A student wants to know, in light of the disillusionment of some supporters with his post-convention actions, if he can count on their help in 1972.

"I said I wasn't going to speculate on subjunctive clauses: 'What would happen if," he says. It's a familiar McCarthy rejoinder, usually reserved for Face the Nation panelists with their multi-level loaded questions. In that context, it's an effective evasion. But is it really appropriate when courting a small student audience? Would he have been that perfunctory in 1968? Is he getting sloppier the second time around?

Maybe so. He answers a question about forming a fourth party by taking a swipe at an entire state. "It'll be hard to get on the ballot in North Carolina," he says, "but who cares?" In 1968, that statement might have produced headlines in North Carolina: "Senator Thinks North Carolina Unimportant" or "Who cares about North Carolina--McCarthy." But now, as the man says, who cares? If he isn't losing any sleep over the fair state of North Carolina and their 13 electoral votes, does anyone else care about his put down?

The students aren't bitter or hostile, but their questions imply criticism. Does McCarthy wish he had supported Humphrey earlier and more actively when he sees the caliber of Nixon Supreme Court nominees?

The question hits a raw nerve. He's been asked this before, countless times, and resents being cast as the unwitting architect of Nixon's victory. He answers with poorly concealed distaste.

"I haven't found anybody who voted for Humphrey because I told them to," he says, "or said they would have voted for him if I'd endorsed him a week earlier or if I had been more enthusiastic about it. How could I have been?"

V.

And the meeting continues in this same vein, more a press conference than a pep talk. Finally, about an hour after he arrived, McCarthy is ready to go. He'll take one more question.

"Do you want to be President?" a student calls from the back of the room. Everyone, including the Candidate, laughs. It really is a funny question, considering.

For anyone but McCarthy, the question would mean, "Will you run for President?" But McCarthy is clearly running. In his case, the question means, "Are we supposed to take you seriously or is this just an intellectual exercise at our expense?"

"Well did he want to be the President?" wondered Arthur Herzog in McCarthy for President, his book about the 1968 campaign. "He was 'willing,' again, the right answer from the intellectual's point of view, but the wrong one from the conventional politican's. Ambiguity appeared to be a quality which, however human, Americans did not like to contemplate in a President."

Does he want to be President? Four years later they're still asking the same question. "I don't think anybody should want to be," McCarthy says. "I think you should be willing to be. That's a more rational commitment." Willing. Four years later the answer is still the same.

In 1968, the students in the room considered that position refreshing. "He's no ruthless opportunist," they used to say. "Just think, he doesn't even want to be President!"

It's different now. McCarthy can promote his "willingness," but he'll have to do it virtually alone. Most of his young idealists want a serious campaign, not a symbolic gesture.

The meeting ends. Students "interested in Mr. McCarthy's plans for 1972," presumably those who want to help him advertise his availability but not desire for high office, are asked to fill out cards.