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By Howard Fineman
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As weeks go in a governor's life, this last one was especially dismal for Jeb Bush--even by the bleak standards of Florida. First, police disclosed that his daughter, Noelle--in drug rehab in Orlando since February--had been found with a small rock of crack cocaine secreted in her shoe. The next day, primary Election Day, ended in the kind of scene Bush had pledged to avoid after the fiasco of 2000: long lines, lost ballots and rumors of misdeeds in Miami. The likely bottom line in the disputed Democratic gubernatorial race isn't the one Bush wanted. Despite a possible challenge by Janet Reno, Bush probably will have to face Bill McBride--a Marine, Vietnam vet and Tampa lawyer whom Republicans clearly view as the tougher challenger. Finally, at the end of the week Bush was in front of the TV cameras, urging calm while authorities--with robots and bomb-sniffing dogs--investigated what turned out to be a phony terrorism threat by three medical students on their way to a hospital in Miami. "Jeb's exhausted," said longtime adviser Corey Tilley. "It's been tough, and just too weird."
Jeb's ride wasn't supposed to be so bumpy. Time was--and it wasn't many years ago--when he, and not the eldest Bush son, was the favored heir in a family intent on retaking the White House. But while his underestimated brother is a president with a 70 percent job-approval rating, Jeb gets the onerous task of maintaining Republican control over the most treacherous ground in politics. He is favored to win re-election, but his tough road is emblematic of an important feature of this fall's campaign. The GOP may hold its own in Congress, but in several "megastates" (Pennsylvania, New York, Michigan and Illinois), resurgent Democrats and changing demographics are threatening rickety Republican machines--and, by extension, big brother's chances in 2004.
In the White House there remains no more important midterm priority than ensuring Jeb's survival. The president and the rest of the family, led by Ma and Pa, have helped the governor amass a war chest of $20 million. (McBride must replenish a bankroll that has dwindled to $60,000.) The president has visited the state 10 times and, GOP sources say, is penciled in for at least three more trips between now and November. ("He'll work the precincts if he has to," said one consultant with strong Florida ties.) Administration spending and policy decisions are cleared with political guru Karl Rove--who makes sure they help, or at least don't hurt, Jeb. The most controversial example: refusing to ease the anti-Castro embargo, a move desperately sought by farm-state Republicans (who want to sell Cuba grain) but opposed by influential Cuban-Americans.
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Jeb has done what he can to help himself. In a state with explosive population growth, he has increased public-school funding by $3 billion--the biggest jump in Florida history. In a state where Hispanics outnumber blacks, and Asians are gaining a foothold, his race-neutral "One Florida" plan, he says, has boosted minority enrollment in state universities and participation in state contracts. Last week the Bush team was hoping that Reno would protest the primary vote, provoking a Democratic civil war. "Justice for Janice" is, to say the least, an ironic slogan for the Florida GOP--especially given the Bush-Gore contest in 2000--but one the state's GOP leaders were gleefully using.
Still, re-election is hardly a done deal. Bush's voucher plans have been successfully challenged in the courts and widely panned by parents; the state's child-welfare agency is a shambles. Most organized minority groups loathe "One Florida." Most of all, Florida Democrats seethe with desire to avenge what they regard as the Stolen Election of 2000. The "deja vu all over again" events of last week just intensify the feeling. "This will just make people even more determined to throw Jeb out," says Kathy Dubin, the party chair in Palm Beach County.
In McBride, Democratic insiders thought they found the perfect candidate: an upcountry good ole boy with a sterling war record, moderate stands on the issues and enough of a Southern accent to talk to the Panhandle. The Bushies apparently agreed: they started bombarding McBride with TV ads in the primary, portraying him as a corporate fat-cat lawyer who cut rank-and-file salaries at his law firm while boosting partner profits. "We've got plenty of stuff saved up," said a member of Bush's inner circle. As for Bush, who last year considered dropping out of politics, it was time to gird himself for the stretch run--and, this being Florida, the likelihood of another election day that doesn't end.
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