Listening Jeb Bush

THE campaign trail in Florida ought to be fun. One evening you are in Little Haiti, a black district of Miami, where ear-splitting, hand-clapping gospel music precedes the candidates' debate. Next day you are enveloped in the expensive courtesy of DisneyWorld, and then in the country-music sticky-barbecue jollity of a grand horse ranch. But Jeb Bush, the Republican candidate for governor, does not seem to be enjoying it. His smile seems to hurt him, and for much of the time his chunky, handsome visage is clouded with a frown. After performing in DisneyWorld, he answers a few questions cordially, and then you can almost hear him groaning. “Can we go?” he asks.

With a name like Bush, you cannot escape family comparisons, and these can be unkind. Jeb's older brother, Governor George Bush of Texas, is a master of the sweaty handshake, the shoulder-squeeze, the wisecrack: there is no hint of got-to-keep-on-schedule in his eyes. But even Jeb's supporters would not claim the same for him. “He does not suffer fools gladly,” says Tom Feeney, Jeb's running-mate in his unsuccessful campaign for governor four years ago. “He's uptight,” concedes Willy Logan, a state congressman who has endorsed the Jeb campaign. If Texas George has the twinkly charm of Bill Clinton, Jeb has something of Al Gore's goody-goody inhibition—indeed, something of his father, preppy President George. He is serious, caring, disciplined and stiff.