THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, November 3, 1996 TAG: 9610300103
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY KRYS STEFANSKY, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: 147 lines
HE LOOKS familiar, but she just can't place him.
That silver shock of hair. That wool sweater to hide the tie.
And the shoes. Nobody wears brown leather wingtips to eat shrimp out in a field at the Suffolk Peanut Fest.
It's muddy. The shoes are taking a hit.
There's something else, that charisma, that aura that draws Debbie Norris.
``Who is that?'' Norris finally asks.
John Warner, United States senator, pumps another hand.
The crowd opens and closes but never quite absorbs him. He walks along, a buffer of air all around. Those blue eyes, that puckered brow, that head tilted to the side ready to hear praise or complaint. Guys in suits hover at a discreet distance. Cameras click.
When celebrity comes to town, people notice. And the senior senator from Virginia, for all his political acumen, is celebrity.
This is, yes, the man who served as assistant U.S. attorney, who was secretary of the Navy. But who was also once married to the most glamorous woman in the world and who hobnobbed with the rich and beautiful in Hollywood. More than a few of the goggle-eyed want to rub shoulders with the man who once rubbed shoulders with Liz Taylor.
It's all there - enough political power and mystique to turn the heads of even non-Republicans.
The campaign trail is long, includes a lot of parades and fairs, a lot of chicken dinners, a lot of critics and admiring fans. Countless flashes of recognition. Striding along, shaking hands, slapping backs, Warner doesn't seem to notice the ripple he causes.
Passersby, beers in hand, take second looks over their shoulders at the distinguished gentleman from Virginia. They poke each other in the ribs. So that's Liz's ex.
``Oh,'' says Norris, looking the candidate up and down. ``He looks different than he does on television. He's usually in a suit.''
Jane Scheeley, a Suffolk teacher, spies the admiring amoeba that bobs and weaves around the fellow with the gray hair and makes the connection. She gathers up her nerve, walks up to Warner and introduces herself.
``I got to shake his hand,'' she gushes later. ``Wow! He's one of the few honest politicians left.''
Warner heads toward the end of the dinner line but never takes his place.
``How long does it take to get through?'' he asks of no one in particular. His words barely hang in the air, when someone hustles up and ushers him toward the front.
``I'm kind of hungry,'' he mutters, and holds out his plate for chicken.
The server, a middle-aged woman, smiles and puts not one but two crispy pieces on his plate. Warner moves along, collecting cole slaw and barbecue and nodding at the enormous biscuit Tom Faucett pulls loose for him.
Biggest biscuit in the pan?
``Of course,'' grins Faucett, who is 60 and retired from NADEP in Norfolk. Some of Warner's biggest fans are military folk and civilians whose livelihoods depend on its hardware.
After three terms and as many campaigns, Warner can eat off a paper plate while standing and at the same time recite the reasons voters should trust him. He can talk deficit, gun control, Navy carriers and Bosnia, wrestle a plastic fork back into a tough chicken breast and wave halfway across the tent at a supporter, without missing a bite.
Warner swallows and says, ``I like campaigning. This is my fifth stop today.''
Turning heads and giving the average Joe a little thrill is fun.
People who dart across the void to press the flesh walk back to their friends kind of puffed up with their nerve. Old Navy salts flush and get misty-eyed. Shipyard workers swear he's the only choice.
``Well, he's the one as far as I'm concerned,'' says David Pickens as he shoves the hand that shook Warner's back in his pocket. Pickens has spent 17 years at the Newport News shipyard.
It's no coincidence that Warner's wearing the ballcap embroidered with the name and number of the USS Virginia.
``I named that ship when I was secretary of the Navy,'' he says, snagging an opportunity to remind voters of his resume. ``And my daughter christened that ship. That's my campaign - jobs for Virginia. Keep what we've got and get as many as we can from the other states.''
Gulping dinner, Warner shakes ``hands'' with his elbow and talks about how he likes to cook, swordfish and bluefish especially.
He sounds like any other bachelor who fiddles around over the grill.
A crumb of fried chicken stuck to his cheek, he climbs back into the car chauffeured by the guys in suits.
Forty-five minutes later, Warner arrives at the Greenbrier Holiday Inn for a dinner held by the Republican Party of Chesapeake. Chicken again, this time baked.
Women in sequined dresses and elephant-motif jewelry and men in dark suits wait to welcome their fellow Virginian. But his single status is attractive to womenfolk even beyond his home state.
In the car, Warner has traded his sweater for a suit coat but hasn't had a chance to do anything about the shoes.
``For a former Marine to walk around in these shoes, c'mon guys, I wouldn't pass inspection,'' he says, laughing on his way down the hotel hallway.
Marli Francis doesn't notice his shoes. The executive from California is here on business. Just back from jogging, Francis eyes Warner as she passes him in the hall on her way to her room.
That flicker again. She spins on her heel and comes back.
``Who is that?'' she asks several bystanders waiting outside the dining room. ``Oh, my God, John Warner? I didn't realize it was him. I just thought, what a handsome man, and he looked so familiar. I was embarrassed to say hello to him, but I did. It was my moxie, you know. Oh, God. I know him from way, way back from his Elizabeth Taylor days.''
Francis, in black Spandex leggings, snug red turtleneck and running shoes, gathers up her courage and strides back toward the senator.
``I want to vote for you absentee, my dear man,'' she says, sticking out her hand then gesturing at her revealing getup, ``I'm sorry, I was running.''
Warner clasps her hand, runs his eyes up and down her figure and shoots his bushy eyebrows skyward.
``Lookin' good,'' he says. Francis flushes scarlet.
``This is the highlight of my trip, to meet him,'' she gasps, hand clutched to her chest, eyes on Warner as he heads toward the crowd in evening clothes. ILLUSTRATION: Color photos/BETH BERGMAN/The Virginian-Pilot
RIGHT: At a campaign stop at Nauticus in Norfolk, U.S. Sen. John
Warner playfully rests his hands on the head of Forrest Allen, 5,
son of Gov. George Allen.
Barbara Reinig, center, visiting from Orange County, California,
watches as John Warner talks with the media outside the MacArthur
Memorial in Norfolk. ``Too bad Liz wasn't with him,'' she said.
``Did he remarry?''
RIGHT: After talking with a local TV reporter, John Warner moves on
to bigger things, namely a Washington Post reporter, right, who had
come to Norfolk to follow the senator at the comissioning of the
Cheyenne.
BELOW: Alan Hines, wearing a Dr. Seuss hat, notices the commotion
caused by Warner at the Shrimp Feast in Suffolk.
At a GOP event in Chesapeake, Alice Folder, left, reminds Sen.
Warner that she is neither Republican nor Democrat, but a staunchly
independent voter.
Marli Francis of Tiburon, Calif., was staying at the Holiday Inn in
Chesapeake when Sen. Warner flew in for a dinner held by the
Republican Party of Chesapeake. She ran into him unexpectedly after
going jogging. ``This is the highlight of my trip, to meet him,''
she gasped.
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