CAMPAIGN 2000 / THE EMERGING FIELD

Kasich plugs away, waits for candidacy to catch fire

By Jill Zuckman, Globe Staff, June 21, 1999

MARSHALLTOWN, Iowa -- John Kasich is standing alone in the center of the wood-paneled VFW here, trying to excite the 80 or so members of the Pachyderm Club intent on eating their tuna-egg salad on white bread.

Kasich waves his arms, he refers to his audience as "you guys," he disagrees with their questions, and he waits for lightning to strike.

This is the strategy behind the Ohio congressman's campaign for president: If he plugs away long enough, if he talks to enough voters in Iowa and New Hampshire, he might -- with a bolt of luck -- become the first sitting member of the House elected president since James Garfield in 1880.

"I've always been struck by lightning," says Kasich, the chairman of the House Budget Committee, during the hour's drive from Des Moines. "The key is to be out in the field when the storm comes."

In fact, the hallmark of Kasich's political career has been to do what others said he could not. He was just 26 when he upset an incumbent Democrat for the Ohio state Senate, surprising all the political pros there. When he was 30, he became the only GOP challenger to unseat a Democratic incumbent from Congress that year.

Kasich (rhymes with basic) has been told so many times that he will fail that he relishes proving people wrong.

"I couldn't get to be chairman of the Budget Committee, I couldn't balance the budget, I couldn't cut taxes, I couldn't get elected to Congress, I couldn't kill the B-2, I couldn't reform the Pentagon, I couldn't begin to impact corporate welfare," he says, running through the list.

"There are so many things," he continues, mimicking his detractors. "You go out and you try to engage in running for president, form your exploratory committee -- that will fall on its face, you don't have the discipline, you won't raise the money, you won't last, you won't be focused.

"I love it," he concludes.

This time, he is running for president at the very bottom of a crowded field. Recent polls put his standing at about 1 to 2 percent.

But at age 47, Kasich is at a turning point. Term limits will force him to give up his Budget Committee chairmanship at the end of this session of Congress. He has served in the House for close to 18 years, successfully agitating for a balanced budget and the end of the annual deficit.

And by the end of June, Kasich may well shift $1.4 million from his House reelection account into his presidential coffers, signaling that he doesn't intend to run for reelection, ending his congressional career.

Kasich, however, will not say whether he plans to give up his House seat or run for reelection while pursuing the Republican nomination for president. If he says he's leaving the House, he would become a lame duck; if he says he is seeking reelection, it would undercut the seriousness of his presidential bid.

"I would be stupid to tell people what I was going to do," he says.

His style is bold and brash and slightly frenetic. He gets excited by ideas, particularly his own. When he talks, it is rapid-fire, as if his mouth can't keep up with everything that's rocketing through his brain. And he has long shown a willingness to challenge Republican Party dogma.

To the chagrin of many of his GOP colleagues, he is vehemently opposed to "corporate welfare" subsidies from the government. He led the fight to cap production of the B-2 bomber at 20 jets, down from a proposed fleet of 132. He cut a $50 million annual program to subsidize the timber industry for road construction in national forests, upsetting lawmakers from the Northwest.

He opposes ethanol subsidies, which are dear to Iowa corn farmers. He would like to abolish the Overseas Private Investment Corp., which helps US companies sell products overseas.

"I'm a believer in cutting that which doesn't work," he says. If he had his way, he would kill the Energy, Education, and Commerce departments, as well as federal funding for the arts, federal insurance programs for businesses, and federal grants for businesses' technology research.

He does believe in providing federal dollars for school choice programs, reorganizing Social Security in order to save it, and allowing religious nonprofit organizations to have access to the same federal grants as secular institutions.

He'd also like to institute a "loser pays" requirement in the legal system.

As he paces around the linoleum floor of the VFW in central Iowa, he hopscotches from one issue to another, depending on what pops into his head and what this Republican lunch club asks.

Young people, he says, "think there's a better chance of a UFO landing on the parking lot out there than getting a Social Security check in the mail." And with a bit of self-mocking showmanship, he says, "I came out with a plan -- ta da!"

He urges the crowd to listen carefully to the candidates and pay attention to what each would do to tackle the thorny problems of the day.

"Let's have a big debate about Social Security, let's have a big debate about how we're going to fix health care in America," Kasich says. "Let's go to the convention; let's spill out into the streets and slug one another out there and raise Cain and regenerate our party."

This exuberance attracts people to Kasich. It also leads many to suggest that he is too young to become president of the United States.

"They told John Kennedy that," replies Kasich, without a trace of humility.

"I just look young, and my energy level is unusual in politics," he says. "Most people move at the speed of dinosaurs and glaciers. They see somebody that moves faster than that, it really throws them off."

Indeed, Kasich is older than either President Kennedy or President Clinton when each ran for the highest office in the land. He believes he has more experience than many who became president -- such as Jimmy Carter -- and some who are running for president now.

"I've accomplished things that people have tried for a generation," he says.

At the Phillips 66 station on the way to Marshalltown, Kasich wanders the aisles, picking up two packs of Twizzlers and a cup of coffee. He admits that he has allowed himself to daydream about a Kasich presidency.

For one thing, the music at state dinners would probably take a drastic turn, he agrees with a laugh. His favorite band is Porcupine Tree, though he also likes Madonna and Pearl Jam. He once told Vaclav Havel, the president of Czechoslovakia, to pick up the Verve ("Urban Hymns") and the Radioheads ("OK Computer").

But more seriously, a President Kasich "wouldn't be somebody who just fell off the turnip truck on the way to Washington," he says.

If he were elected, he says, he would be "somebody who knew precisely what he wanted to accomplish, and at the same time knew how to do it. You could have such sweeping change, you would have such a breath of fresh air, you would actually be able to get things done, it would restore some hope in the country."

So far, though, John Kasich, the son of a mailman in Pennsylvania, knows that for all the photo-ops of him bowling in Iowa and fly-fishing in New Hampshire, and for all the coffees in living rooms and VFW halls, political fame eludes him.

"Is my message getting out yet? No," he admits with a philosophical shrug. "I have not had my moment yet, and I don't know if it will come."