GUYS, DOLES, WIVES AND TEARS

Petronella Wyatt sees Bob and Jack arrive by boat. Then she joins in a weep with Nancy for Ron

San Diego ON MY arrival at San Diego airport, I was knocked down by an elephant. The ele- phant turned out to be a human in cos- tume. It said, 'Welcome to the 36th Republican National Convention.' The elephant is the symbol of the Republican Party, and the arrivals lounge was full of them — Republicans in elephant cos- tumes, that is. They swayed clumsily beneath red-white-and-blue banners of greeting. The convention would have been impossible not to notice.

San Diego is known as 'America's City' — at least by the people who live here. In the suburbs there is conspicuous wealth. Raymond Chandler once had a house in La Jolla on the bay. He said: 'People come here to die — with their parents.' Four decades later, we had come here to witness either a death or a resurrection. I speak, of course, of the political career of Mr Robert Dole, the Republican presidential nominee.

It was Saturday afternoon and the 2,000 delegates — along with your reporter were awaiting Mr Dole's announcement of his running mate. At this stage the mood Was subdued. Mr Dole was trailing Mr Clinton by 20 points. The great world question we were all asking was not is there life on Mars, but is there life in Dole?

But on Sunday morning hope came with the dawn. If the Republicans didn't have a legendary campaigner, they now had a leg- endary quarterback: Jack Kemp. Mr Dole is what is called a Old Guard Republican, something that has enabled Mr Clinton to accuse his rival of being extreme and exclusive. But Mr Kemp changed every- thing. Mr Kemp is 'compassionate'. Mr Kemp is 'inclusive' (that was the buzz- word here — Outside the Marriott Hotel next to the convention centre, someone was reading a pamphlet that had been rushed out by the Democrats. It contained some of the things that Mr Dole and Mr Kemp had said about each other in the past. Unfortu- nately for the Republicans, these were all very rude. Dole on Kemp: 'When he was a quarterback he played without a helmet'; Kemp on Dole: 'When his library burnt down, it destroyed two books. Dole hadn't finished colouring in the second.' Ameri- can history, however, is not unaccustomed to presidents and vice-presidents who cor- dially loathe each other. I seem to remem- ber, reading about John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, that Jefferson, Adams's vice-president, ended up running against him in the election of 1800. Jefferson won.

On Sunday morning, the presidential nominee and his chosen running mate arrived by boat for the first Dole-Kemp rally. Hundreds of delegates had gathered at San Diego's harbour to see their ticket come in. Already it was as if the depressed convention had received a dose of Prozac. Many delegates had attired themselves as Lincoln. When the Republicans met in 1920, H.L. Mencken called it 'a carnival of bunkum'. American conventions are indeed carnivals — less of bunkum, though, than of clothes.

A band on a massive podium was belting out 'I'm A Soul Man'. One felt that the war veteran Mr Dole would.have been more at home with 'Roll Out The Barrel'. But no. 'Come on,' the band leader shouted at the crowd, 'let's sing some new words.' The new words turned out to be 'I'm A Dole Man'. Next came the aerial descent of something called the Official Dole-Kemp Skydiving Team. One began to feel that the actual arrival of the candidates could only be an anticlimax. One was wrong. As the two men ascended the platform, it appeared as if Mr Dole had exploded. In fact, a huge firework display had been set off behind him.

It soon became clear that, for the sake of his party, Mr Kemp had decided to turn over a new leaf and adopt the Lyndon Johnson theory of vice-presidential candi- dates. Johnson once said of his ideal run- ning mate: 'I want him to kiss my ass in Macy's window at high noon and tell me it smells like roses.' Mr Kemp, rather less picturesquely, but with equal humility, announced: 'It is the greatest honour of my life to have been asked to run by the great- est American hero.' (He meant Mr Dole.) Mr Kemp went down as well as a dozen

dead Democrats. He was a hit. Here was another reason for the felicity of his nomi- nation: Mr Dole is notoriously incapable of finishing his sentences; Mr Kemp finish- es them for him. As an orator, Mr Dole makes Mr Clinton sound like William Jen- nings Bryan. I received the impression that the Republican delegates admired Mr Dole, but they were bored rigid by him. The following day a senator's wife told me: `But this is the new, improved Dole.' One wonders what the old one had been like. At a private party that night everyone was talking of Mr Kemp as a second wind, though not a second windbag. Senator John Kyl from Arizona assured me: 'Kemp means we will probably get a Republican House, and he brings us for the first time within striking distance of the White House.' Suddenly, I turned round and there was Jack Kemp himself. In person, Mr Kemp looks as if he has already been hewn into the rock at Mount Rushmore. One hardly dared give him one's hand in case he broke it. 'Congratulations,' I said. 'Yeah,' he replied, 'Yogi Bear would be turning in his grave.' This was enigmatic. Then someone explained to me that Mr Kemp was speaking of Yogi Berra, the famous baseball player.

By the time the convention had officially opened, a poll taken by USA Today indi- cated that Mr Dole had closed the gap between himself and Mr Clinton by nine points. Each party's rating always rises during its convention, but the Republicans took it as a sign from God. In the conven- tion hall, the delegates were waving their Dole-Kemp banners. It was a family occa- sion. Little girls in pigtails were giggling at each other. The couple sitting in front of me looked like honeymooners — they were. I observed that this was a strange choice of honeymoon destination. They

were shocked. 'Not for Americans who love their country,' said the husband.

The proceedings appeared to be all about 'being an American'. The Republi- cans have set themselves up as the 'patri- otic party', as a hostile criticism of the dangerously 'liberal' Mr Clinton. In just one afternoon we heard patriotic speeches from presidents Ford and Bush, the for- mer first lady Mrs Nancy Reagan and General Colin Powell. We heard them in just one afternoon because they had all been limited to eight minutes. Later I was informed by a former Bush aide that this ruling had so incensed President Ford that he had telephoned Mr Bush to complain. Mr Bush had responded: 'Gerry, let's face it, we're yesterday's men.'

Perhaps having surmised that it was of little use selling Mr Dole as the most excit- ing candidate since Theodore Roosevelt, these elder statesmen played the integrity card. It was Mr Bush who produced the ace. His peroration was a tribute to Bar- bara, 'my wife, who upheld the honour of the White House' — clearly a swipe at Hillary Clinton. The Republicans went wild. Then we were shown a film of the Reagan years, during which friends and former advisers spoke of 'Ronnie's charac- ter and integrity'. The convention threat- ened to be swept away on a sea of tears. My honeymoon couple were sobbing openly. I have to say that I was tempted into a little sob myself.

General Powell closed the proceedings with a long-awaited endorsement of Mr Dole. His huge arms sawed the air like the wings of a fighter plane. 'Dole is a man of integrity! He is the candidate whose virtues of character most qualify him to be the next president!' Thank heaven. It was done at last. We had the Republican Party ticket. Dole the Virtuous, balanced by

'They may be illegal aliens, but they do the work that no one else will do.'

Kemp the Quarterback.

Or was it as simple as that? As I write, I have just learnt that American Vanity Fair is running a piece claiming that Mr Dole once enjoyed a long affair with an air stew- ardess. This may have been before his mar- riage to Elizabeth Dole. Perhaps Mr Dole is not so boring after all. This could change everything.