Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, May 15, 1995 TAG: 9505160003
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: ROBERT LITTLE LANDMARK NEWS SERVICE
DATELINE: MOUNT VERNON LENGTH: Long
- Former Nixon aide G. Gordon Liddy, in his autobiography "Will, describing his family's early days in Washington in 1970.
All morning, she was poised. Maybe even a little chipper. But at the mention of that letter from the Democrats, Sandy Liddy Bourne slowly started to boil.
Sent by the state party chairman to the Democratic faithful, the letter made a quick, one-paragraph mention of Bourne's Republican bid for the Virginia House of Delegates. A bit stinging, maybe, though not unanticipated.
It called Bourne's challenge a formidable one. Tough race, it said. She could be ``relentless.'' Has a frightening potential to raise cash.
And all because of her father, of course. G. Gordon Liddy. The letter didn't take issue with Bourne, her principles or her politics. Only that her father is G. Gordon Liddy.
``How can they do that?'' Bourne huffed, clenching her fists and pursing her lips, then looking embarrassed for doing so.
``I mean, what about a woman's independence?'' she asked more calmly. ``What about a woman running on her own merits?''
Well, Democrats say they aren't yet concerned with Bourne's merits, only that she is challenging Del. Linda ``Toddy'' Puller for one of Northern Virginia's seats in the legislature. And that a campaign for the House of Delegates - typically low in stature among races for state office - has taken form as a battle of the celebrity namesakes.
Puller's late husband, Lewis B. Puller Jr., gained fame as the disabled Vietnam veteran who wrote a Pulitzer Prize-winning autobiography before killing himself last year.
And Bourne is the daughter of former Nixon aide G. Gordon Liddy. Talk radio's G-man. He of Watergate-burgling, conspiring-with-Cubans, flesh-in-the-fire fame.
``Virginia does some pretty bizarre things, doesn't it?'' laughed Suzie Wrenn, chairwoman of the Fairfax County Democratic Party.
``Can't we just have a quiet, simple race for a change?''
It's probably too soon to tell.
Both candidates promise their issues, not their identities, will steal the show. Bourne touts an agenda similar to Gov. George Allen's. Puller will preach the moderate mantra of Virginia Democrats.
But handlers in both parties practically salivate while pondering the dynamics of a race where Liddy can come into play.
Throughout the 1970s, the country cultivated an image of him as a kook, a crook and the mastermind of Nixon's Watergate disgrace. And now he's a wildly successful radio talk show host. A sort of poster boy for the pop culture of conservatism.
``Clearly, Liddy can excite passionate responses - but both pro and con,'' said Mark Warner, state Democratic Party chairman. ``However the race develops, that can't be underestimated.''
Whether Liddy himself will stir up that passion is unclear. Mostly.
He already has used his radio show to read Warner's letter, which warns Democrats that Liddy will likely use his ``access to the airwaves and taste for partisan battle'' to affect the campaign.
Liddy called it a clear attempt to use his name against his daughter, then asked listeners to send contributions to Bourne's campaign. Money has come in from across the country.
Beyond that, however, he said he won't likely get involved.
``There's a two-edged sword there,'' said Liddy, reached by phone after his syndicated talk radio program. ``I certainly support her in it and regard her very highly, but I'm not going to go into Virginia and campaign for her.
``I don't know whether that would end up being a net plus or a net minus for her.''
Democrats say Bourne's lineage won't be an issue, unless she makes it one.
But privately, a few of them gloat. Like they've secretly stumbled onto some perverse political ecstasy.
After all, Liddy once planned a $1-million smear campaign against the Democrats. He enlisted Cuban operatives to bug the Democratic National Committee.
Sure, that wasn't the Republican candidate, just her father. But use your imagination.
``Politics ain't beanbag,'' said Liddy, quoting former New York governor and presidential candidate Thomas E. Dewey. ``She knows that. We all know that. It's a tough business. But she's strong, and courageous, and I'm sure she can handle it.''
And just so rumors don't spread, he doesn't advise her on campaign strategy. Besides: ``I don't think my daughter knows any Cubans, operatives or otherwise,'' he chortled. ``They're all down in Miami. And they're getting a little long in the tooth, now.''
Puller wasn't among the Democrats who tried to plant a little off-the-record ordnance, saying only that the fall campaign stretch is too far off to estimate how close the race will be.
But she acknowledged the universal presumption: ``I assume she'll be able to raise quite a bit of money,'' she said.
The oldest of five children, Alexandra ``Sandy'' Liddy was born in 1958 in Gary, Ind., where her father worked as an FBI field agent. For years, her family moved around the country, as Liddy took various jobs with the bureau, as an attorney and as an assistant prosecutor.
Bourne got her first whiff of politics in New York in the late 1960s, stuffing envelopes to help her father's failed bid for a seat in Congress. That race ultimately earned Liddy a position coordinating Richard Nixon's 1968 presidential campaign in New York, which led to his first posting in Washington, as special assistant to the secretary of the Treasury.
The rest of the story, of course, has long since screamed from the headlines: Liddy goes to work for Nixon. He becomes a type of campaign spy. He plans a break-in at the Democratic headquarters in the Watergate Hotel. He goes to prison refusing to say a word about any of it.
Usually wide-eyed, Bourne wilts a bit when asked about Watergate.
``I was certainly going through things that a lot of other kids never had to go through,'' she said during an interview in Annandale.
``All my adolescence, my father was gone. We tried to keep him an active part of the family all the time, but it wasn't always easy.''
During Liddy's 52-month incarceration for nine Watergate felonies, she was a bit too young and ill-informed to understand Watergate's complexities, she said. But she believed in her father.
``I remember going to the public library and looking through law books, trying to find something to help him. But what could a 13-year-old girl do?'' she said.
``I was honoring my father and his choices, because I loved him and always wanted him home.''
The 1970s became her period of political rebellion - when she fancied herself an independent - and not until she was about 22 and out of school did her conservative Republican ideals mature.
If anything, her Watergate exposure planted a strong distrust for the government and the news media.
``But I believe in the system,'' she said.
Mostly, the Republican side of the system.
She is a volunteer veteran of several GOP campaigns, including Allen's bid for governor. Allen appointed her to the state Board of Nursing last year.
She also entered and won a race for a seat on the Northern Virginia Soil and Water Conservation District, a post she sought because of an annoying mound of construction dirt left near her home.
She was the top vote-getter on the ballot. The mound of dirt is gone.
Now 38, Bourne says it was the recent carjacking murder of a family friend that ultimately prodded her to run for office herself. That and her conviction that criminals need fewer breaks and harsher punishment. Much like her father, she also strongly supports gun rights. She won't say if she owns any guns herself.
Will the Liddy name on her campaign buttons make her tough-on-crime argument a little more hollow?
``I used that name when it was unpopular, I'm not going to stop now,'' she said.
In his autobiography "Will," Liddy mentions Bourne three or four times. Most references speak to her toughness. Or her ``fearlessness'' when confronted.
In the epilogue, he introduces Bourne as the daughter who paid for college by driving a diesel bus at night, armed with a basebell bat. When asked about her recently, Liddy told that story first.
``Oh, it was the campus bus. The shuttle. That's all it was,'' Bourne said. ``I only did it awhile.''
And the baseball bat?
``Yes, I had it maybe a few times. Just on the long runs across campus,'' Bourne said, rolling her eyes.
``I had a lot of jobs more noteworthy than that one, believe me. My father just likes to talk that story. Maybe after this he'll tell the story about me running for the House of Delegates.''
Keywords:
POLITICS PROFILE
Memo: ***CORRECTION***