The other imponderable, Goldwater can be discussed, and Volpe shows no reluctance to explain his quasi-endorsement of the Senator: "I'll vote for him as the Republican standardbearer. He was not my first or second choice. I disagree with him on civil rights, labor-management relations, and nuclear responsibility. I can only ask the voters to keep the national and state tickets separate."
Many interpretations have been placed on Volpe's decisions to back the national ticket. Some observers have noted that some Republican fund raisers in the state, most prominently Lloyd Waring, support Goldwater wholeheartedly. However, Volpe's stand has probably hurt him financially by alienating some very wealthy liberal Republicans. This week the ex-Governor used these words to ask a Lawrence factory owner for funds: "This Goldwater thing has emptied the coffers. We need your help."
Bellotti has concentrated on the Goldwater issue, calling Volpe "a party to the coalition of reaction." To illustrate the ex-Governor's "inhumanity," the Democratic nominee tells audiences that Volpe refused in 1962 to implment fully the Federal Manpower Retraining Act. The charge, claims Volpe, is groundless since the Act was then just beginning to oper ate: "Bellotti deals in glittering generalities about Goldwater. Just glittering generalities."
Ironically the charge of "glittering generalities" has usually been used by Volpe's opponents. For years he has suffered a reputation for blandness. This image results primarily from newspaper accounts of his speeches and press conferences. The ex-Governor is addicted to the cliche; if separated from the staccato directness of his voice and the energetic briskness of his gestures, his words seem hopelessly commonplace. Wednesday he began an address to the student body of Westport Academy by celebrating "all these bright shining faces of young people wanting to learn how to be good, solid citizens." He continued the string of hackneyed phrases for ten minutes, but the vigor and excitement of his voice triumphed in the end, and the students awarded him a crescendo of sincere applause.
In alertness and enthusiasm, he dwarfs those around him, frequently snapping at his ragged staff to "be more on the ball." His frustration is justified, for he is surrounded by men of little stature and small ambition. This week's factory tours were repeatedly stalled by the forgetfulness of his aides. Outside each plant an absurd litany would ripple through the staff: "Where's the car?...Have you got his coat and hat?...Where in God's name are we?"
Amid this confusion, Volpe would stand silent, angry, and detached. Adoring order, he shows little patience with indecision or vacillation. Each morning, no matter what the circumstances, he attends Mass. Nearly every afternoon he stops the campaign caravan to visit a local priest. At four o'clock every day he insists on drinking a large frappe and reading the Herald-Traveler. His whole life seems one long constitutional, and he lives it not as a mundane routine but as a stoic and invigorating regimen.
Part of that regimen is politics, and it is impossible to conceive of the man returning quietly to civilian life, mellowered by defeat. If he loses his adrenalin will force him to try again