THE 1996 PRESIDENTIAL RACE : Rating the Rivals, From the Sublime to the Ridiculous

In Chuck and Audrene Hansen’s well-vacuumed living room, where four stalwart Republican families gathered Saturday to watch a debate among the nine candidates for the GOP presidential nomination, heads nodded for former State Department official Alan Keyes, while groans greeted the grudge match that developed between Senate Majority Leader Bob Dole and Sen. Phil Gramm.

And everyone was left wondering if publishing magnate Steve Forbes knew how to blink.

Most of the nine Republicans who crammed into the Hansen residence to pass their personal judgments on the candidates were already leaning toward several favorites: Dole, Gramm and former Tennessee Gov. Lamar Alexander. Only Audrene Hansen and her daughter, Sonia, were completely uncommitted. And when the 90-minute debate had ended and the credits began to roll, no one switched allegiance.

But the midday parade of men in dark suits had produced several consensus impressions: Keyes drew rapt silence with his ringing call for family renewal. Dole, the front-runner, struck these viewers as old and defensive, while Gramm and Alexander seemed too willing to go for easy barbs. And Forbes drew guffaws as he defended his controversial flat-tax proposal, dismissed for both his stiff, goggle-eyed mannerisms and blithe dismissal of his critics.

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“It’s like you put a quarter in him and he starts up,” giggled Audrene Hansen as Forbes appeared on her wide-screen television. “He just doesn’t relate to human beings.”

They were not watching for cheap laughs.

Audrene Hansen, co-chairwoman of the Polk County Republican Party, and her husband, Chuck, have been besieged for months by phone calls and letters from presidential campaigns begging for endorsements.

Audrene thought about Gramm, then grew cold on the Texan, less than enamored with what she sees as his overly down-home campaign speeches. Chuck, 71, is close in age to Dole and views the Kansan as a kindred spirit from the World War II generation.

Their daughter, Sonia, 21, a University of Iowa student home with a broken foot, rejects Dole as “too old” but has not found a suitable alternative.

Joining them Saturday were accountant Steve Kopf, 38, and his wife, Carmen, 35, both devout Christians and social conservatives who back Gramm; Jeff Russell, 23, a banking executive, and his wife, Lisa, 25, a Des Moines Chamber of Commerce spokeswoman, who back Alexander; and Chuck Finch, 65, a state insurance examiner, and his wife, Bobbi, 60, an administrative aide to Iowa Gov. Terry E. Branstad, who support Dole.

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They were picking over the remains of sandwiches and chips when cameras locked on to the row of presidential contenders sitting in silence in the Des Moines public broadcasting studio. As the candidates were introduced, Carmen Kopf nudged her husband when they saw the face of former commentator Patrick J. Buchanan.

“Does he look mean!” she whispered. Buchanan’s harangues against layoff-happy businesses would draw a few nods, but his frequent allusions to his “cultural war” against liberals fell flat. “He’s better as a talk show host,” Steve Kopf said afterward.

They sat silent as the candidates discussed how to solve the federal budget crisis, but when Alexander stung Dole, telling him, “It may be your turn [for the nomination], but it is not your revolution,” the viewers gasped.

Jeff Russell’s eyes widened, as they would repeatedly as Alexander went tartly on the attack for much of the debate. As Lisa Russell said later: “One of the reasons we liked Alexander is because he’s a dignified gentleman. It was a little surprising.”

Alexander’s sparring impressed Sonia Hansen. “Before, I thought he was kind of a jerk. But he’s very articulate, and he stuck to his guns.” But she remains uncommitted.

There were more gasps a few minutes later, but they came in awe, not surprise. Keyes, the first serious black GOP presidential candidate, drew laughter by insisting his election would be the best way to restore damaged racial relations in the U.S. But when Keyes was done 90 seconds later, concluding a stirring diatribe on the need for moral revival, those sitting in the Hansen living room whistled and applauded.

“He’s so eloquent, it’s a shame he doesn’t have a chance,” said Carmen Kopf. Chuck Hansen agreed: “Good speaking!”

*

As Dole and Gramm tangled--first over Gramm’s remark that Dole “lost his nerve” in budget negotiations, then over Dole’s acerbic crack alluding to the three grades that Gramm says he failed in school before he went on to earn a doctorate in economics, the Kopfs and the Finches both leaned forward.

Afterward, they agreed the clashes were vintage Dole and Gramm, and ultimately without real reward.

Dole’s crack “was a low blow,” Carmen Kopf said. To Jeff Russell, Dole seemed tense and ancient, his voice on edge and his eyes averted. “You just wonder if he can survive a debate with Bill Clinton.”

Even Dole die-hard Chuck Finch seemed downcast about the Kansan’s performance. “If Dole isn’t our candidate, then who is?” he asked, a bit shakily. “He’s the best and most experienced we have.”

But no one stayed dejected for long. There was always Illinois industrialist Morry Taylor and Forbes to lighten things up. Cackling drowned out Taylor every time he blustered out an answer. And Forbes, who had ignited the interest of many of those in the living room with his flat-tax proposal, was almost equally a comic figure to them every time the camera alighted on his rigid figure.

“He has no arms!” Sonia Hansen squealed after noticing Forbes made not a single hand motion as he spoke.

The others laughed at Forbes’ stubborn attempts to inject his flat-tax proposal into every question he was asked. In the end he seemed to some in the Hansens’ living room like an overly prepared amateur playing out of his league.

“He comes across like a rich kid who thinks he can buy the presidency,” Steve Kopf said. “Maybe the flat tax is a good idea, but that’s all he’s got. He’s clowning around up there.”

Lisa Russell came up with a distinctly political put-down:

“Kind of like Ross Perot,” she said.