Why Is Rudy Smiling?

"The reason I ran for mayor of New York is the same reason I'm running for President of the United States: because I believe I can change things," Giuliani tells TIME — big things like America's dependence on foreign oil, its troubled health care system and the federal spending spree. "I believe I can make government more like a business ... a problem solver rather than a problem creator.

"Nobody believed I could do it," he continues. The secret to his success, he explains, in a pure expression of the motivational faith, is that he refuses to accept failure. "I believe there are sensible, commonsense things you can do that will make government once again look to people like a functioning, problem-solving organization."

Giuliani takes a similar approach to his signature issue, the fight against terrorism. Those memorable images of September 2001, Giuliani dusted with the soot of fallen buildings and atomized aircraft, give him automatic standing on this powerful topic in every corner of the country. Traveling by private jet (Gulfstream IV or better, his contract stipulates) and charging $100,000 for each speech, Giuliani reassures audiences that all America requires to prevail is confidence.

"We're good people," the candidate said recently to an audience in California's farm country. "We want to do business with people. That's what we're good at ...

"America doesn't like war. We didn't like the Vietnam War; we didn't like Korea." Without saying the word Iraq, he lets the audience make the connection, then moves on to the theme of bouncing back from mistakes. Terrorists "believe we're weak," he said. "They believe their perverted ideas are stronger than our ideas of freedom ... And they're wrong."

The huge applause that greets this last line is the root of Giuliani's seduction: he embodies the belief that America can, with the right attitude, redeem mistakes and succeed in the end, if we just stay positive.

The First Baptist North Spartanburg church in South Carolina is a theologically conservative success story, a suburban megachurch where 3,000 people have been known to show up for Sunday school. If social issues drive votes anywhere in America, it's around here. Yet Giuliani recently filled the fire station across the highway from First Baptist for a rally at which he was endorsed by the chairman of the county council and the executive director of the state firefighters association, who said, "Rudy Giuliani is the face of the response to 9/11."

One of the first people I met at the rally turned out to be a member of First Baptist church. His name was Paul Walters; he is a dentist, a Republican committeeman and a Giuliani fan. When I asked what his pastor might think of that, he just shook his head as if I was missing the point.

"Rudy can handle the social issues," Walters said confidently, because of his record in New York and because "people are going to look at the bigger issues, especially terrorism. Until we get a handle on that, the social issues will be down here," he said, gesturing at knee level.

A few minutes later, John McCarley, a weather-beaten cattleman with a deep drawl and a faded Yankees cap, echoed that analysis. "We're in an era where we need leadership," he said. "There will be social issues where we disagree, but ... we won't have a litmus test. He transcends that."

After five years of maneuvering into position, everything is suddenly moving much faster than Giuliani expected: the race for endorsements, the fund-raising schedule, the competition for staff members. The rush of major states to jump their primaries to Feb. 5 could compress months of campaigning into a handful of days. A faster schedule, with big urban states playing a major role in the primaries, should favor a well-known candidate with proven crossover appeal. "It's good for me, no question about it, from a tactical point of view," says Giuliani. Furthermore, Giuliani strategists believe his experience as a tireless campaigner for other Republicans during the past five years is good preparation for a race that will play out in a transcontinental blitz of airport rallies. He knows how to balance exhaustion and exposure without making a campaign-killing mistake. And he has friends in many places. According to Anthony Carbonetti, the candidate's longtime political adviser, Giuliani has done more than 150 political speeches across 42 states since leaving office, including an eight-day marathon in 2004 in which he spoke 22 times in 14 states.

For now, Giuliani is strangely low key. He hasn't yet outlined a campaign speech. He tends to meander from one talking point to the next, in a way that certainly isn't formal but isn't quite conversational either. Even these talking points seem improvised. I recently heard him address a big meeting of conservatives in Washington at which he chose to emphasize free-market competition to improve public schools. But when I asked him three days later to list his campaign priorities, education didn't make his top five.

He keeps forgetting to mention that he believes he would make a good President. ("I don't mean to toot my own horn," he said at the firehouse, when he finally remembered to boast.) Giuliani's biggest round of applause is usually the one when he's introduced.

But knowing how hot the spotlight soon will be, perhaps this muted approach is intentional. He chooses to avoid the center of the room as long as possible. And whenever he faces the press, Giuliani makes sure his handlers shout "Last question!" just moments after the first question is uttered. No news is good news for the Giuliani brand, and every quiet week that passes, the unlikely candidate is one week closer to rewriting the rules.