Salt Lake Steeler - Orrin Hatch's presidential campaign

National Review, August 9, 1999 by Jay Nordlinger

Orrin Hatch enters the fray.

Concord, N.H.

He's late, but he's in: Orrin Hatch is running for president. When he announced on July 1, he was only $36 million behind-that's the amount George W. Bush had raised. Said Hatch to the press, "I believe in miracles-and it will take one to elect me."

Why so late, in this age of the grossly early campaign? It took him a while to make up his mind. His family is opposed-not hostile, but cautious. He also believes that the $36 Million Man can't win the general-W. is flat-out "unelectable," says Hatch, quickly softening that to a "probably unelectable." Clearly, the longtime Utah senator regards Bush as a pampered upstart. "The media will make mincemeat out of him," he warns. And if W. does happen to reach the Oval Office, "his learning curve will be very steep."

Neither is Hatch a great fan of Sen. John McCain. He's a "true hero" for his courage in Vietnam, Hatch says, but would "destroy the Republican party" with his campaign-finance reform: "The Democrats would still have the big soft money from the unions, and we'd have nothing. It'd be the ruin of us." Hatch hopes to be the conservative alternative in the race should Bush do a swan dive.

One question to ask about Hatch's candidacy is, Why not? He's about as prominent a Republican politician as there is these days. He has served in the Senate since the mid '70s and been at the center of many a brawl-over abortion, taxes, the budget, Robert Bork, Clarence Thomas, and so on. He certainly has no problem with shyness: Over and over he declares that he's the best man for the job-"the most experienced, the most qualified, the most battle-hardened," the most everything. "I've got guts," he says, "and if I get a little money, I'll tell you what: I'll win this doggone thing." (Hatch has a large vocabulary of mild oaths, which he deploys liberally.)

Here in Concord, on Day One of his campaign, he has already hit on a gimmick. It seems that he was in a small gathering a couple of days ago, and the subject of W.'s $36 million came up. A woman said, "Why, Senator, all you need is for a million people to give you 36 dollars, and you're all caught up"-whereupon she ripped off a check for 36 bucks. Hatch keeps the check, laminated, in his breast pocket and waves it wherever he goes, exhorting the people to send similar checks to his campaign.

At every turn, he identifies himself with Ronald Reagan, recalling the "shining city on a hill" image the ex-president loves so well. He reminds people that he was Reagan's "principal surrogate" in the '80 campaign: "I was Nancy's date at a big dinner up here! And I was with them in their motel room, sitting on the couch, when the returns came in."

Like Reagan, Hatch is running as an "outsider," an "anti-Establishment" warrior-which may seem a little odd for the chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee. But, he protests, "I've been an outsider all of my life. The Establishment has never had any use for me. I've always been a thorn in their side, and I go my own way."

Hatch is also waging a bit-more than a bit-of a log-cabin campaign. People may think of him as a white-bread Salt Lake Mormon, but he's actually a gritty Pittsburgher, a poor steel-town boy who worked his way up from nothing. The family had no indoor plumbing, he says, which meant that the Hatch kids trooped 100 yards along a dirt path to an outhouse (which is why "I never pass up a bathroom"). He supported himself as a janitor and a lathe operator ("I was the fastest, the best," he brags, "and I could still do it darn well"). A break came when he won an honors scholarship to a Pittsburgh law school. "I know what it's like to be hungry," he avows.

And he is not above a little class warfare, noting that other candidates are "children of privilege." Does he feel a speck sheepish about using such language about his rivals? "Heck no!" he says defiantly, although with a half-smile and a twinkle. "We do have some class difference out there in the country. Why shouldn't I talk about it?" He plans to run "an unusual thing: a Republican campaign for the working people." He will get "the blacks, the Hispanics, and everyone else," he says. "The Democrats just want to exploit them. I want to help them." If given the chance, "I'll change the face of this party. We'll have a big Republican party for the people, not the fat cats-and we'll still do all right by the fat cats!"

All day long, he hammers his pet issues: the judiciary, taxes, foreign policy, guns. The next president "will appoint three Supreme Court justices!" he exclaims. "And half the federal judiciary! Clinton's already appointed one half. If the Democrats get the other half, we'll never get this country back!" On foreign policy, he is an unapologetic hawk, chastising his fellow Republicans (although not the internationalist McCain) for their creeping isolationism. As for taxes, he touts his record as a cutter, referring to the famed Kemp-Roth bill of 1978 as the "Kemp-Roth-Hatch bill." ("Well," he later insists, "it used to be called that!") When it comes to guns, he sees a division between those advocating controls and-how's this for bluntness?-"people who want to be free."