You have to feel for Dick Cheney. While his opponent gamely croons “My Way” on national TV, Cheney remains the consummate Defense secretary; he delivers every campaign speech with the solemnity of a body-count briefing. Last week, as George W. Bush darted from Oprah to Regis, Cheney worked hard to soften his own style, telling supporters a surprisingly funny story about getting lost in the Pentagon–you really had to be there–and even kissing a baby or two. And although Cheney was chosen for his competence, not his campaign skills, some Republicans now see him as a symbol of Bush’s overconfidence. “He was a great pick if you were already elected,” a GOP strategist says. “If Bush loses, that’s going to be the one point of the campaign that people start picking apart.”
It has not been an easy several weeks for Cheney, who last ran for office in 1988. There were questions over his conservative voting record and generous stock options. Democrats charge that he pushed for higher oil prices when he ran Halliburton, an energy company. Then there was the open-mike incident, where Bush called a reporter an “a—–e,” and Cheney chimed in with his now famous: “Big time.” While Joe Lieberman is a study in ebullience, Cheney has an obvious decency about him but can be strangely impersonal. At a stop in California, Lynne Cheney remarks that Dick’s mother played softball for a team called the Bluebirds. A woman in the audience excitedly tells Cheney she’s the daughter of one of his mother’s teammates–a remarkable coincidence. “That was a long time ago,” Cheney replies, waiting for a policy question. The woman asks about Iraq, then leaves early.
Cheney knows all of this about himself, of course. “I have never been somebody who demonstrated a lot of emotion,” he says, as his campaign plane descends on southeastern Missouri. “It’s just not who I am. But I still think there’s room in the arena for somebody who’s interested in substantive issues–a calm presentation, if you will, of the arguments. I think a lot of people appreciate that.” To understand Cheney, those who know him say you have to understand the reticent culture of the West. In Casper, Wyo., Cheney could climb a mountain and stare out for 80 miles around; it’s no wonder crowds make him a little uncomfortable. “In the West, you respect one another’s space,” Cheney explains. “You don’t pry into somebody’s personal affairs. It’s not polite.” Cheney recently spent time on the trail with a campaigning consultant, but aides say the changes in his approach–taking more questions, wandering out from behind the lectern–are his own doing.
Few Republicans think Cheney’s actively hurting the ticket. He’s a valuable fund-raiser, and according to a Wall Street Journal/NBC News Poll, voters think he’s more qualified than Lieberman. But there’s a sense that he isn’t helping Bush the way a running mate should, either. With Bush trailing in some critical states, some GOP strategists think he may regret passing on Pennsylvania Gov. Tom Ridge, who would have carried 23 electoral votes. If that kind of talk bothers Cheney, he doesn’t show it. He’s busy prepping for next week’s debate, where he’ll likely attack Lieberman as a closet liberal. Cheney’s doing it his way, too. He’s just not going to sing about it.
