In New Hampshire: Here We Go Again

By Hays Gorey

Oh, no--not the New Hampshire primary! Not yet! Those images of Jimmy and Scoop, Mo and Sarge, Ronnie and Jerry cluttering the television screens and the front pages have barely begun to fade. And here they are, by any measure a full year too soon, about to assault us once again. So brace yourself for those film clips of frigid handshakes at the gates of bleak factories, with candidates snorting white steam from mouths and nostrils, of flinty, numb voters nodding vacantly at vacant campaign promises; of parka-encased reporters up to their knees in snow, watching and waiting in vain for a phrase or a glance that will rise above the level of the completely forgettable.

Long before there was a New Hampshire, Shakespeare wrote of a "setter up and plucker down of kings," a role that the Granite State has, with variations, assumed to itself. Since 1952, in fact, setting up and plucking down Presidents has been a cottage industry in New Hampshire, along with summer camps and maple syrup. By holding the nation's earliest primary, New Hampshire sought and got an outrageous amount of press attention, partly because there is not much other news in February, partly because presidential politicking is a peculiarly American disease.

A fascinating point about the New Hampshire primary soon became evident: if a Republican was elected President ten months later, he turned out to be the fellow who had won the New Hampshire primary; if a Democrat won, he likewise happened to have finished first in New Hampshire. And then there were those New Hampshire debacles that, given a little hindsight and a lot of state pride, seemed significant: Harry Truman in 1952, George Romney in 1968 and Ed Muskie in 1972. Ergo. New Hampshire obviously was a prize worth trudging through the snow for. In 1975, a regional politican named Jimmy decided to jump the gun and trudge twice--that year and in the primary and presidential election year of 1976. When voters eventually became aware that Jimmy's last name was Carter and made the man President, the pattern of stumping New Hampshire only once every four years at primary time was shattered, perhaps forever.

So here we go again in 1979, a full year before the vote. Republican Senator Bob Dole has been buttering up fellow World War II veterans in Nashua. Handsome Republican Congressman Phil Crane has already dropped in 20 times, charming the ladies at every stop. He has also pointed out to the legislature that charges in the Manchester Union Leader about his sex life and drinking habits were "beneath contempt." Senate Minority Leader Howard Baker speechified at a Republican banquet in Concord. Former CIA Director George Bush preceded, and followed, all three. Connecticut Senator Lowell Weicker is planning a foray. Former California Governor Ronald Reagan, fearful of not winning big enough if he does come in, is petrified that he will not be nominated at all if he stays out. And up in Durham, waiting for the call to marshal the state's Democrats behind their true love, Senator Edward Kennedy, sits the fiercest of New Hampshire's liberals, a female pol with blond hair, sculpted features and the un likely name Dudley Dudley.

Big John Connally's first visit of the campaign included a 1978 appearance at Goffstown (pop. 2,272) that attracted precisely no one. Connally will try again, never fear, this time trailed, again never fear, by hordes of reporters, camera crews and Texas sidemen, all of whose expenditures for motel rooms, meals, booze and rental cars juice up the fragile New Hampshire economy each election year to the tune of an estimated $4 million. They will probably spend more than $1 million in the preprimary year of 1979.

So much for the more or less serious candidates. Chief Burning Wood, an "honorary" Hopi with "some" Delaware blood, will soon be on the political warpath in company with his dancer wife, who performs with snakes around her neck. A Tennessee preacher promises to walk the length of New Hampshire with a camel. A more pragmatic Indian also is scheduled to walk through the state--on snowshoes. Benjamin Fernandez, a Californian who wants more private-sector loans to small business, will be on the ballot, hoping to attract New Hampshire's nearly nonexistent Hispanic vote. A maker of stuffed frogs from New Jersey has indicated his intention to run, or hop, on behalf of "lowcost government."

Is anybody listening? Well, no. In the dingy second floor office from which he directs the state Republican Party and the Goodyear tire franchise in Manchester, G.O.P. Chairman Gerald Carmen concedes that "the ordinary, rank and file voter isn't all that stirred up. You think he's trying to decide between Reagan and Crane? Nah. He's wondering whether his car will start in this cold weather. He's hoping the temperature won't drop to 20 below tonight."

At Howard Johnson's Motor Lodge, the desk clerk seems first to rebut, then to affirm, Carmen's assessment. "Been keeping up with all the presidential candidates traipsing through Manchester?" "Yeah," he says brightly. "A couple of them were right here at the lodge." "Which ones?" A gulp. "I can't remember which ones."

In the restaurant, a handsome, prematurely gray lawyer, Edward Pell, is enduring a meal of fried chicken and french fries. Pell lives in Greene, Rhode Island but comes to New Hampshire "five or more times a year." His interest in politics is greater than normal because he is a cousin of Rhode Island's Democratic Senator, Claiborne Pell. Surely he has encountered some of the politicking, or heard a lot of talk about it?

"Nope," says Pell. "The only guy I ran into who was talking politics was a fellow who sat next to me in the sauna." What did he say? "He said Phi Crane is really rollin'." Anything more? "That's all."

The waitress brings Pell's check. "You have a favorite presidential candidate yet?" she is asked. "No," she shrugs "I'm just thinkin' about the North Pole.' What about the North Pole? "I'm thinkin' it isn't this cold at the North Pole."

Next day, as the wind howls and the mercury sinks out of sight, Gerald Carmen is one of the few who can focus on presidential politics. "They're all charming," he says of the Republican candidates.

Then why is everyone thinking only about getting his car started? Carmen is short, rumpled, well seasoned. And direct. "Look," he says, "this is a very sophisticated state. Everyone has seen a President. Nearly everyone has seen several Presidents."

Confirmation is but half a mile away. No presidential candidate is in Manchester today, but there is a political gathering. At the pastel-carpeted office of New Hampshire's recently elected Republican Senator, Gordon Humphrey, people are lined up to chat about problems that rarely change, whoever is President.

"I' m 65," volunteers Ken Elaine, a retired cannery superintendent and a descendant of 1884 presidential candidate James G. Elaine, once accused of perjury and thereafter known as the "continental liar from the state of Maine." "We have less and less interest in each succeeding election. Things don't get better no matter who's in the White House. I looked for ward to a comfortable retirement. It won't be. I just retired and already I'm dipping into assets."

Who can do something about it? "Maybe nobody." Will Elaine support any of the candidates in the primary next year? "Maybe Ronnie, but I don't think he should run. He'll be 69." Dole "doesn't have the stature." No one else stirs him.

Thus the presidential parade passes by, all but meaningless except to the can didates, the political groupies, the press. On the windblown streets, with snow stacked at the curbs and down the center strip, people all seem to be blimp-shaped, wrapped in navy or rust or blue quilted suits. In motels, freezing guests set thermostats at 90DEG--but the mercury never touches 60DEG all night.

Still, New Hampshire voters take wry satisfaction in the fact that the politicians cannot ignore them. Whenever a state threatens to move its primary ahead of them, the obstinate New Hampshiremen just push their own forward a bit. There is in fact a law in the Granite State requiring that its primary be moved at least one week ahead of any other state's. That should take care of Maine's threats to schedule a primary on Feb. 24, 1980, the same day as New Hampshire's. "We aren't first in anything else," says Tom Ferriter of Concord. "We intend to remain first in this."

As to the candidates, the press and all those other interlopers, Shakespeare has a line for them too: "Unbidden guests are often welcomest when they are gone." --Hays Gorey

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