ALTHOUGH HE has yet to take office as governor, a pattern of Parris Glendening's style and governance is beginning to take shape. Essentially it's all slipping and sliding.
Mr. Glendening's campaign, like Churchill's pudding, had no theme. Lacking a clear and compelling message, he's now taking a Clintonesque look at the November vote and trying to assemble the scattered pieces into a vendible philosophy of government. A smart hunter doesn't stop to ask for directions. There is, too, the suspicion that Mr. Glendening's preparing to straddle the middle in case the November election results are thrown out and he has to run against Republican Ellen Sauerbrey again. Here's what we have so far.
He's wriggled and writhed on the issue of tighter gun control measures even though he pledged during the campaign to tighten the screw another notch on ownership of assault weapons. Mr. Glendening now says the timing's not right for another showdown with the gun lobby.
And he's weaseled on the matter of state-funded Medicaid abortions for the poor after campaigning as a self-proclaimed champion on that very issue. He now says he wants to study the matter further.
And he's promising to rejigger Gov. William Donald Schaefer's final budget -- which he has every right to do -- to hold back on spending for social programs so he can fund a business tax cut.
But it's more in the way Mr. Glendening's arranging the organization chart on the second floor of the State House that tells something about the way he operates.
Wave goodbye to all of the Baltimore connections in Annapolis, except for those who almost certainly will be installed in the Glendening administration by Mayor Kurt Schmoke. And give a great big welcome to the newly arrived Robopols from PeeGee.
First, Mr. Glendening's dismantling the House that Schaefer built and replacing it with a tag-team framed in his own image and likeness -- a smart thing to do. To paraphrase the world's best known political consultant, Niccolo Machiavelli, a clever politician never allows a second power center to develop.
To be sure, Mr. Glendening's rearranging some of the deck furniture to accommodate holdovers from the Schaefer years and beyond. But several major players, such as the durable budget secretary, Charles Benton, will get a gold watch. Mr. Benton's being replaced by Prince George's budget chief, Marita Brown.
Yet it's not so much who Mr. Glendening's bringing to state government but how he's structuring his team. Already the picket fence is going up around the next governor.
From Prince George's County he's recruiting a gonzo chief of staff, Major F. Riddick Jr., the first black to hold the position of what amounts to a de facto governor of Maryland. But here's the hitch: Mr. Glendening's creating four deputy chiefs-of-staff. That's in addition to the other 70 or 80 people who'll constitute his personal staff.
Now there's probably not another governor's staff in the country, probably not even the White House, that has four deputy chiefs of staff.
So in a techno-age when the management pyramid has changed, and managers are hands-on workers as well as bosses, Mr. Glendening seems to be resorting to an archaic management paradigm: The fewer people who report to the top the more convenient for the person at the pyramid's tip.
Mr. Glendening argues that such an arrangement will free him up from the nitty-gritty of the governorship and allow him to zoom out on big picture issues. Translation: such a deployment insulates a governor from all but the tight little circle of loyalists and cronies who are allowed to penetrate the inner sanctum of the governor's office.
Some Prince George's County observers say that's the way Mr. Glendening operated for 12 years as county executive. And a copycat version appears to be the grid that will dominate the State House for at least the next four years.
Woodrow Wilson observed that, "The ear of the leader must ring with the voices of the people." That's pretty good advice.
For it's not so much who populates the second floor of the State House or how the flowcharts intersect and the boxes reconnect in their meandering ways. A governor can learn a lot in a half-hour bull session every morning with all the senior members of his staff and not just the chief and his four deputies with their briefing papers and their legal pads.
Shutting out all but the chosen five is the easy way of blocking competing points of view as well as diverting political intelligence from benighted areas of the state. And a speechwriter, for example, who spends no time with the governor will write a lousy speech. The rhythms, cadences and phrases will not ring true from the governor's lips but will limp along as the crude guesswork of the speechwriter.
And the all-important meetings with those pesky advocacy groups as well as citizens' organizations are an invaluable source of information. But perhaps nothing is as important as a statewide network of well-placed political suck-ups who'll call to report every time a court clerk in a county seat licks a stamp.
Information is power. But in the end, power is not so much having information but knowing what to do with it once it's in hand.
Power to the people.
Frank A. DeFilippo writes on Maryland politics from Owings Mills.