Except for the primary results and assassinations which have confounded this Presidential year, perhaps the most stunning aspect of the campaign so far has been the astonishing frenzy of crowds across the nation for many of the candidates. Nothing like it has been seen in years.

Robert Kennedy nearly got his clothes torn off in Indiana and California. Middle-aged matrons in the Mountain States and suburbs of the South swoon whenever Ronald Reagan mounts the platform. George Wallace's appearance at the sikeningly plush Sheraton Boston Hotel resembled an old-style political revival. Nelson Rockefeller pulled thousands of Wall St. bankers and their secretaries from the ticker tapes to an hour-long rally in tropical heat. And even cool Eugene McCarthy has had to start kissing babies.

Amidst all this, both parties are rushing ass-backwards toward the nominations of the two dullest candidates in the field--Richard Nixon and Hubert Humphrey. Party leaders on both sides, as reports from the governors' conference in Cincinnati suggest, view this prospect with something less than riotous enthusiasm. They seem to think that the screaming, grabbing, tugging, and titers may be more than discontent over rising crime rates and Vietnam.

In fact, the top issue of the campaign may not be any kind of vague diplomatic or legislative program--although the candidates try hard to differentiate themselves here--but what a Dedham real estate man terms "strong, trustworthy leadership." Voters, as a whole, seem less outraged by Mayor Lindsay's anguished call that "we've gotten off the track" than by drift in Vietnam, dabbling with inflation, and shilly-shallying on riots. Lyndon Johnson's oft-affirmed practice of seeking a high middle ground has gotten him--and men like Nixon and Humphrey--in more hot water than the grinding poverty and casualty rates which produce the most extreme forms of protest.

This is not to say that the nation necessarily wants a Boulanger in charge. What the campaign so far does suggest, however, is that most voters are confused by the war, unsure about what to do about urban blight, and dismayed by charges of pervasive racism. They want more than a welter of new commitments, more than a mind-boggling array of plans to finance urban redevelopment. Rather, they want precisely what Lyndon Johnson has not given them--a kind of rhetorical coherence, a feeling that if the problems are tough, at last someone has a decent idea of how to start dealing with them. Americans--students and black militants aside--are too smart to demand immediate solutions. They merely want something said and done that holds promise and makes sense.

The trouble with Nixon and Humphrey is that they may be forever tarred by their identification with policies and decades blamed for the current mess. They are suffering form a rather logical--if unfair--guilt by association. But the apparent demand for newness and coherence, reflected in the apathy toward the front-runners and frenzy over the dark-horses, may be an intolerable burden for any of the candidates. That is because the issues which are the guts of the national discontent are simply not susceptible--in any serious sense--to the kind of simplistic critical discussion going on today.

For example, take the candidate's attitude towards urban problems. McCarthy bickered for weeks with many of his backers, over whether to state that domestic turmoil was, in terms of national priority, more important than foreign policy. What this actually means for a prospective McCarthy Presidency is unclear. For McCarthy will have to carry on the normal tricky business of diplomacy with allies and enemies alike. Anyway, a statement merely setting a vague priority is meaningless. If, instated McCarthy is thinking of reappraising the value of our alliances or military aid programs, that is something else--a genuine occasion for a full-blown national debate. But a brief rhetorical sop to alienated liberals and blacks is a guide to nothing.

McCarthy is not the only one guilty of recognizing problems, but failing to grapple with them publicly. Nixon, Rockefeller, and Humphrey have wasted a lot of energy talking about the virtues of private enterprise and various schemes to route private financial investment into ghetto development. Thinking liberals and blacks, so long starved for any attention from national politicians, are, naturally, greatly encouraged.

Sadly, their encouragement is such that they refuse to ask hard questions--like what happens if public bonds for ghetto investment achieve only modest success in money markets. They have also refused to grapple with the obvious pitfalls of turning over power and authority normally residing in Washington to the state capitals. De-centralization is a good vote-getting phrase. Once operative, though, it may make a bigger mess than the one in Washington.

Public education, of course, is a tough business. Most politicians pay lip service to the theory, and prefer to let congressional committees and blue-ribbon panels do the spadework in comparative privacy. Perhaps it is too early to ask for anything else. But the feeling persists that we are witnessing a phony debate in a time when the voters are more eager than ever for genuine open contention and debate.

Simply put, the byzantine machinations of government a la Johnson have stirred the nation form its customary political apathy. That is why the cords are so large, noisy, and unruly. What the politicians have forgotten, though, is that the crowds signify more than chaos, more than a desire for a good time. They reflect a deep popular desire to see the issues discussed with an almost un-American clarity and candor. And that is why the next President, whoever he is, may find to his dismay that new politics means not only greater public participation, but an increasingly demanding and critical public intelligence.

Wallace, Reagan, Rockefeller, and McCarthy are not necessarily new politicians. But voters seem to think that, unlike Nixon and Humphrey, they aren't old-style con men.