The Ad Game: How To Sway 7% Of The Voters Through Razzmatazz. : Tactics: Tragedy works, so do attacks on Friday.

Sorry, folks, the Feinstein-Wilson gubernatorial made-for-television campaign probably was not meant for you. The scripted words and images, the issues and positions the candidates take on them, the charges and countercharges, the smiles and frowns-- all were created by political consultants for a mere 7% of California’s eligible voters. It’s the consultants’ dirty little secret.

The consultants know that 80% of the voters who will go to the polls made up their mind before the campaign even got under way. They’ll vote Democratic or Republican no matter what Dianne Feinstein or Pete Wilson say or do. That leaves roughly 1.5 million voters open to political persuasion--or 7% of the state’s eligible 19 million.

They are Democrats who voted for Ronald Reagan; Republicans who care about the environment and continued government funding of abortions. They want a conservative hand on the judicial helm; a business approach to state budgeting. They will be compassionate toward the poor--if the budget can afford it. They wouldn’t mind a little political excitement if the candidate can be trusted.

The Feinstein-Wilson campaigns will spend, collectively, an unprecedented $20 million on television ads in attempts to sway these voters. That comes out to roughly $13 a vote. When you factor in other campaign costs--like the salaries of those who make the TV ads--it’s about $30 a vote. (Next time, Mr. or Ms. Candidate, write me a check.)

From the beginning, Feinstein’s media strategists sought to overcome the stereotype that women can handle legislative work, but not executive jobs like governor. At the same time, they wanted to underline her gender and spotlight her bold, natural style.

Wilson was burdened with the widespread perception that he was just another boring, white male in pursuit of a more powerful political job. To overcome it, his handlers devised commercials depicting the senator as a “tough, but caring” politician who knew his away around government and had his priorities straight.

The greater problem facing the two candidates’ strategists was how to undermine the opponent--the sine qua non of political advertising. Indeed, a lot of political mush and half-truths have been aired in this year’s television ad campaign because neither Wilson nor Feinstein could come up with a “silver bullet.” In the Democratic primary campaign, Feinstein possessed such a magic bullet--her opponent’s refusal, as Los Angeles County district attorney, to prosecute Angelo Buono for murder in the Hillside Strangler case on the ground that he lacked sufficient evidence. The attorney general’s office, of course, eventually stepped in and got the conviction with largely the same evidence. This fundamental flaw in John K. Van de Kamp’s political profile was so horrific, judged Feinstein’s media managers, that a TV ad reminding voters of it would surely sway the undecided to her.

Ahead in the polls, Feinstein kept the “Strangler” ad on the shelf until the last days of the primary campaign, when a fading Van de Kamp had to go on the attack. The Feinstein campaign bought $500,000 of air time from Thursday to the last Sunday before the voting. The average TV viewer probably saw the 30-second spot at least four times.

Such flaws as Van de Kamp’s prosecutorial ineptness are usually old pieces of information long forgotten by the public--until brought to life in the editing bay. If a campaign manager finds a silver bullet and has enough money to sustain fire, the prospects for victory increase exponentially.

Which is precisely why a well-financed candidate like Wilson has spent a lot of campaign energy and treasury this year on--if you will--silver-bullet research. His chief media consultant, Larry McCarthy, was the creator of the first Willie Horton ad that so effectively wounded Michael S. Dukakis in the ’88 presidential campaign.

Meantime, there was air time to fill, and Wilson’s image-makers had to overcome the senator’s nondescript personality. The solution: Tell the 7% of voters in play what he’d done and what he intended to do for them--his “vision.” Wilson’s “vision” spot--including images of him walking the beach to draw attention to his opposition to offshore oil drilling--stressed the idea that fiscal frugality and accomplishment are not incompatible. While mayor of San Diego, the ad proclaims, Wilson balanced the budget and built the San Diego trolley. Thus, Wilson-the-businesslike-moderate was born.

As for Feinstein, an early campaign memo had advised the former San Francisco mayor that the solution to the “perception within the voting community that women are somehow less able to lead and administer” was to “recall the state of turmoil and emotional upheaval that the assassinations (of Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk) caused in (San Francisco) government.” Thus was born the most memorable ad--to date--of the ’90 governor’s race: Feinstein’s “forged in tragedy” ad.

It used news footage of the events surrounding the 1979 assassinations, thus enhancing its credibility. It compellingly conveyed Feinstein’s ability to bring “order out of chaos.” Indeed, the ad--created by Feinstein’s media manager Hank Morris and campaign manager Bill Carrick--overshadowed every other commercial she used in the primary and, amazingly, the memory of it carried over into the first month of the general campaign when she didn’t have enough money to run commercials. Most important, it defined Feinstein as a woman who could handle the job of governor.

The next TV ad volley involved the savings-and-loan crisis, which gained widespread attention last summer. Aware that a Northern California newspaper was about to publish a story linking her husband, Dick Blum, to a part interest in a failed Oregon S&L;, Feinstein’s campaign quickly assembled and bought time for an ad attacking Wilson for having accepted $243,000 in campaign contributions from the thrift industry. The ad sought both to “inoculate” her from the S&L; disease and “muddy the water” by dragging Wilson into the issue.

Wilson campaign manager George Gorton and media consultant McCarthy responded with an ad criticizing Feinstein and Blum for profitting from the federal bailout of the Oregon S&L.; Then Feinstein taped a commercial in which she spoke directly into the camera, defending herself and her husband while decrying Wilson’s charges.

Until this ad, Feinstein had been a candidate largely unblemished by politics-as-usual. While there was little else she could have done--the lesson of the Willie Horton ad was that you couldn’t let an attack go unanswered--the back and forth of the S&L; ads signaled that Feinstein may be just another politician in a year when voters loved to hate politicians.

“The real lesson of this campaign,” Carrick recently recalled, “is that the paid media didn’t matter. We began with 40-40-20--and are still there.”

Translation: With two weeks to go, 20% of the voters were still undecided because nothing airing on television was working.

You can always tell when a candidate is floundering--he or she returns to a familiar, proven theme. Feinstein signaled her troubles when her new political advertising used the dramatic music of the “tragedy” ad. But not only was the message associated with that ad beginning to wear thin; its repetition created an impression that Feinstein had nothing more to offer.

Sensing this, Carrick thought up the flap about Wilson’s absences from the U.S. Senate during the budget crisis, played it out in the “free media,” then put together a television ad symbolizing the theme with an empty chair. The Wilson camp, anticipating the ad, began emphasizing the senator’s attendance record four days before the Feinstein ad aired.

More interesting, with respect to the ad game, was the Wilson campaign’s choice of timing to air its ad defending the senator. Call it the “Friday sneak-attack inoculation.” In other words, the ad’s message went unchallenged for three, maybe four days, simply because TV ad departments are closed on weekends. Feinstein had to wait until the following Monday or Tuesday, depending on each station’s internal schedule, to rebut the attack.

Last Friday, Feinstein used the same tactic. In what will become known as the “gurney” ad, Wilson is shown in a still photograph being wheeled, after an emergency appendectomy operation, into the Senate to cast a tie-breaking Senate vote, in 1985, on Social Security COLAs. The ad is titled “Bob,” after Republican Leader Bob Dole, whose sarcastic and funny comments--”(Wilson) does better under sedation”--imply that Wilson can be manipulated to vote for special interests. Like Feinstein’s “tragedy” ad, “Bob” will be memorable.

Of course, memorable ads don’t necessarily sway that crucial 7%. But if you’re one of the 93%, press the remote control this weekend for “Masterpiece Theatre” or wrestling or whatever. You won’t be missing a thing.