he last time Lionel Jaffe knocked on doors for a presidential candidate, he was studying at Harvard, and Harry Truman was his man. But there he was last weekend, 51 years later, ringing doorbells in Nashua for Bill Bradley.
A 71-year-old biologist-researcher from Falmouth, Jaffe said he was inspired by both candidates' ''very special combination of political skill and inner idealism.''
The rolling thunder of Bradley's presidential insurgency may still be but a distant rumble elsewhere, but because of folks like Jaffe, the campaign is crackling here in New England.
There are thousands of new converts out there, in every demographic category, drawn to the Zen-like certitude and serenity of Bradley and his ''trust me'' message.
It's a remarkable phenomenon. Six months ago, Bradley's campaign was little more than a cabal. Today, it's an open insurrection, threatening the candidacy of Vice President Al Gore, the choice of the Democratic Party's establishment.
The former New Jersey senator has a long way to go as he tries to redefine American political discourse. He may fail; idealistic campaigns often do. A whiff of hypocrisy, and they can be crushed by the might of money and attack ads.
Most experts still think Bradley will collapse under the weight of Gore's advantages. The Veep owns the big institutional pieces - party apparatus, the AFL-CIO, and the support of most major elected officials in the Democratic Party.
And yet, something is definitely in the air.
Later this month, the Bradley campaign will release a list of about 2,000 Bay Staters who are on board. Already, the Bradley Web site lists, in alphabetical order, the names of 1,500 residents of New Hampshire, the first primary state.
Bradley's support in many Southern and Midwestern states seems very thin, but here, where he's spent time, the ranks of supporters are swelling.
How far has Bradley come? Early this year, his numbers were negligible in every poll. Gore is still ahead nationally, but recent surveys show Bradley leading across this region.
In Massachusetts six months ago, Bradley had next to nothing. Gore had locked up big-name fund-raisers, an army of elected officials, and a band of experienced Bay State operatives.
On May 11, Bradley slipped into Boston to meet secretly with potential supporters in a tiny meeting room at a hotel near Logan Airport. It was almost pitiful - a small, ragged band of rebels: a former attorney general (James M. Shannon), a district attorney (William R. Keating of Norfolk), one state senator (Michael W. Morrissey of Quincy), two state representatives (Paul C. Demakis of Boston's Back Bay and Charles A. Murphy of Burlington), and a dozen or so lesser lights.
In the weeks ahead, however, Bradley's camp will roll out the names of other politicians who have signed on from all over the state. There are at least five more senators (Edward ''Chip'' Clancy of Lynn, Robert S. Creedon of Brockton, James P. Jajuga of Methuen, Brian A. Joyce of Milton, and Charles E. Shannon of Somerville), and no fewerthan 21 more state representatives, including House Majority Whip Barbara Gardner of Holliston, transportation Chairman Joseph C. Sullivan of Braintree, and natural resources Chairman Douglas W. Petersen of Marblehead. There are House liberals (Anne M. Paulsen of Belmont, Ellen Story of Amherst, Ben Swan of Springfield), and conservatives (Bruce J. Ayers of Quincy, Brian P. Golden of Allston). House veterans (Paul E. Caron of Springfield, James R. Miceli of Wilmington, Stephen Kulik of Worthington), and freshmen (Ronny M. Sydney of Brookline, Demetrius Atsalis of Hyannis, David M. Torrisi of North Andover).
There's also a symbolic underpinning to Bradley's support here provided by family and friends of the late Paul Tsongas. His widow, Nicola, twin sister, Thaleia Schlesinger, and former chief aide Dennis Kanin are all key players.
Tsongas, of course, waged his own idealistic, longshot campaign for president in 1992, winning New Hampshire and a few other states before a hail of negative ads by Bill Clinton, the eventual winner, drove him from the field.
In some respects, Bradley is picking up where Tsongas faltered. To finish the job, however, he may need some of those Trumanesque qualities that Lionel Jaffe sees in him.
