True, many people recoil at his famous smirk. But Bush knows how to signal incredulity with a slightly cocked head and a flicker of eyebrow-arch. His more emphatic brows-raised, lips-puckered look says: "Get a load of that blowhard." He has a half-wink that signals he is about to land a punch and a half-squint that says, "I really, really mean what I'm saying now."
Among the most effective moments in Bush's debate career came in his third and last encounter with Gore in 2000, and it stemmed not from verbal prowess but from acting skills.
The format that night allowed the candidates to roam about the stage. Gore was trying to bear down on a mushy answer that Bush was giving on a controversial topic. As if to underline his strength and Bush's weakness, Gore edged closer and closer to his opponent until he was looming behind him like the monster on the late, late show. Bush turned slightly, did a quick double take, and reduced the audience to laughter.
Deflated, Gore returned to his stool.
Bush matches these signals to a speaking style no professional debate coach would ever approve. Judging from the evidence, it works for him. According to friends and advisers, Bush has a West Texas conviction that people who talk fancy are not to be trusted. So, they say, he tries to project steadfastness and sincerity by using short, simple declarative sentences and a lot of one- and two-syllable words.
In his first televised debate, in which Bush challenged the well-spoken Richards, the novice was cool as a creek while dodging her attacks on his inexperience. But his strongest moment may have come when he was asked about casino gambling.
"I'm opposed to casino gambling," he answered. And shut up.
Richards spoke next. She said she, too, was against casinos, but then went on at length to explain all the exigencies of law and policy that might someday force her to change her mind. When she finally finished, the moderators asked Bush if he wanted to expand his answer.
Flashing his "what a blowhard" look, Bush declined. "I oppose casino gambling," he repeated.
It so happens that one thing Kerry and Bush have in common is the classic comedy "Animal House." Kerry has said it is his favorite movie, while Bush was president of the fraternity that has been called Yale's nearest approximation of the mythical miscreants of Faber College.
The film holds a clue both to Bush's debate skills and to his likely strategy for engaging Kerry on the unspoken, emotional level of television. A toga-clad John Belushi enters the frame. The audience already knows that he's a fairly inarticulate character with a loose grip on the facts. Halfway down a flight of stairs he encounters a long-faced, very earnest fellow strumming a guitar and singing to a group of young women who might well be Romance language majors.
The camera homes in, devastatingly, on Belushi's contemptuously arched eyebrow.
You don't have to guess which candidate is which here. The guitar-playing Kerry, who once bragged to Vogue magazine that his chocolate chip cookies are special because he uses imported Swiss chocolate, and the frat house wiseguy Bush.
But that's not the persona Kerry displayed in 1996, during his marathon of televised debates against Gov. William F. Weld of Massachusetts. That Kerry was a puncher, not a poseur. Kerry is a classically trained debater, having learned the ropes on debate teams at prep school and at Yale. Kerry is quick on his feet, he pushes hard and he can be ruthless.
