All politics is personal now

When Sen. John F. Kerry steps on stage at the Fleet Center here to address the Democratic National Convention on Thursday night, it’s likely he will feel a powerful kinship with the Democrats who went before him: Al Gore, Bill Clinton and perhaps that other nominee from Massachusetts, former Gov. Michael S. Dukakis.

But, by at least one crucial measure, Kerry’s speech accepting the Democratic presidential nomination will owe as much to the Republicans, and particularly to former Presidents Nixon and George H. W. Bush. It was the stereotypically stolid Nixon and the often awkward Bush who, surprisingly, helped change the tone and content of addresses at the major party conventions.

“He hears the train go by at night and he dreams of faraway places where he’d like to go,” Nixon told Republican delegates 36 years ago, recalling himself as a little boy.

That stunningly personal speech brought biography and intimate self-revelation, for the first time, into presidential acceptance speeches.

In that relatively recent tradition, Kerry is planning this week to deliver an address laden with details from his life, particularly from his service as a Navy patrol boat captain in Vietnam. Underscoring the biographical theme Thursday will be speeches by Kerry’s two daughters and appearances, on stage and in the audience, by his military comrades.

Political scientists, speechwriters and politicians say the emergence of the personal as political in convention addresses is the result of myriad recent changes -- in American culture, in the ethos of those running for high office and in the political nominating process itself.

“Whether we like it or not, we live in a culture of self-confession,” said Eli Attie, chief speechwriter for former Vice President Al Gore and now a writer for the television show “The West Wing.” “It’s the Oprah Age. What we demand from a person we admire, what we want to feel, is a close personal connection. Things have changed considerably.”

Attie and others said the new emphasis on biography might help leaders better explain what motivates them. But others bemoaned the loss of more formal and, they said, elevated political dialogue. Republican elder statesman Ken Khachigian, who wrote President Reagan’s 1984 acceptance speech, fondly recalled a day when convention addresses outlined policy and promoted the ticket. “There is a cult of personality that has taken over in American politics, sort of this politician as rock star or politician as cultural icon,” Khachigian said. “The bottom line is: There is a little more narcissism in politics right now.”

Throughout most of American history, presidential candidates stayed away from the conventions that nominated them -- theoretically protecting themselves from the taint of back-room dealing.

It was not until 1932 that a candidate, New York Gov. Franklin D. Roosevelt, visited a convention expressly to accept a nomination. The ringing address he gave to the delegates that June set a high standard for acceptance speeches to come. In the throes of the Great Depression, Roosevelt famously called for “a new deal for the American people.”

The presence of candidates became more routine as conventions became less about nominating candidates and more about promoting them, with an eye toward the general election. Nixon was keenly aware in 1968 of the expanding power of television. And, although he had been known as one of America’s most reserved and formal politicians, he saw an opportunity at the Republican National Convention in Miami Beach to soften his image, former aides said.

Nixon waited until late in the speech to introduce the boy who listened to trains in the night. He added that the boy was guided by a saintly mother, a selfless father and a wise coach. It was only after he described the family in a heartfelt way that he revealed that the boy -- with an “impossible dream” of greatness -- was Richard Milhous Nixon. The moment was seen by Nixon’s men as a breakthrough, a moment when their brooding boss finally exhibited a common touch. “It could have been so mawkish if he had missed one little nuance. I remember saying, ‘The gamble paid off.’ He made it work and it was beautiful,” said William F. Gavin, a junior speechwriter who wrote the passages leading up to Nixon’s personal revelation.

Despite the strong impression it made, Nixon’s foray into his own past did not influence the convention speeches that soon followed. In 1972, Sen. George S. McGovern (D-S.D.) did not mention his time as a bomber pilot in World War II, despite claims that he was too weak to lead. Four years later, President Ford was depicted as a bit of a clod, but his convention speech did not mention his All-American football career at the University of Michigan.

Former Vice President Walter F. Mondale shoehorned a paragraph of material on his parents into his 1984 convention address but later said he never really thought about centering his speech on his family. “It sounds strange to say for a politician, but people of that time felt that if they spoke too much about themselves and were too upfront about [personal] things, it would be too self-promoting,” Mondale, 76, said in a recent interview.

It would be two decades after Nixon’s speech before two other presidential candidates would use their convention addresses to venture into plainly personal territory. Like Nixon, both Vice President George H. W. Bush and Dukakis, the Massachusetts governor, were seen in the election of 1988 as needing to brighten their drab images.

Dukakis’ handlers wanted to convince the American people that he was something more than a technocrat with a parsimonious reputation. So the candidate accepted the nomination as the son of Greek immigrants. Tears welled in his eyes as he recalled his father, who he said “arrived at Ellis Island with only $25 in his pocket.”

The famously self-effacing Bush had an aversion to talking about himself. But aides convinced him he needed to shake his image as a “wimp” who constantly toadied to Reagan.

Bush told the crowd in New Orleans’ vast Superdome that he hoped for a “kinder, gentler nation” -- the kind of place he had come from in Texas, where he and his family “lived the dream: high school football on Friday night, Little League, neighborhood barbecue.”

One Republican delegate from California said at the time that “it was like he was talking to you personally.”

Those speeches set the stage for the man who would make unprecedented use of personal stories, Arkansas Gov. Bill Clinton. He had barely finished the opening acknowledgments in his 1992 address at Madison Square Garden when he shifted gears.

“I never met my father,” Clinton began, and for more than five minutes he talked about his modest Southern upbringing. He spun his anecdotes into broader themes -- his mother’s battle with cancer became, for example, a lesson that every American needs healthcare. At his grandfather’s grocery store in Hope, Ark., Clinton said, the poorest customers would get the food they needed, even if they could pay only with IOUs.

“In that country store,” Clinton said of his grandfather, “he taught me more about equality in the eyes of the Lord than all my professors at Georgetown.”

Commentators at the time said the personal touches had helped Clinton strengthen his claim to be a representative of “the forgotten middle class.” The candidate also used the homey Southern images to suggest that he held moderate values.

By the time George W. Bush and Gore accepted their nominations in 2000, America’s expectations had changed markedly, several political analysts said. Many in the television audience had not only witnessed Clinton’s mea culpas but had grown accustomed to TV biographies and “reality” shows that made no revelation seem too intimate. Political speechwriters had come to consider at least a smattering of personal biography an essential part of a candidate’s acceptance speech.

Gore, then the vice president, talked about his parents and, intent on escaping Clinton’s shadow, said he was standing “as my own man.” Texas Gov. Bush described the inspiration he gained growing up in Midland, Texas. The future president said the oil town had made him “optimistic, impatient with pretense [and] confident that people can chart their own course.”

Andrei Cherny, former director of speechwriting for Kerry, said Nixon was merely ahead of all the others in realizing how successful a personal touch can be, particularly in attracting television viewers.

“Ever since then, you have had to realize that biography is a powerful way to make an impact, to say who you are and state what your values are.”