Will Mitch Daniels run? He’s still thinking

As he slouches towards a possible White House run, Mitch Daniels is the GOP’s unlikeliest savior. He governs a Midwestern state that few consider cutting-edge. His bland persona can leave audiences cold. Balding and short, he makes a fetish of self-deprecation.

When a stranger approaches after a speech here, eager to “shake the hand of a future president,” Daniels gamely obliges.

Then he mutters under his breath: “Not much chance of that.”

The Indiana governor is this presidential campaign’s Hoosier Hamlet, musing openly about his ambivalence toward becoming a candidate even as the Republican establishment, fearful that the current crop of 2012 candidates hasn’t a chance of success, yearns for his entrance into the race.

If he does jump in — a decision is expected soon — history suggests his would be an uphill quest.

No Republican candidate in the modern era has started forming a presidential campaign this late in the game and gone on to win the nomination. It takes time to get organized, collect money, hone a message and build support around the country. Mitt Romney, the front-runner in early polls, has essentially been running since his 2008 campaign faltered.

Daniels, though, sees a path to victory. A surprisingly large number of Republican officials have privately signaled their eagerness to endorse him, he says. (New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie, a rising GOP star, said recently he’d give “serious consideration” to backing Daniels.) Such support, he insists, could give him the fundraising heft to get through Iowa’s make-or-break caucuses in eight months.

In contrast to the rest of the field, Daniels would come to the race as a serious executive with high-level Washington experience — from his turn as a political strategist for President Reagan to a stint as President George W. Bush’s budget director.

The Princeton-educated governor has another advantage. Like 2008 nominee John McCain, his work at the national level has given him ease with both political insiders and reporters for decades. He’s drawn positive coverage for his non-candidacy from an unusually broad range of outlets, from the Weekly Standard and National Review on the right to NPR, which dubbed him “Woody Allen’s Hoosier cousin.”

But he still has to decide whether to run. His prolonged internal debate recalls former New York Gov. Mario M. Cuomo, who tortured aides and supporters with his indecision before finally saying “No” in 1991. Daniels says he can’t ask the country to make him its next leader unless he can convince his wife and four grown daughters first.

The 62-year-old points out, accurately, that he wouldn’t be leaping solo into a national contest.

“I have some women to check with at home first,” he told a dinner audience of 75 conservative Republicans in suburban Baltimore last week, after someone asked about his plans.

His wife, Cheri, is said to be uncomfortable with a candidacy. The granddaughter of Chicago Cubs great Billy Herman didn’t participate in her husband’s 2004 gubernatorial campaign and has kept her public role to a minimum.

Speculation about her resistance to a Daniels run centers on their unusual marital history. In 1993, she filed for divorce after 15 years of marriage, moved to California and wed a doctor, leaving Daniels to care for four daughters ages 8 to 14. Then she divorced again, and she and Daniels remarried in 1997.

“If you like happy endings, you’ll love our story,” Mitch Daniels told the Indianapolis Star in 2004. “Love and the love of children overcame any problems.” But the couple has kept a tight lid on personal details, which would inevitably be pried open in a presidential campaign.

His wife’s decision to edge into the spotlight Thursday night, by keynoting a state Republican Party gala, led some to conclude that Daniels would be running. She didn’t discuss his presidential ambitions in the speech, and all he told the crowd was, “I’m not saying I won’t do it.”

Like other governors, Daniels would campaign for president on his record. “Not to impress anybody,” he said, sounding apologetic, before rattling off home-state accomplishments for 20 minutes to the Harbour League, a fledgling conservative think tank. Among the applause lines: a constitutional cap on “the lowest property taxes in America”; a permanent ban on collective bargaining by state employees, which led 92% of them to quit paying union dues; a teacher certification overhaul that ended licensing for those with only an education major; and the country’s largest state school voucher program.

“We believe in government that is limited, but active,” said Daniels.

A cerebral manner, dry wit and occasional theatrics — he rides a Harley — help soften Daniels’ image. His views are firmly conservative, though he has drawn fire from some on the right. A flash point was his suggestion of a “truce” on social issues in order to attract independent swing voters needed to win the presidency. Daniels hasn’t exactly retreated from that, but he recently signed a law that ends state funding for Planned Parenthood and bans abortions after 20 weeks of pregnancy.

Although Daniels is praised by establishment Republicans for his tenure in Indiana, his earlier years as Bush’s budget director have opened him to criticism. America’s decade of debt, now at the center of the 2012 debate, began in the Bush era, with an expensive Medicare drug benefit, a big tax cut and two costly wars, financed with deficit spending.

Daniels is likely to counter with more Indiana examples: how he paid down the debt while other states were increasing theirs and slashed spending to the third lowest level in the country, on a per capita basis.

Reelected easily to a second four-year term in 2008, when Barack Obama carried the state, he would leave office with a legacy that includes, according to him, the fewest state government employees per capita in the U.S.; “the biggest deregulation of telecommunications in the country” at the state level; and “the largest privatization of infrastructure in American history,” as a result of leasing the Indiana Toll Road.

But it is his demeanor, more than anything else, that voters would have to embrace. In a party dominated by loud and dramatic voices, Daniels would be the no-nonsense manager with a sharp budget knife, offering sobriety instead of excitement.

Daniels says that by the time the primary contests begin next winter, he will know whether his candidacy would click with the GOP electorate.

Or as he puts it, in another self-put-down, “whether they’ll eat the dog food.”

paul.west@latimes.com