By Jared Chausow
By Katie Toth
By Elizabeth Flock
By Albert Samaha
By Anna Merlan
By Jon Campbell
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
MANCHESTER, NEW HAMPSHIREAs the presidential candidates race from the farmlands of Iowa to the bitter cold and snow of the nation's first real primary, the contest for this state's legendary independent voters seems to be coming down to a competition between John McCain and Bill Bradley. Voters here talk repeatedly of crossing party lines to cast ballots for one or the other.
All this despite the much-touted resurgence of Al Gore and the spirited glad-handing by George W. Bush. Despite their big wins in Iowa, Gore still seems too much the technocrat and Bush too superficial for New Hampshire. The two candidates who may yet benefit from the primary are Steve Forbes, whose flat tax message has a strong local appeal, and Alan Keyes, whose surprising third-place finish in Iowa makes him a serious contender for the conservative vote.
While nationally the Republican Party is moving away from tax cuts toward a more nuanced view of surplus economics, in New Hampshire antitax sentiment remains powerful. One need only recall the 1980 primary, when George W.'s father's much maligned "preppie campaign" caught fire in New Hampshire and for a while threatened Ronald Reagan's massive effort. Bush so rattled Reagan that the California governor jettisoned much of his traditional conservative rhetoric and for the first time promoted the supply-side economics of David Stockman. Reagan beat back Bush and won the campaign with that switch.
This year it is McCain who is most in line with the Republican Party's promises to use government surpluses to shore up Social Security and Medicare, and channel what is left into a tax cut. In seeming contrast, Bush promises to pump the surplus into a tax cut, although he leaves himself a big out, noting that surplus funds will be used for a tax cut once the "government does what it's got to do."
Bradley's campaign seeks to chart fresh ground, but it often seems almost wistful and sometimes even sad. Last week, with the press badgering him at every stop about his faltering campaign, Bradley walked into a child-care center in Salem and waded through a gauntlet of reporters to listen intently to two mothers talk about how hard it is to provide health care for their children. Cathy Perry, who has no insurance, described taking her son to a doctor when the youngster had a strep throat. After they left the office, she said the boy told her, "I'm sorry I got sick," because the doctor visit had cost the family money it didn't have.
Although politicians listen over and over to stories like this, the room grew silent as Perry talked. When she finished, Bradley, who had tears in his eyes, struggled to thank her, awkwardly shaking hands. Personally, there is nothing phony about the great basketball star, who was an utterly undistinguished member of the Senate for 16 years. The candidate, who is now running perhaps as much against worries about his own health as against Gore, lists the individuals he most respects as Woodrow Wilson, Jimmy Carter, and Mikhail Gorbachev. And to those who were brought up on Wilson, or have studied him, it does seem clear that Wilsonian idealism has accounted for much of the energy in Bradley's anti-administration campaign. Reserved, righteous, self-contained, Bradley appeals for the trust of the electorate through the language of idealism. He seeks to "respect the people," to lead "by the power of example." He appeals to the "goodness in most of us."
At the same time, Bradley is practical, a virtue to which New England voters relate. Thus, at a Salem nursing home, he told the residents lined up in wheelchairs before him: "I want to reassure all of you about the stability of Medicare . . . [that you can have] social services at home . . . have the option to stay at home. . . . "
There's little question that Bradley's straightforward statements offer a more fundamental prospect of change on intractable political issues than any of the other candidates. In contrast to Gore's icy and complicated health-care schemes, Bradley says: "I believe every child in America should be guaranteed health insurance." And on guns, "Take on the National Rifle Association. Register and license all handguns."
In the end what appeals to New Hampshire voters about both Bradley and McCain is their independent character. And that could yet make the vote here a wakeup call for the nation.
With the campaign in its final week and John McCain drawing crowds at his town meetings around the state, the negative campaign against him has cranked up on the Web. Disgruntled conspiracists in the POW-MIA camp are slimeballing the former Navy pilot as a self-seeking phony who didn't abide by the military code of conduct in 1967 after he was shot down over Hanoi. They charged that the "crown prince," as they refer to McCain because his father was an admiral in Europe, gave the enemy crucial information in exchange for better treatment and was brainwashed into a Manchurian Candidate.
A lengthy inquiry by the Phoenix New Times into the attacks on McCain and his behavior as a prisoner concluded that there is little substance to most of the allegations, although there is nothing to prove or disprove them. What the POW-MIA malcontents really don't like is McCain's support for normalization of relations with Vietnam and what they see as his lack of over-the-top respect for their cause. Some disdain what they see as his use of his POW status to enhance his reputation as a presidential candidate.
A few go further, even insisting that it was McCain's own fault that his arms and legs were broken when his Phantom jet plummeted to earth. They claim he was never tortured in prison. According to the conspiracists, the North Vietnamese liked McCain so much they even constructed a monument to him in Hanoi. He had a Vietnamese wife and children, was brainwashed, and then sent home to the U.S. to carry out Red instructions.
McCain says he was held in solitary confinement for much of the time, tapping messages through the walls of his cell to other prisoners. At a brunch the weekend before last for the Patriots, a group of former POWs and Medal of Honor winners who travel around the state relating their own experiences with McCain at the "Hanoi Hilton" and elsewhere in Vietnam, Orson Swindle, who slept next to McCain for more than a year as a POW, warned supporters to beware of a rise in smear stories as the campaign entered its final phase.
Commented McCain's chief of staff Mark Salter, "Nobody believes these idiots. They're a bunk of jerks."
As his grandmothers prepared to return to Cuba empty-handed and Republicans in Congress mounted a major offensive to make him a U.S. citizen in the tradition of Winston Churchill, little Elian Gonzalez headed back to preschool in Miami for more daily inundations in the goo of right-wing Cuban expatriate propaganda.
In the kindergarten at Lincoln-Marti School in Miami's Little Havana, Elian, 6, will learn to disdain Communists and support prayer. He will learn about the evils of abortion and homosexuality. Throughout his school years, he will be expected to turn to the school's main text, The Citizens Training Handbook (subtitled Discipline, Morale, Civism, Urbanity), written by the school's owner, Demetrio Perez, for guidance on everything from correct U.S. foreign policy to table manners. The book states that certain undesirables"habitual drunks, adulterers, and sexually immoral people"are not to be allowed entry into the U.S. It contains tips on history, such as that Richard Nixon got a bum deal when he was forced to resign and that most Americans now realize this and are sorry about what happened to the former president. Needless to say, young Elian will be instructed that Cuba under Castro is a wicked place.
Interestingly, the guide also tells students that "from birth, children desire and need their parents' attention. . . . They need their parents to speak to them, hold them and caress them." But this should not be taken to mean that Elian should be with his father in Cuba, Perez points out. "The father is not really the father," he says. "In Cuba, Castro thinks for everyone. He is the father, and the child does not need Castro to care for him or make decisions."
Plagued by the worst chemical spill in Indiana history, Orthodox Church Christians in Indianapolis came up with a creative solution that didn't cost a centprayer. Some 25 Christians gathered at the edge of the White River, in which thousands of fish have died since December, seeking divine intervention. Evoking a connection with Christ's baptism, one priest poured water from the Jordan River into the White. A cross was then dipped in the river three times. "Lord have mercy," the parishioners proclaimed.
Unfortunately, during the week the service took place, 900,000 more gallons of partially treated sewage was dumped into the river, according to the Indianapolis Star.
Additional reporting: Kate Cortesi