouldn't like. Of course, McCain's low-key style of campaigning has been partly dictated by his lack of money. If he had as much money as Bush, he would probably have a large entourage, too.
   My advice to George W. Bush is this: Get rid of the state troopers in South Carolina. They can only vote in Texas.
  

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