The ideal salesman looks honest and talks persuasively and sincerely. An engaging smile, solid handshake, confident tone, and eye-to-eye delivery are the usual tools. If his conversation tends to be folksy without too much familiarity, it is all the better. And if he knows a few well-worn yarns and catchy cliches, why that, too, comes in handy.

George Wilcken Romney has the features of an ideal salesman. His broad shoulders, handsome face, and square jaw give him an athletic look. His dark hair, blending into white at the hairline, adds dignity to his rugged appearance. For most of his 59 years, Romney has been a salesman--now he's the politician with the salesman's style. In public and private, he talks with the same force and verbosity; his speech is quick and idiomatic, and, at the same time, earnest and humorless without a trace of wit or sarcasm. He smiles incessantly, but his laughs are usually reserved for uncomfortable moments at press conferences when reporters prick him with those touchy questions he has no intention of answering.

Romney's public--and private--image of simple goodness is something he sincerely believes and upholds. He often prays and fasts before making important decisions--like whether to run for office. A devout Mormon, he abstains from alcohol, tobacco, and coffee. Although Romney frequently attacks America's "moral decline" while campaigning, he avoided this topic at Harvard except to comment, in typical evangelistic vagueness, "The principal deficiencies in this country in the future are going to develop in the field of personal responsibility, family responsibility, and private institutional responsibility."

Missionary and Salesman

Two constant strains during Romney's life have been his firm Mormon convictions and his knack for selling. As a Mormon missionary in Britain for two years, as an aluminum salesman in Los Angeles, as an Alcoa lobbyist in Washington during the New Deal, as chief spokesman for the Automobile Manufacturers Association during World War II, he was an intense, determined seller.

When he became chairman, president, and general manager of American Motors in 1954, the company was in financial straits. It was Romney who led the public relations campaigns for the new "compact" Rambler to compete against what he termed "gas-guzzling dinosaurs" of the bigger companies. American Motors stopped production of its large cars, the already poor-selling Nash and Hudson, and concentrated on the Rambler. By the time Romney resigned to run for the Michigan governorship in 1962, American Motors was a money-maker.

Romney the missionary, lobbyist, and salesman committed himself to his product. He knew what he was promoting thoroughly and was apparently able to persuade people. Romney the politician and presidential aspirant must sell his record, his ideas, and himself. The last two are not easy to promote, even for the master of public relations, but his record is a near cinch.

For one thing, he has always been a winner, and his majority in last fall's gubernatorial election (his third ) was larger than ever. For another, Romney has gained the reputation of an apolitical, progressive business wizard who solved Michigan's fiscal problems. Aided by the economic boom of the past few years, Romney has obliterated his state's financial debt even though his own budgets increasingly exceed those of his Democratic predecessors.

Michigan still does not have an income tax, and revenues depend upon high property and sales taxes. Romney introduced a proposal for a graduated income tax in 1963, but the Republican legislature voted it down. After reapportionment, a Democratic legislature passed his minimum-wage law--Michigan's first.

Romney's civil rights record is strong. When questioned on open housing, he explains that he helped write the state constitution, which has "comprehensive civil-rights guarantees, including open occupancy in housing." Three years ago, Romney joined Dr. Martin Luther King's march in Detroit.

Government-baiting Liberal

In brief, Romney's administration in Michigan has been more liberal than many of his public statements. "It's quite apparent that we have an excessively expensive welfare administrative structure," declares the man who campaigned in industrial areas last fall on his progressive record in education, mental health, pollution control, and social welfare. His frequent lapses into anti-Big Government slogans are typical of his equivocal positions.

As a presidential hopeful, Romney is in a bind. He is far too liberal for the Michigan old-guard Republicans, and many conservatives in the GOP are hostile to him for refusing to endorse Gold -water in 1964. With Richard Nixon hovering over him and with George Wallace prepared to run as a third-party candidate, Romney finds himself in a precarious position within the GOP.

He bears a good deal of resemblance to the Eisenhower of 1952. He has the same apolitical, up-with-purity-and-unity image. As with Eisenhower, he is a midwesterner with the backing of Eastern Republicans; his support does not stem from his policies and statements. Romney's appeal rests upon his supposed ability to defeat a President increasingly regarded as insincere and dishonest.

Fuzzy

If Romney had to win by selling ideas, he would be a sure loser. Even his most specific comments on domestic issues rarely go beyond platitudes. He's even more cloudy on foreign affairs.

"Governor Romney, do you favor a negative income tax?"

"Well, I think it's one one of the things we have to take a look at. I'm considering it, but I have not reached a conclusion with respect to that particular approach." Romney cannot shrug off a question. Instead, he fondles it a while, then tosses it back to the questioner.

Part of his problem is a rhetorical one. His speech is filled with heavy, meaningless phrases such as "historical relationships," "long, hard look," "broader understanding," or "great future significance." His responses usually begin with a "Well..." soon followed by a vague "and consesequently." When he anticipates the end of a rough sentence, his pace quickens and his tone of voice rises, as though he were a student, completing with relief an inadequate answer and trying to imply how simple the question was, and how clear the reply.

"George's only sin," quipped a Detroit reporter recently, "is his syntax." He can blunder horribly through sentences, as in this appraisal of the domino theory in Vietnam when the U.S. committed land troops: "Well, I think the situation is quite different today than it was then, and I think that this is obvious as a result of our having become more involved there and as a result of other nations who are involved with us today that were not involved to the same extent in that period."

His lack of knowledge on many domestic and most foreign issues magnifies his verbal ineptitude. He is not trying to be ambiguous and deceptive; he simply is uncertain and does not have enough facts to circumvent issues and still satisfy his listener. At a press conference last year, he discussed the "British blockade of Nigeria."

A brief trip to Vietnam two years ago did nothing to clarify his viewpoint, and he now plans another trip "to take a fresh look." His statements on Vietnam last year were so confusing that he now refrains from commenting, except to say that the U.S. should have taken a longer, harder look before becoming involved; that there are many aspects, including the historical and tactical ones; that he will thoroughly study the situation and voice his opinions at the proper time; that as one who has made no mistakes there, he does not have anything to defend in connection with Vietnam; that he does not have access to classified information and cannot discuss specifics; that it would be imprudent to comment because the situation could change considerably in six months.

It clearly irritates the press and Republican leaders to hear such irresolution, even though they realize that a firm stand against the bombing, for example, would open Romney to severe attacks from hawkish rivals within his Party. A Washington reporter, after a long talk with Romney, offered, "Deep down, he's really very shallow." It is now a standing joke.

But Romney's main political drawback is his self-righteousness. Any midwestern Puritan with inflexible religious convictions and a strong ego would be hard to stomach at times. Romney does not consider himself a politician and has belittled legislators who vote on party lines rather than on "what's right." Romney thinks he is right, and he needs to be right. His indecision on the major issues is more than political necessity; a fear of ever being wrong is ingrained deeply within him.

He has criticized President Johnson for political expediency. When asked for examples, he replied, "Well, as I have indicated previously, there are some perfectly obvious instances, and I don't think it is necessary for me to enumerate them, and I don't plan to do so."

When questioned about his own expediency--whether he would report his findings in Vietnam, even if they were unpopular in the U.S.--Romney was outraged. Why, the idea. He waved his finger at the questioner while rattling off a sanctimonious reply.

The Jabbing Finger

A Harvard undergraduate reporter asked Romney if a Vietnam pullout would endanger all Southeast Asia. He lectured the student for asking questions which had also been asked in off-the-record sessions. After the taped interview was over, the finger jabbed once again and Romney railed, "You took advantage of me; I don't like that one bit." Later, he indicated that the whole line of questioning bothered him. Another student, after challenging Romney on a statement at a cocktail party was taken aback by the governor's sharp reply. "The Romney finger" is well known among his Michigan opponents.

The voters, however, clearly do not mind his holiness complex; his record is progressive, and his public relations is good. Michigan's Democrats, who have controlled the state legislature since the reapportionment, have had to accept Romney and work with him. But they still do not like him.

Zoltan Ferency, his Democratic opponent last fall, sums it up well: "It's all right for George to want to be President, but I object to his using the White House as a stepping stone."