On the morning of July 24, Senator Joseph Biden, his face contorted with rage, stared out from the pages of the New York Times, the Washington Post, and other newspapers. At a Senate Foreign Relations Committee hearing the previous day, he had erupted in a tirade at Secretary of State George Shultz over the Reagan administration’s policy toward the South African government, “We ask them to put up a timetable,” he said. “What is our timetable? Where do we stand morally? ... I hate to hear an administration and a secretary of state refusing to act on a morally abhorrent point. ... I’m ashamed of this country that puts out a policy like this that says nothing, nothing ... I’m ashamed of the lack of moral backbone to this policy.” Shultz insisted the administration’s policy had “tremendous moral backbone.” “What we want,” he explained, “is a society that they can all live in together. So I don’t turn my back on the whites and I would hope that you wouldn’t.” To which Biden responded, “I speak for the oppressed, whatever they happen to be.”



His performance might have struck some as insufferable moralizing, made worse by his incivility to Shultz, whose courtesy and patience are much appreciated on Capitol Hill. But it was vintage Biden. And it illustrates both his strengths and weaknesses as a probable candidate for the Democratic Party’s presidential nomination. Biden, 43 years old, is winning rave notices on the party speaking circuit as a dynamic and gifted orator with the courage to stand up to his party’s entrenched interest groups, and the skill and passion to make them like it. Around the Senate, however, with few exceptions his record has been that of a reliable ally of those interest groups. And the rhetorical fervor of his stump speeches and debating style have earned him the reputation of a man whose mouth often runs—and runs, and runs—well ahead of his mind.

Indeed, Biden gives the impression of utter spontaneity. It is an uncommon and in some ways charming quality, but it frequently gets him into trouble in the Senate. There was, for example, the defeat snatched from the jaws of victory the day Daniel Manion’s nomination as a federal appellate judge came before the full Senate. Biden was the Democrats’ floor manager. After stalling for days in the hope that opposition to Manion—a conservative of scant judicial credentials—would build, the Democrats suddenly announced they were ready to vote. Majority Leader Robert Dole, who had been calling all day for an immediate vote, found himself in the excruciating position of having to admit on the Senate floor before a crowded gallery, with the TV cameras rolling, that he wasn’t ready. Dole explained sheepishly that two members were out of town. Suddenly, and to the obvious surprise of Democratic leader Robert Byrd, Biden offered Dole two pairs—that is, to hold back two Democratic votes against Manion (including his own) to offset Dole’s absentees, in exchange for an immediate vote. Dole could hardly say no, and the vote began.

In the hallways, civil rights lobbyists said the Democrats had 51 firm votes and could afford to give away two, especially with the Republicans two short. But Republican Slade Gorton of Washington, who had opposed Manion because he had been unable to get a desired judicial appointment through the Justice Department, suddenly got the promise he had been waiting for and switched sides. The Democrats were still ahead, but at the last minute Republican Nancy Kassebaum of Kansas switched from voting against Manion to a pair with the absent Barry Goldwater. That left the vote tied and meant that Vice President Bush, presiding, would inevitably cast the deciding vote for Manion. “Mr. President,” Biden suddenly blurted, “I withdraw my pair. I vote no.” Then, moments later, “Mr. President, never mind. Forget I said that.” Byrd then did the only thing he could do and switched his vote to be on the winning side, so that he would be eligible under Senate rules to move to reconsider the vote. He did, but the matter was put off, and by the time the vote occurred weeks later on the motion to reconsider, the Republicans had enough votes to muster a tie that Bush broke in Manion’s favor.

Biden would later explain that his decision to grant the two pairs had been a calculated gamble, based on his belief that four of the commitments he held against Manion would be good for that day only, and that the four senators in question inevitably would yield to pressure afterward and back Manion. But the fact is, a winning position had been turned into a lost vote. And it is almost painful to imagine how a comparable episode, with Biden’s quickly retracted outburst about withdrawing his pair, would have been treated in the heat of a presidential campaign.