Karenna Gore Schiff

Squeezed into a sky box, scanning the arena, trying to absorb everything and miss nothing, CNN "Election 2000" co-anchor Judy Woodruff is like a sprinter waiting for the gun to sound--coiled intensity, total concentration, not a drop of sweat . . . yet. In minutes, President Clinton will begin his Monday night address at the Democratic National Convention.

When the history of the 2000 presidential campaign is written, Al Gore's visit to this little Mississippi River town may be just a footnote--or, just perhaps, a turning point. As midnight neared, it was here, with confetti flying, a fast blues number blaring, their hands high overhead, that the vice president and his wife, Tipper, danced on an outdoor stage as though they were at a well-fueled fraternity party. He looked like he could not have been happier.

When friends from every significant moment of Al Gore's life take the stage tonight at the Democratic National Convention, they will peel back the curtain on one of his campaign's central strategic calculations. To a far greater extent than rival George W. Bush, Gore is betting on biography as a means of reaching voters. Bush has talked less about his life story than almost any presidential candidate in recent memory.

Offering his life as a parable of America's promise, Joseph I. Lieberman accepted the Democratic vice presidential nomination Wednesday night with a vow to "break down the barriers" that limit the nation's possibilities. On the night the Democratic convention also affirmed Al Gore as the party's presidential standard-bearer, Lieberman stepped into history as the first Jew installed on a major party's national ticket. He marveled at the moment. "Is America a great country or what?" the U.S.

There is "a different kind of Republican" in the Bush campaign, and he's not the candidate. Young, darkly handsome and flawless in Spanish, George P. Bush embodies his uncle's slogan--a promise of difference--even more than his uncle, and in ways no political consultant could concoct. But being different from Uncle George is how "P"--as his family calls him--can help the candidate most. "People, first, when they look at me and my physical appearance, they don't expect George P.

WHEN anchor Bob Schieffer wanted to make it clear that he was tickled about his replacement on the "CBS Evening News," he invited Katie Couric to lunch at an understated Midtown restaurant where he knew they would be noticed. "I wanted everyone to know that I really like Katie," he said recently. "And if you want to get the word out, the easiest place to spread it is Michael's."

Al Gore's surge in the national presidential polls has been powered by women, and Beebee Shale is one of them. She wanted to vote for George W. Bush. But as the election heads into its final weeks, she finds herself comfortably in Gore's camp. "I didn't like Gore at first--all that Clinton stuff," said Shale, a 30-year-old suburban mother, shopping recently in downtown Chicago. "But then Clinton did the attempt at apology and Gore stood on his own at the convention. . . . I like that."

To much of America, he may be Mr. Environment. But at home, Al Gore was just another scofflaw. Finally one of his kids urged: "Dad, turn off the water when you're brushing your teeth!" He denounces violent images in entertainment. Yet one of his favorite movies is "The Matrix," a sci-fi film filled with blood and . . . gore. A minor contradiction in each case, to be sure. But they are emblematic of the sort of duality that defines Albert Arnold Gore Jr.

If he's a robot, she's his heartbeat. When Tipper Gore takes center stage at Staples Center on Thursday to introduce the vice president at the Democratic National Convention, she will speak both as a veteran political spouse and as the person Al Gore whispers to as he fades off to sleep. As for Tipper, her smile, her warmth and her confidence make her seem easy to know. Even those who fault her husband are inclined to have generous words for the woman he needs by his side.