Time - Man of the Year/Time_Man_of_the_Year_Compact_Publishing_3YX-Disc-1_Compact_Publishing_1993.iso/moy/042092/04209929.000

Text File | 1992-09-10 | 5KB | 114 lines

                                                                                THE CAMPAIGN, Page 47

Perot's Army


Equipped with computers, ball points and high-tech phones,
volunteers fight to get their man on the ballot

By WALTER SHAPIRO -- Reported by Richard Woodbury/Dallas


    "I'm not interested in politics or politicians."

    "Money is no object. I'll spend a million dollars if I
have to."

    -- Spencer Tracy in State of the Union, 1948


    He was the last business titan -- devoid of electoral
experience but rich in patriotic fervor -- to try to bankroll
his way into the White House as a high-minded alternative to an
unpopular President and the usual band of two-faced out-of-power
politicians. In the Frank Capra classic, Tracy falls under the
thumb of a cabal of back-room bosses before reclaiming his
virtue in a dramatic radio address, in which he confesses, "I
sold out my ideals to a gang of corrupt politicians."

    State of the Union eerily presages the aura of excitement
that Ross Perot is bringing to the 1992 presidential race. Like
Tracy in the movie, the billionaire Texas tycoon can be
described as boasting "the rare combination of sincerity and
drive that the common herd will go for. They think he's one of
them. He thinks he's one of them." But Perot scorns the
two-party politics that tripped up Tracy and instead is
mobilizing the energies of the little people -- the John and
Jane Does of the land -- in a citizens' crusade to collect the
800,000 signatures needed to put him on the ballot in all 50
states.

    If his supporters succeed, the artfully reluctant
billionaire promises to formally enter the race -- and spend
"whatever it takes." Even though Perot so far has qualified only
in Tennessee, he sounds like a man on the verge of the biggest
gamble of his high-rolling career. "The numbers are there, the
organizations are there, the leadership is there," Perot said
last week. "By June 1, it will be obvious -- we'll either be
over the top or it won't happen."

    The Perot petition coalition fuses spare-no-expense
business sophistication with a giddy volunteer enthusiasm.
Despite Perot's pretense of an above-the-fray aloofness from the
campaign, the nerve center is on the 11th floor of the same posh
north Dallas office tower where his business headquarters is
located. Here half a dozen Perot Group employees huddle behind
the closed brown door of a war room. A wall map of Texas
symbolizes the state's role as the first major petition hurdle;
by May 11, Perot needs the signatures of 54,000 voters who did
not participate in this year's presidential primaries.

    Politics and the telephone have been inseparable for a
century, but nothing can match the technological wizardry of
Perot's 800-number operation, which claims to have received 1.5
million calls since March 13. Incoming callers are sorted to
give priority to those from states with the earliest petition
deadlines. An MCI service named Caller Profile helps assemble
demographic data on the volunteers who call in. Perot refuses
to disclose what he is spending on this let-your-fingers-do-the-
walking grass-roots operation. But Paul Weichselbaum, MCI's Texas
general manager, says it's "a highly unusual system" whose "cost
is not trivial."

    Typical of the folksy side of the Perot crusade is the
storefront office that volunteers have just opened in a minimall
in Irvine, Calif. A driving force here is Merrick Okamoto, 31,
a stockbroker, never before involved in politics, who brought
in his own television set and VCR so that the faithful can watch
tapes of Perot's TV appearances. "People who deny Perot's
popularity just don't get it," Okamoto explains. "This movement
is about choice. People can't stand another four years of
gridlock." Nearly 500 turned out for a Perot rally in Irvine --
middle-class, middle-aged people, who shared both a veneer of
affluence and a hunger for political meaning in their lives.
California Perot chairman Bob Hayden, who took the unpaid job
just four weeks ago, told the crowd, "We're just like you; we're
not activists."

    The Perot phenomenon is too new, too untested and too
unprecedented for any safe predictions. What does seem likely
is that Perot will get on the ballot in all 50 states. Election
laws are indeed a maze, but 1980 independent presidential
candidate John Anderson managed to qualify everywhere even
though he had far less money than Perot has. Anderson prompted
a 1983 federal court decision that now makes it difficult for
states to bar ballot access unreasonably. Thus, it is hard to
believe that Perot -- with the resources to hire the best
election lawyers in the nation -- will fail in his quest.

    As it struggles to take shape, there is something both
stirring and a trifle chilling about the Perot campaign. The
hopeful sincerity of his newfound supporters is a reminder of
the latent idealism in the American character. But there is also
a whiff of danger in the ease with which this billionaire with
a mission has harnessed television imagery, telephone technology
and voter disaffection to create a volatile force in the 1992
campaign.