Monday, September 29, 2003

STRICKLAND, MCCORMICK SCORE WITH STRAW-POLLERS

STRICKLAND, MCCORMICK SCORE WITH STRAW-POLLERS

Posted By on Mon, Sep 29, 2003 at 4:00 AM

For what it's worth, the attendees at District Attorney General Bill Gibbons' annual fundraising fish fry, held at the Catholic Club on Saturday, have signaled their druthers in the forthcoming Memphis city election. A straw poll shows that if Gibbons' boosters -- a middle-of-the-road crowd with moderate Republican tendencies -- had their way, the mayoral victor would be incumbent Willie Herenton; the elected councilmen would include incumbents E.C. Jones (District 1) and Myron Lowery (Super-district 8, Position 3), Scott McCormick (Super-district 9, Position 1), and Jim Strickland (District 5); and incumbent City Court clerk Thomas Long would be re-elected. The totals: Mayor: Herenton - 80 (59%) Willingham - 55 (40%) Write-in for Wyeth Chandler - 1 (1%) City Council - District 1: Bates - 2 (2%) Bunker - 39 (33%) Jones - 76 (65%) City Council -District 5: Chumney - 37 (28%) Flinn - 33 (24%) Follis - 4 (3%) Strickland - 60 (45%) City Council - District 8, Position 3: Ford - 25 (23%) Lowery - 83 (77%) City Council - District 9, Position 1: Brown - 9 (7%) Lit - 14 (11%) McCormick - 61 (47%) Murphree - 1 (1%) Vanderschaaf - 32 (25%) Weiner - 12 (9%) City Court Clerk: Boyette - 40 (31%) Fullilove - 5 (4%) Long - 83 (65%)

Wednesday, September 24, 2003

Gloves Off

With the October 9th election approaching, candidates begin to get a bit frisky.

Posted By on Wed, Sep 24, 2003 at 4:00 AM

With early voting now under way, some of the candidates for city office are not making nice. Some of them are throwing punches, and a few are even throwing bombs.

The best example of the latter has come from candidate James Robinson, who hopes to depose Rickey Peete in City Council Super-District 8, Position 2, and who has not shied away from describing the incumbent, who once served time for extorting a bribe from a developer, as a "crook" and a "felon."

Robinson, who goes on to decry (and, no doubt, envy) Peete's fund-raising prowess this time around, is not without sin, despite his penchant for throwing stones. He was bounced from his role as head of the Memphis Housing Authority residents' council a few years back after pleading guilty to charges of misappropriating funds. (Presumably, his current housing is not made of glass.)

Runner-up for aggressive language against an opponent may be Arnold Weiner, the indefatigable Republican activist who is one of five candidates hoping to unseat Pat Vander Schaaf in Super-District 9, Position 1. Not unskilled as a speaker, though a bit shrill in his delivery, Weiner normally laments the incidence of crime and the decline in educational excellence in these parts, then, none too subtly, goes on to say that "with her image and with her record" the incumbent needs to go.

This is usually enough to remind an audience that Vander Schaaf, who has served on the council for nearly three decades, indeed has a "record," having copped to a misdemeanor plea for shoplifting a few years ago, and may also have something of an image problem.

It should be said that on the one occasion when he found himself sitting next to Vander Schaaf at a forum, Weiner played the gentleman and declined to attack her so directly. Indirection is also the tack of businessman Scott McCormick, who cites some of the same problems as does Weiner and characterizes Vander Schaaf as "part of the problem -- not the solution."

That's as far as McCormick goes in a flier he's mailed out too, but Vander Schaaf brandished one irately at a weekend forum, apparently outraged by an unflattering photograph of her over the words, "Are you going to reelect Pat Vander Schaaf?"

In a wholly different category from Weiner or McCormick is another candidate in the same race, businessman Lester Lit, a mild-mannered man whose incendiary rhetoric is not directed at Vander Schaaf (or any other opponent) but at a more impersonal kind of icon: "We should blow up The Pyramid," he declared at a recent forum after trying the line out in private a few times. Lit, who has made some serious headway with yard signs and vigorous personal campaigning, proposes a shopping development instead, noting that downtown residents have very few such venues to choose from.

Then there are the elbow-throwers, candidates whose attacks on each other run more to sly digs and innuendo. A championship thrust of this kind was delivered at a forum for District 5 council candidates this week by lawyer Jim Strickland, who noted the seating arrangement for two of his opponents and informed the audience, "This is the first time I have ever seen George Flinn to the left of Carol Chumney."

That, of course, was Strickland's way of trying to stigmatize both opponents as creatures of ideological extremes -- Democrat Chumney on the liberal end and Republican Flinn on the conservative right. (In fairness, both -- like Strickland himself -- are seeking votes throughout the spectrum.)

Chumney was not without her arsenal of responses, noting that she had been in "public service" for 13 years (as a state representative), not having served as a "paid lawyer" (dig, dig) for petitioners before the council, as, presumably, had Strickland. And she noted for the record that she and Strickland had once worked at the same local law firm (Glankler, Brown) but that only she had ever risen to the rank of partner.

Chumney and Strickland may be unique in actually having exchanged words over a bona fide issue -- that of a proposed children's-services office in city government, which Chumney favors and Strickland disparages as a needless replication of services available elsewhere.

Seemingly averse to expressing any form of antagonism this year is another 5th District council candidate, George Flinn, who picked up more than his share of criticism for allegedly negative tactics employed by his handlers in his campaign last year for Shelby County mayor.

Flinn seemed pained to be reminded at this week's forum of one of the controversies of that 2002 campaign -- the issue of whatever machinations went into the making and selling of a new arena for the NBA Grizzlies. Noting that the arena, now well under construction and scheduled to open next year as the FedExForum, has long since been a done deal (and was so even during the mayor's race), Flinn said, "We make our points and we move on."

He is at pains to present himself as an agreeable man who believes, on the basis of his success as a physician and broadcast executive, that he can do something for the city and the 5th District. Though some of the solutions he proposes -- education-boosting videotapes for the mothers who visit medical clinics; broken-down police cars left parked in problem areas as disincentives to criminals -- seem homespun to the point of quaintness, their modest scale is arguably a welcome contrast to the sometimes grandiose-seeming proposals of others, who often seem to be offering elaborate dossiers qualifying them for executive positions.

The fact is that members of the City Council are limited in their powers and have mainly an advise-and-consent role in the scheme of things. Their chief role is to review expenditures and approve or reject zoning proposals -- that and serving as mediators for constituent requests. It is a mundane calling, something like being an associate pastor, the one who visits the sick and counsels the unhappy, while someone else -- in this case, the mayor -- does the preaching and gets the glory.

A fourth 5th District candidate, Mark Follis, an arborist and political newcomer, is an interesting case -- scrappy and increasingly self-confident in his presentations and equipped with some crowd-pleasing one-liners. Two are especially effective -- one in which he notes, accurately, that City Council candidates always call for improved education, enhanced crime control, lower taxes, and the like, "but then what do we end up with? Two downtown arenas within a mile of each other!"

The other is a bit of aw-shucksing which, ironically, serves as a boast: "I'm the David among three Goliaths," he says by way of summing up. That line never fails to draw a smile from his opponents, who are clearly flattered by it and who regard Follis as harmless.

He probably is, and it would truly be surprising if he finished higher than fourth. He has made a virtue of soliciting no campaign contributions -- not just from the developers whom he never misses an opportunity to disparage but from anyone at all. There are two problems with that approach: One is the obvious disadvantage of trying to run a competitive race without resources; the other is that in a representative system of government, the candidate who has no visible connections to identifiable groups of supporters risks irrelevance.

Phil Bredesen, the Nashville mayor and health-care billionaire who ran unsuccessfully for governor in 1994, using his own hefty holdings to pay for virtually everything, did things differently last year -- making a point of forming networks and raising money from as many disparate sources as possible. The result? Citizen Bredesen is now Governor Bredesen. Flinn seems to have applied something of the same lesson, husbanding his own considerable resources much more than he did in his mayor's race of last year and engaging in more open fund-raisers as such. n

Early Voting Locations

Early voting for the 2003 Memphis city election began last Friday and will be conducted at 15 locations through Saturday, October 4th. Hours of operation at all the sites will be from 10 a.m. to 7 p.m., Monday through Friday, and from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. on Saturday.

The locations are:

• Downtown, 157 Poplar Avenue

• Agricenter, 7777 Walnut Grove Rd.

• Anointed Temple of Praise, 3939 Riverdale

• Berclair Church of Christ, 4536 Summer

• Bishop Byrne High School, 1475 E. Shelby Drive

• Dave Wells Community Center, 915 Chelsea Avenue

• Ed Rice Community Center, 2907 N. Watkins

n Greater Middle Baptist Church, 4982 Knight Arnold

• Mississippi Blvd. Christian Church, 70 North Bellevue

• New Salem Missionary Baptist Church, 2231 S. Parkway E.

• Pyramid Recovery Center, 1833 S. Third

• Raleigh United Methodist Church, 3295 Powers Rd.

• St. Stephen Baptist Church, 3045 Chelsea Avenue

• Westwood High School, 4480 Westmont St.

• White Station Church of Christ, 1006 Colonial Rd.

Voting at 262 polling locations throughout the city will take place from

7 am. to 7 p.m. on Election Day itself, Thursday, October 9th.

Thursday, September 11, 2003

Politics

Politics

Posted By on Thu, Sep 11, 2003 at 4:00 AM

A Buddy Tale

Senator Steve Cohen recalls the impact, in life and death, of pal Warren Zevon.

JACKSON BAKER

We've all had moments of personal history that are indelibly linked to this or that piece of music. One of mine, back in the late '80s, involved a vacation trip from Memphis to Topeka, Kansas, where I was driving my newly reconfigured immediate family to spend some time with my mother and sister.

Early in the trip, I plugged a cassette into the dashboard that featured an assortment of oldies, including Warren Zevon's "Werewolves of London," arguably the greatest novelty record ever made and one of the better rockers too. The bottom line: No other song on the cassette made it into play, as, taking time out here and there for conversation, we kept reversing "Werewolves" and replaying it and singing along with it -- notably the "Owooo!" chorus -- over and over.

All the way from Memphis to Topeka.

I got to meet Zevon later on, in Los Angeles during the 2000 Democratic convention, and tell him how much pleasure -- before, during, and after that episode -- this and other songs of his had given me.

The celebrated singer-songwriter-producer went bashful and blushed. He clearly enjoyed being enjoyed.

The man who made the introduction that summer day in L.A. was Memphis state senator Steve Cohen, who had become one of Zevon's closest friends and would remain one right up through last week, when he telephoned Zevon, who was rather publicly dying from a rare form of lung cancer, and promised to send him some portions of a white aparagus and mayonnaise concoction that the artist fancied.

"Send it on," said an enthusiastic Zevon, who was obviously having trouble breathing but who had "looked good" only two weeks before when Cohen visited him in L.A. They had watched the VH1 television special on the making of The Wind, Zevon's last album and one whose selections consciously reflect his sense of oncoming death.

"He'd always been concerned with life-and-death matters, his own and everybody else's," said Cohen, who noted that many of Zevon's compositions concerned cutting-edge issues -- the death penalty, racial hatred, Middle Eastern discord, and threats to the environment -- all without losing that characteristic Zevonian edge of whimsy.

"He wasn't political in the usual sense, but he didn't hesitate to get involved in a cause that meant something to him," said Cohen.

One of the causes that came to mean something to Zevon was Cohen's political career. The two first met in 1994 when Zevon, then appearing at the old Six-One-Six club on Marshall, agreed to do a special concert for a group of Young Democrats on behalf of Cohen's candidacy that year for the Democratic nomination for governor.

Cohen's long-shot campaign try fell short, but the friendship endured. Zevon returned to assist Cohen many times thereafter, notably during the state senator's race for Congress in 1996. And they often got together for purely recreational purposes as well -- the Lewis-Tyson heavyweight championship bout last year being a case in point.

The last time Cohen checked in on his friend was Sunday night, when the NFL's Tennessee Titans were playing Zevon's beloved Oakland Raiders on ESPN. The senator called to see if Zevon was watching and learned that his friend had passed. A life that had often been characterized by that exuberant chorus of "Owooo!" had ended quietly.

Cohen will go to Los Angeles this week to attend a public memorial service for Zevon.


On Notice

With a month to go, the city election may finally get some overdue attention.

JACKSON BAKER

For a while it looked as though the race for Memphis mayor might theoretically be impacted by reaction here and there to the damages and other consequences of the Great Windstorm of 2003. Though heavily favored incumbent Willie Herenton could do little to offset the situation, he had not exactly been front and center in the Giuliani mode, and that rankled some.

But that was then, this is now, and the issue, like the storm itself, seems to have subsided, even as another matter touted by Herenton's major opponent, Shelby County commissioner John Willingham that of legalized casino gambling for Memphis was neutralized in its turn by the mayor's renewed espousal of the same goal.

Given the fact that both major candidates were on the same page also with another probable will-o'-the wisp, the issue of city/county consolidation, there didn't seem to be graphic differences in point of view.

Granted, there are matters of personality and demographics that could make a difference. Willingham mused aloud the other day on the moment when, he said, he made a decision to run against the seemingly impregnable Herenton.

That was back in June, during a meeting of the monthly Dutch Treat Luncheon, at which area conservatives gather to hear this or that speaker on a public topic. Back then it was Herenton's turn, and, by and large, he acquitted himself skillfully before this audience cracking jokes and making a plausible case for himself as a guardian of public solvency.

There was one eerie turn, however, when Herenton got locked into a verbal back-and-forth with Charles Avery, husband of county commissioner Joyce Avery one which ended with the mayor saying, "You know, the world gets better when people like you leave here!" The mayor would later explain that he thought he detected racism in Avery's attitude, something stoutly denied by Avery and his tablemates, one of whom was Willingham.

"There was hatred on display, but it wasn't Charles'," says the commissioner, who claims that his mind was made up then and there to oppose what he saw as a "highhandedness" on the part of the long-term incumbent.

Willingham knows he has an uphill struggle on his hands, however. True enough, the city's dominant black population divided almost equally between Herenton and major opponent Joe Ford in 1999 (with the mayor reaping a far greater share of the white vote), but it is highly doubtful that a conservative white Republican even one with maverick tendencies like Willingham could do as well.

Nor can the commissioner count on wall-to-wall support among the city's whites not even among his fellow members of the local G.O.P., whose chairman, Kemp Conrad, and other influential Republicans are publicly dubious about Willingham's candidacy.

Meanwhile, other mayoral candidates of whom Beale Street entrepreneur Randle Catron is probably the most active also struggle to get traction.

Sunday, September 7, 2003

GIVING 'EM HELL

Democratic frontrunner Howard Dean casts himself as Harry Truman.

Posted By on Sun, Sep 7, 2003 at 4:00 AM

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Last week, Howard Dean of Vermont, a onetime dark-horse presidential candidate who is suddenly -- to political insiders almost inexplicably -- leading the pack of Democratic candidates, undertook a ten-city, three-day flyaround of America. The "Sleepless Summer Tour," it was called -- in conscious rebuke of President George W. Bush's alleged inaction in the face of America's problems. Beginning on Saturday at Falls Church, Virigina, a suburb of Washington, D.C., Dean's campaign plane, the "Grass Roots Express" went to Milwaukee; Boise, Idaho; Portland, Oregon; Seattle and Spokane, Washington; Austin and San Antonio, Texas; Chicago; and New York. Crowds of unprecedentsed size and animation for this stage of a challenger's run for the presidency turned out to greet him. The high point, numerically, was a throng of some 10,000 in Seattle, while the most intense stop was probably at San Antonio. The Flyer went along with Dean, listening as he pummeled President Bush and mocked Bush's major campaign adviser, Karl rove, watching as the candidate was asked to autograph posters, shirts, arms, and even, occasionally, part of someone's anatomy (no, not those parts), reflecting on the fact of a politician whom virtually no one outside the candidate's own small New England state had heard of a year ago pushing the political temperature up beyond what is normal in August or any other season. DEAN'S PRIVATE ATTITUDE TOWARD THE MAN HE HOPES TO SUPPLANT, George W. Bush, is considerably more complicated than the straw-man bashings of this stump speech would indicate. "George Bush graduated from Yale in '68. I graduated in 1971," remembeed his fellow Eastern patrician aboard the campaign plane. "There was a total generatonal shift. The Yale he left was gone by the time I graduated. It ws a coat-and-tie era, not particularly innovative. Very much heriditary. I was the only guy in my prep school who got in. The place was full of valedictorians and salutatorians from public schools." The implication is that Dean got with the program in those quasi-revolutionary times -- and that Bush remained forever preppy. But as recently as the late '90s, when both men were governors -- Dean of remote little Vermont, Bush of big and rowdy Texas -- there was the possibility of real overlap. "I actually liked him," Dean recalls. "I knew him well enough that I thought we could do business. And by Texas standards he was actually modeate. He tried to revise the incredibly archaic Texas tax system. He didn't succeed, but he actually tried. I was shocked at the way we acted when he became president. I really did think he was a compassionate conservative." Dean, who admired President George H.W. Bush as much as he seems to deplore President George W. Bush, takes an almost Freudian view of what he sees as the son's slide backwards into reaction. "Most people think he is still a moderate. They don't realize how far to the right he's gone. He's not interested in being a good president; he's interested in some complicated psychological situation with regard to his father over being accepted, being reelected." Whatever psychodrama he sees as responsible for Bush's mindset, Dean seems to have a genuine missionary zeal to expose the public consequences of it. As he put it to the crowd of several hundred that turned up for him at the Boise airport, "He [Bush] sdoesn't want to balance the budget, because he wants to defund the federal government. And get rid of Medicare and Social security. We're not going to allow it." Dean sees Bush as a pure dissembler. "He was never truthful about his reasons for going into Iraq. He toughed up the intelligence reports to justify it, but he knew better. If you know what you're saying isn't true, what is the truth? We went in with a reason. What is the reason? I don't know." His skepticism and discinclination to grant the president credit for good-faith efforts extends as well to Bush's domestic policies -- like the recently enacted Medicare-based prescription-drug measure. "He knows it won't work, and he doresn't care. It's like 'Leave No Child Behind' and 'Clean Skies," Dean says, mentioning Bush programs for education and the environment, respectively. "All he wants is something to go before the electorate with, to make the claim that he's tried to do something, when he hasn't" But there is a self-imposed caveat to his criticism of the president, one which stamps him as almost unique among Bush-bashers. "People make the mistake of discounting George W. Bush," Dean confided in one of the several impromptu interviews he gave the reporters aboard the Grass Roots Express. "People like George Bush. I have never made a joke about syntax or spelling or any of that stuff. People who do that he no idea how he connects with people between the coasts. They think he's one of them. My job is to get them to see that he may talk like one of them, but his policies are not in their best interest." AND SO HE DOES, working at the task at every stop in a set speech whose applause lines and segues are freely shuffled, appearing not only in a different order -- depending, presumably, on the venue and the vagaries of mood and free association -- but sometimes with dramatically different import. At all stops, for example, Dean chastised the Bush administration for its emphasis on ex post facto solutions to crime rather than on developing programs to prevent it. Prisons, he would say, are necessary -- "we can't have violent people running around" -- but, as he put it in Seattle, "any competent, qualified kindergarten teacher can tell you who the five kids are in his or her class that are most likely to end up in prison 15 or 20 years from now." The line, stated much the same wherever he said it, sometimes drew laughs and at other times was greeted with utmost solemnity. In whichever case, it was followed by Dean's declaration that prisons are "the least effective social-service intervention that we make in this country" followed by a rhetorical question about "why is it that weÕre not investing in small children, their families, now, to stop that from happening." Whichever way it started, the sequence drew guaranteed applause, as did another, even more pedantic-sounding premise, which Dean stated this way in Seattle: "He [Bush] managed to find $3 trillion of our tax money to give to [Enron's] Ken Lay and all those guys writing the $2,000 checks, but he couldnÕt find the money to buy the enriched uranium stocks in the former Soviet Union, which weÕre entitled to buy under the Cooperative Threat Reduction Agreement, and if that stuff gets in terroristsÕ hands, then we really do have a security problem in America." Enriched uranium stocks? The Cooperative Threat Reduction Agreement? Not one listener in 50 could have known what he meant, but the crowds -- in what was clearly a concession to the ex-governor's policy-wonkish predilections -- applauded as lustily and on cue at these two recondite matters as they did at the more obvious red-meat lines. And there were always plenty of the latter, references to tax-cut giveaways for "Ken Lay and the boys;" to having been "the only leading " (or "major" or "serious") Democratic presidential candidate to oppose Bush's war in Iraq; to Dean's success in imposing virtually universal health insurance in Vermont and his insistence that "if we can do that in a small rural state, 26th in income in the country, balance our budgets every year, surely the most wealthy and powerful society on the face of the earth can join the British and the Japanese and the Germans and the French, the Israelis, the Canadians, the Italians, the Irish, the Norwegians, the Swedes, even Costa Ricans have health insurance." (The list of privileged nations ebbed and flowed but always concluded with mention of lowly little Costa Rica.) There was the business of "three million lost jobs" under Bush and the inability of Republican presidents to balance the budget and the current president's playing the "race card" by using the word "quota" about affirmative action programs at the University of Michigan. There were Bush's refusal to "stand up to the Saudis" and the "unfunded mandate" of the No Child Left Behind program (which Dean might render as "No School Board Left Standing" or "No Behind Left") and Bush's underfunding of Homeland Sedcurity and his "all hat and no cattle" defense policies and his dangerously "petulant" attitude toward North Korea. There were plenty such derelictions, followed by Dean's promises of redress or relief. One of the candidate's most popular crescendoes would come when he ticked off the administration's purported misrepresentations about Iraq. As he tended to put it: "The president told us that Iraq was buying uranium from Africa. That turned out not to be true.....The president told us that they were about to make a deal with al Qaeda. That turned out not to be true.....The vice president told us the Iraqis were about to get nuclear weapons. That turned out not to be true. And the secretary of defense told us he knew exactly where those weapons of mass destruction were, right around Tikrit and Baghdad, and that turned out not to be true." At most venues members of the crowd would start chanting "lies" or "liars" during this recitation; at New York's Bryant Park, where Dean spoke from a platform decorated by a performance artist, the call-and-response evoked cries of "bullshit," instead. At all locations, Dean would conclude the passage by intoning thunderously, "As the commander in chief of the United States military, I will never hesitate to send our troops to any country in the world to defend the United States of America. But as the commander in chief of the United States military, I will never send our sons and our daughters and our brothers and sisters to a foreign country to die, without telling the truth about why theyÕre going there." Everywhere someone in the crowd, whether a plant or not, would shout, "Give 'em Hell, Howard!" and Dean would answer by recalling Harry Truman's reply to similar calls during that president's 1948 miracle reelection campaign: "I just tell the truth, and the Republicans think it's hell." Howard Dean and his supporters plainly think the ex-Vermont governor's current campaign for the presidency is someting of a miracle, too. As the candidate himself observed during last week's ten-city "Sleepless in America" tour (so-called to counterpoint President Bush's supposed slumber during his annual monthlong summer vacation at his Crawford, Texas ranch): "We thought we might have five percent of the [primary] vote by this point and would be getting ready to make a major effort in Iowa or New Hampshire, after which we'd hope to build on that momentum in primaries down the line." Instead, Dean already leads the Democratic field in both Iowa and New Hampshire, whose January caucuses and kickoff primary, respectively, are the traditional opening rounds of presidential campaigning. In Iowa, Dean has overcome the expected early lead of former House Minority Leader Dick Gephardt from neighboring Missouri; in New Hampshire, a Zogby poll last week showed him soaring past Massachusetts Senator John Kerry, once presumed to be the frontrunner, by a whopping margin of 38 to 21. Observes campaign manager Joe Trippi, a veteran of several prior campaigns (including Gephardt's first bid, in 1988) who will volunteer non-stop dissertations on anything and everything political: "We had to adapt to this early success. What we're doing is unique. This is the first time ever that an insurgent has got this far ahead before an establishment 'frontrunner' could establish himself. We started out running a marathon by doing the first four miles at 100-yard-dash speed. Now we're doing the second four miles at 100-yard-dash speed." In practical terms, what that means is that the Dean campaign, having already broken new ground with last week's whirlwind cross-country tour -- of the sort customary in the late stages of a general-election campaign -- intends to pile it on, spending $1 million next month to air freshly minted commercials in six states. It can afford to do so on the basis of having raised some $7.5 million, more than any other Democrat, in the previous quarter and is shooting for $10 million in the current quarter, with every expectation of realizing that goal. The Dean campaign has been able to achieve such heady results by the innovative use of Internet fundraising through the campaign's website (www.deanforamerica.com), which also serves as a medium for arranging the "meetups" of volunteers throughout the country that have given the term "grass roots" new meaning. As it happened, President Bush also visited Portland last week, for a $2,000-a-plate fundraiser that was due tonet im $1 million -- the kind of money that, presumably, only incumbent presidents can raise in so short-term a manner. Dean let it be known that he meant to do as well on his "Sleepless" tour. BY HIS OWN STATEMENT, DEAN CAN BE "BRUSQUE" with the media -- though his new frontrunner status seems to have brought with it an injunction to make nice with reporters at all costs. Not once during last week's tour did the candidate lose his cool -- not even during the post-speech "press avail" in Falls Church, where a local reporter badgered him about whether he would take a "no-new-taxes" pledge. When Dean responded, "Yes, if we can return to the status of things under Bill Clnton," the reporter complained, "That doesn't make sense." Refusing to be baited, Dean calmly repeated his answer, then went on to the next questioner. The traveling press was not nearly so obstreperous as that Washington-based reporter had been. Indeed, relaions between the 30-odd journalists and the candidate could reasonably be described as cozy -- as why shouldn't they be, considering the symbiotic nature of their heady trip through the looking glass. Alexandra Pelosi, the video documentarian whose "Journeys With George" captured the Bush candidacy of 2000, was on board the "Grass Roots Express" for a new HBO project whose scope would be the entire 2004 presidential campaign. She had traveled already with most of the Democratic field, who included Gephardt, Kerry, Senators John Edwards of North Carolina , Joe Lieberman of Connecticut, and Bob Graham of Florida. If the Dean campaign were arbitarily assigned a 10, she was asked, how would the others rate? "Two, two, two, two, and two," she answered without hesitation. The two reporters aboard Dean's campaign plane who seemed most astounded by it all were, ironically (or appropriately) enough, the most seasoned in matters involving the political cynosure of 2003. Sam Hemingway of the Burlington Free Press and Stew Ledbetter of BurlingtonÕs WPTZ-TV sat aboard the Grass Roots Express on Tuesday morning, still digesting events so far on the trip, and especially of the night before, when Dean had made his most impassioned presentation of The Speech and got his most robust crowd reaction of all before a crowd of several thousand at San Antonio. Dean would vary his exit line, depending on circumstances. Sometimes it was "I promise I'll make you proud again to vote Democratic;" sometimes it was "This time the president will be the one who gets the most votes." Most often it was variations on "You have the power to take this country back." At San Antonio, it was the latter and, aided by the acoustics of the arena as well as the energy of the crowd, a Latino-inflected one which had been the most ethnically diverse of the trip so far, Dean had literally soared, his concluding repetittions of the phrase "You have the power" becoming a mantra, an incantation that was matched syllable for resonant sylllable by the crowd. The mood had been , in the truest sense of the term, electric, and every reporter, staff member, and supporter on the plane Tuesday morning was still charged by it. Hemingway said to Ledbetter as the two sat side by side, "I don't see how he can be denied." And the TV reporter nodded gravely. Hemingway would later recall in some wonder how Dean had lnursed presidential ambitions during the runup to the 2000 campaign and seen his balloon deflated by a premature leak of his intentions by a watchful Al Gore. Vermont reporters had teased the governor unmercifully. "How's your poll ratings in Iowa, Howard?" had been a sure rib-tickler among the press corps up thataway. Recalling all this in Manhattan's Bryant Park on Tuesday night as Dean was wrapping up the tour simultaneously with the announcement on a Jumbo screen that the million-dollar mark in contributions had been reached, thereby tying Brush's proceeds for the weekend, Hemingway tried to put things in perspective, suggesting that Dean might yet come back to earth with the end of the calendar year and the beginning of the presidential year proper. In an effort to capture the loyalty of Democratic traditionalists, Dean might be forced to retract his boldness somewhat within the shell of party cautiousness. Nah. It looked to be a case of the home-state reporter still pinching himself. The reality was that Dean's fundraising was far in excess of what his Democratic opponents could muster -- and was likely to remain so. His crowds were large and spontaneous, their enthusiasm genuine -- not whetted up by campaign operatives. There was no such thing as a Dean rally without chants going up and sometimes interrupting the candidate. Dean, Dean, Dean or We Want Dean, We Want Dean, or any of several permutations on the theme. The excitement of these crowds, their satisfaction at seeing a Democrat on the attack, was palpable. They were believers in search of a redeemer -- literally -- and they believed they had found him. Alexandra Pelosi was visibly frustrated twice on the tour -- once when her handheld camera failed to capture a tranvestite activist in a ball gown at Portland and another time, more tellingly, when she didn't get the Young Democrat on the dais at Boise who likened his first experience of Dean to that of encountering Christ. Dean himself would recall, on the last leg of the plane trip, standing on the platform at Seattle's Westlake Park and looking back at a sea of humanity, sme 10,000 strong, that snaked into all the side streets. "That was the most extraordinary moment," said the man who, at that point, had been running for president for a solid year and a half. "that was the first time I realized that a very large number of people were dependent on me to change the course of things in America." A steady component of the candidate's set speech, close to the end, usually, was his declaration that "the biggest lie told in campaigns by people like me to people like you is that we can solve your problems." The reality, as he would move on to say, was that people could take, first, their party back, then their country, by actions of their own. You have the power. "It isn't so much what I say. It's how I say it," Dean would conclude. And, in truth, his rhetorical style, which -- he confessed to a reporter -- had once been that of "a bore," had become intense, even at times incandescent. Sometimes he would even try to moderate expectations, as when in Austin, he had warned his listeners that he was "too conservative for you." He later dilated on that: "They know I'm a little more conservative than they are -- on the death penalty, for example, but they tolerate it because they want to win. and they also know I'll stand up for what I believe in. The thing about me is that I'm not timid. I fight back, and I have an articulate vision. I don't just throw bombs and say how terrible things are." Observant reporters began to notice a peculiarly studied practice of Dean's. When preparing to disembark from the plane to address a throng, he would carefully roll up his shirtsleeves to the elbow. When returning to the plane he would fastidiously rebutton the sleeves. He could be candid about such calculations of effect. "They come to see the show, and you've got to give them the show," he said enroute to his last stop of the tour, in New York. "People don't want things so 'presidential' any more." It is the same realization, he believes, that has occurred to George w. Bush and which accounts for the president's continued respectable (if dropping) ratings in the polls. Conservative, liberal, showman, statesman, or whatever, the man who ran Vermont's state government for 12 years and oversaw, as he likes to boast, a string of balanced budgets, the small-state governor who opposed gun control and was supported by the NRA in his gubernatorial campaigns, the self-professed "non-ideological" executive who happened also to sign a bill legalizing civil unions for gay and lesbian couples and who, most importantly of all, regularly gives George Bush hell is very much the man of the hour in Democratic politics. "This is a political phenomenom the likes of which hasn't been seen before," boasts campaign manager Trippi, and maybe he's right. Maybe indeed it's too late -- at least before the general election itself -- for anyone to stop Dean. The rest of the Democratic field tries to be "too nice" to the president, tries to be "Bush Lite," the candidate likes to say, somewhat scornfully, and that may cost them. It is certainly denying them the kind of momentum he -- so far uniquely -- can boast. THERE ARE MANY CORNERS TO HOWARD DEAN. Before he entered politics, he had careers as both a stockbroker and as a G.P. practitioner of medicine. It is the latter profession which he credits for giving him his impressively grasp of -- and dependence on -- facts. As for the origins of the charismatic politician now on display, to the surprise of so many (perhaps even himself), perhaps some clue was offered the night he boarded a bus of supporters headed from his rally in Austin to the one in San Antonio. A woman who had seen Dean, an amateur musicvian, on C-Span the month before playing the harmonica from Des Moines surprised him by handing him no fewer than five harmonicas, each tuned to a different key. "I like to come prepared," he said, and bade him play. After trying several out, he settled on the one that was duned to D and gave a spirited rendition of Bob Dylan's "With God on Our Side." He handed the harmonica back and said, "I really wanted to do some blues riffs, but I couldn't find the frets." So far in this presidential campaign season, it is Dean's political opponents who are experiencingng the blues, and the doctor from Vermont seems to have found the right frets to keep doing that.

COMMENTARY

Rare Bird

...is Howard Dean. And after him may be another, Wesley Clark. It is the redeeming quality of American politics that occasionally a figure comes along unique enough to transcend all the operatives and G.O.T.V. manuals and crafted soundbites of a normal (which is to say, boring) political campaign. One such is Howard Dean, the Vermont ex-governor and Democratic presidential candidate whose cross-country campaign tour of last week is the subject of this week's Flye cover story. Dean has become a phenomenom by doing something that, for other Democrats this campaign season, has evidently become undoable -- taking the fight forthrightly to the opposition, in this case no less than the president of the United States, George W. Bush. Republicans have been doing this to Democrats for quite some time, and it has, arguably, gained them control of the presidency, the House, the Senate, most governorships, and (not coincidentally) the Supreme Court. Democrats have -- no other way to put it -- feared to. Putting aside for the moment the rights and wrongs of the president's tax cuts or his decision to make war in Iraq, it is incontestable that these are policies or high national moment, with consequences that for better or for worse will affect all Americans. What has distinguished the commentary of most leading Democrats on these issues, at least up to the present moment, is the tentative -- nay, mealy-mouthed -- nature of it all. So carefully calculated so as to seem pale shadows of the president's own pronouncements, most official Democratic statements have been of he "yes, but' variety -- failing in both clarity and apparent sincerity. One is reminded of former president Harry Truman's reported statement that if Americans are given a choice between a Republican point of view and a Republican point of view, "they'll take the Republican every time." Howard Dean, in conscious emulation of Truman (and of Republicans like Barry Goldwater and Ronald Reagan) has decided to provide instead the proverbial "choice, not an echo." Of all things -- the presentation of an opposing point of view! Dean even says out loud that he thinks the president might be (shhhhh) lying about some things. That kind of forthrightness is, right or wrong, what got Dean to where he is today, in front of the Democratic pack of presidential hopefuls and about to make a rout of the race. Dean argues convincingly that if he keeps it up he'll draw three or four million new voters out, enough to make a diffderence at the polls. Threre was an after-hours moment during his campaign tour last week -- in San Antonio, Texas, of all places -- when Dean and members of his staff took turns, as an outgrowth of their prep for a televised Democratic debate this week, doing impressions of the Vermonter's party rivals. Dean, at 5' 8", was especially skillful at suggesting a long, lean Senator John Kerry drawing himself up, caterpillar-like, to his full dignified height. And he did a credible molasses-mouthed version of John Edwards, the senator from North Carolina. (The candidate's staff would just as soon we hadn't blabbed all that, but -- hey! -- telling it means telling it.) There's one potential Democratic candidate that Dean doesn't have a distance on yet, and that's former NATO commander Wesley Clark, the telegenic Arkansan (sound familiar) who, like Dean, is a critic of Bush's tax cuts and his Iraq policies and is apparently about to announce his own candidacy for the presidency during the next week or two. The two of them will be talking before that happens, said Dean, who granted that Clark's positions were similar but opined that he might draw more votes away from Kerry than from himself. (Dean's campaign manager, Joe Trippi, a tell-all type if there ever was one, was candid about Clark: "He'll have legs." If Clark does get in, we'll have a sudden embarassment of riches. Two candidates willing to put it on the line? All we can say is, Bring it! -- J.B.

Saturday, September 6, 2003

GIVING 'EM HELL

Presidential candidate Howard Dean casts himself, plausibly, in the role of Harry Truman.

Posted By on Sat, Sep 6, 2003 at 4:00 AM

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Last week, Howard Dean of Vermont, a onetime dark-horse presidential candidate who is suddenly -- to political insiders almost inexplicably -- leading the pack of Democratic candidates, undertook a ten-city, three-day flyaround of America. The "Sleepless Summer Tour," it was called -- in conscious rebuke of President George W. Bush's alleged inaction in the face of America's problems. Beginning on Saturday at Falls Church, Virigina, a suburb of Washington, D.C., Dean's campaign plane, the "Grass Roots Express" went to Milwaukee; Boise, Idaho; Portland, Oregon; Seattle and Spokane, Washington; Austin and San Antonio, Texas; Chicago; and New York. Crowds of unprecedentsed size and animation for this stage of a challenger's run for the presidency turned out to greet him. The high point, numerically, was a throng of some 10,000 in Seattle, while the most intense stop was probably at San Antonio. The Flyer went along with Dean, listening as he pummeled President Bush and mocked Bush's major campaign adviser, Karl rove, watching as the candidate was asked to autograph posters, shirts, arms, and even, occasionally, part of someone's anatomy (no, not those parts), reflecting on the fact of a politician whom virtually no one outside the candidate's own small New England state had heard of a year ago pushing the political temperature up beyond what is normal in August or any other season. DEAN'S PRIVATE ATTITUDE TOWARD THE MAN HE HOPES TO SUPPLANT, George W. Bush, is considerably more complicated than the straw-man bashings of this stump speech would indicate. "George Bush graduated from Yale in '68. I graduated in 1971," remembeed his fellow Eastern patrician aboard the campaign plane. "There was a total generatonal shift. The Yale he left was gone by the time I graduated. It ws a coat-and-tie era, not particularly innovative. Very much heriditary. I was the only guy in my prep school who got in. The place was full of valedictorians and salutatorians from public schools." The implication is that Dean got with the program in those quasi-revolutionary times -- and that Bush remained forever preppy. But as recently as the late '90s, when both men were governors -- Dean of remote little Vermont, Bush of big and rowdy Texas -- there was the possibility of real overlap. "I actually liked him," Dean recalls. "I knew him well enough that I thought we could do business. And by Texas standards he was actually modeate. He tried to revise the incredibly archaic Texas tax system. He didn't succeed, but he actually tried. I was shocked at the way we acted when he became president. I really did think he was a compassionate conservative." Dean, who admired President George H.W. Bush as much as he seems to deplore President George W. Bush, takes an almost Freudian view of what he sees as the son's slide backwards into reaction. "Most people think he is still a moderate. They don't realize how far to the right he's gone. He's not interested in being a good president; he's interested in some complicated psychological situation with regard to his father over being accepted, being reelected." Whatever psychodrama he sees as responsible for Bush's mindset, Dean seems to have a genuine missionary zeal to expose the public consequences of it. As he put it to the crowd of several hundred that turned up for him at the Boise airport, "He [Bush] sdoesn't want to balance the budget, because he wants to defund the federal government. And get rid of Medicare and Social security. We're not going to allow it." Dean sees Bush as a pure dissembler. "He was never truthful about his reasons for going into Iraq. He toughed up the intelligence reports to justify it, but he knew better. If you know what you're saying isn't true, what is the truth? We went in with a reason. What is the reason? I don't know." His skepticism and discinclination to grant the president credit for good-faith efforts extends as well to Bush's domestic policies -- like the recently enacted Medicare-based prescription-drug measure. "He knows it won't work, and he doresn't care. It's like 'Leave No Child Behind' and 'Clean Skies," Dean says, mentioning Bush programs for education and the environment, respectively. "All he wants is something to go before the electorate with, to make the claim that he's tried to do something, when he hasn't" But there is a self-imposed caveat to his criticism of the president, one which stamps him as almost unique among Bush-bashers. "People make the mistake of discounting George W. Bush," Dean confided in one of the several impromptu interviews he gave the reporters aboard the Grass Roots Express. "People like George Bush. I have never made a joke about syntax or spelling or any of that stuff. People who do that he no idea how he connects with people between the coasts. They think he's one of them. My job is to get them to see that he may talk like one of them, but his policies are not in their best interest." AND SO HE DOES, working at the task at every stop in a set speech whose applause lines and segues are freely shuffled, appearing not only in a different order -- depending, presumably, on the venue and the vagaries of mood and free association -- but sometimes with dramatically different import. At all stops, for example, Dean chastised the Bush administration for its emphasis on ex post facto solutions to crime rather than on developing programs to prevent it. Prisons, he would say, are necessary -- "we can't have violent people running around" -- but, as he put it in Seattle, "any competent, qualified kindergarten teacher can tell you who the five kids are in his or her class that are most likely to end up in prison 15 or 20 years from now." The line, stated much the same wherever he said it, sometimes drew laughs and at other times was greeted with utmost solemnity. In whichever case, it was followed by Dean's declaration that prisons are "the least effective social-service intervention that we make in this country" followed by a rhetorical question about "why is it that weÕre not investing in small children, their families, now, to stop that from happening." Whichever way it started, the sequence drew guaranteed applause, as did another, even more pedantic-sounding premise, which Dean stated this way in Seattle: "He [Bush] managed to find $3 trillion of our tax money to give to [Enron's] Ken Lay and all those guys writing the $2,000 checks, but he couldnÕt find the money to buy the enriched uranium stocks in the former Soviet Union, which weÕre entitled to buy under the Cooperative Threat Reduction Agreement, and if that stuff gets in terroristsÕ hands, then we really do have a security problem in America." Enriched uranium stocks? The Cooperative Threat Reduction Agreement? Not one listener in 50 could have known what he meant, but the crowds -- in what was clearly a concession to the ex-governor's policy-wonkish predilections -- applauded as lustily and on cue at these two recondite matters as they did at the more obvious red-meat lines. And there were always plenty of the latter, references to tax-cut giveaways for "Ken Lay and the boys;" to having been "the only leading " (or "major" or "serious") Democratic presidential candidate to oppose Bush's war in Iraq; to Dean's success in imposing virtually universal health insurance in Vermont and his insistence that "if we can do that in a small rural state, 26th in income in the country, balance our budgets every year, surely the most wealthy and powerful society on the face of the earth can join the British and the Japanese and the Germans and the French, the Israelis, the Canadians, the Italians, the Irish, the Norwegians, the Swedes, even Costa Ricans have health insurance." (The list of privileged nations ebbed and flowed but always concluded with mention of lowly little Costa Rica.) There was the business of "three million lost jobs" under Bush and the inability of Republican presidents to balance the budget and the current president's playing the "race card" by using the word "quota" about affirmative action programs at the University of Michigan. There were Bush's refusal to "stand up to the Saudis" and the "unfunded mandate" of the No Child Left Behind program (which Dean might render as "No School Board Left Standing" or "No Behind Left") and Bush's underfunding of Homeland Sedcurity and his "all hat and no cattle" defense policies and his dangerously "petulant" attitude toward North Korea. There were plenty such derelictions, followed by Dean's promises of redress or relief. One of the candidate's most popular crescendoes would come when he ticked off the administration's purported misrepresentations about Iraq. As he tended to put it: "The president told us that Iraq was buying uranium from Africa. That turned out not to be true.....The president told us that they were about to make a deal with al Qaeda. That turned out not to be true.....The vice president told us the Iraqis were about to get nuclear weapons. That turned out not to be true. And the secretary of defense told us he knew exactly where those weapons of mass destruction were, right around Tikrit and Baghdad, and that turned out not to be true." At most venues members of the crowd would start chanting "lies" or "liars" during this recitation; at New York's Bryant Park, where Dean spoke from a platform decorated by a performance artist, the call-and-response evoked cries of "bullshit," instead. At all locations, Dean would conclude the passage by intoning thunderously, "As the commander in chief of the United States military, I will never hesitate to send our troops to any country in the world to defend the United States of America. But as the commander in chief of the United States military, I will never send our sons and our daughters and our brothers and sisters to a foreign country to die, without telling the truth about why theyÕre going there." Everywhere someone in the crowd, whether a plant or not, would shout, "Give 'em Hell, Howard!" and Dean would answer by recalling Harry Truman's reply to similar calls during that president's 1948 miracle reelection campaign: "I just tell the truth, and the Republicans think it's hell." Howard Dean and his supporters plainly think the ex-Vermont governor's current campaign for the presidency is someting of a miracle, too. As the candidate himself observed during last week's ten-city "Sleepless in America" tour (so-called to counterpoint President Bush's supposed slumber during his annual monthlong summer vacation at his Crawford, Texas ranch): "We thought we might have five percent of the [primary] vote by this point and would be getting ready to make a major effort in Iowa or New Hampshire, after which we'd hope to build on that momentum in primaries down the line." Instead, Dean already leads the Democratic field in both Iowa and New Hampshire, whose January caucuses and kickoff primary, respectively, are the traditional opening rounds of presidential campaigning. In Iowa, Dean has overcome the expected early lead of former House Minority Leader Dick Gephardt from neighboring Missouri; in New Hampshire, a Zogby poll last week showed him soaring past Massachusetts Senator John Kerry, once presumed to be the frontrunner, by a whopping margin of 38 to 21. Observes campaign manager Joe Trippi, a veteran of several prior campaigns (including Gephardt's first bid, in 1988) who will volunteer non-stop dissertations on anything and everything political: "We had to adapt to this early success. What we're doing is unique. This is the first time ever that an insurgent has got this far ahead before an establishment 'frontrunner' could establish himself. We started out running a marathon by doing the first four miles at 100-yard-dash speed. Now we're doing the second four miles at 100-yard-dash speed." In practical terms, what that means is that the Dean campaign, having already broken new ground with last week's whirlwind cross-country tour -- of the sort customary in the late stages of a general-election campaign -- intends to pile it on, spending $1 million next month to air freshly minted commercials in six states. It can afford to do so on the basis of having raised some $7.5 million, more than any other Democrat, in the previous quarter and is shooting for $10 million in the current quarter, with every expectation of realizing that goal. The Dean campaign has been able to achieve such heady results by the innovative use of Internet fundraising through the campaign's website (www.deanforamerica.com), which also serves as a medium for arranging the "meetups" of volunteers throughout the country that have given the term "grass roots" new meaning. As it happened, President Bush also visited Portland last week, for a $2,000-a-plate fundraiser that was due tonet im $1 million -- the kind of money that, presumably, only incumbent presidents can raise in so short-term a manner. Dean let it be known that he meant to do as well on his "Sleepless" tour. BY HIS OWN STATEMENT, DEAN CAN BE "BRUSQUE" with the media -- though his new frontrunner status seems to have brought with it an injunction to make nice with reporters at all costs. Not once during last week's tour did the candidate lose his cool -- not even during the post-speech "press avail" in Falls Church, where a local reporter badgered him about whether he would take a "no-new-taxes" pledge. When Dean responded, "Yes, if we can return to the status of things under Bill Clnton," the reporter complained, "That doesn't make sense." Refusing to be baited, Dean calmly repeated his answer, then went on to the next questioner. The traveling press was not nearly so obstreperous as that Washington-based reporter had been. Indeed, relaions between the 30-odd journalists and the candidate could reasonably be described as cozy -- as why shouldn't they be, considering the symbiotic nature of their heady trip through the looking glass. Alexandra Pelosi, the video documentarian whose "Journeys With George" captured the Bush candidacy of 2000, was on board the "Grass Roots Express" for a new HBO project whose scope would be the entire 2004 presidential campaign. She had traveled already with most of the Democratic field, who included Gephardt, Kerry, Senators John Edwards of North Carolina , Joe Lieberman of Connecticut, and Bob Graham of Florida. If the Dean campaign were arbitarily assigned a 10, she was asked, how would the others rate? "Two, two, two, two, and two," she answered without hesitation. The two reporters aboard Dean's campaign plane who seemed most astounded by it all were, ironically (or appropriately) enough, the most seasoned in matters involving the political cynosure of 2003. Sam Hemingway of the Burlington Free Press and Stew Ledbetter of BurlingtonÕs WPTZ-TV sat aboard the Grass Roots Express on Tuesday morning, still digesting events so far on the trip, and especially of the night before, when Dean had made his most impassioned presentation of The Speech and got his most robust crowd reaction of all before a crowd of several thousand at San Antonio. Dean would vary his exit line, depending on circumstances. Sometimes it was "I promise I'll make you proud again to vote Democratic;" sometimes it was "This time the president will be the one who gets the most votes." Most often it was variations on "You have the power to take this country back." At San Antonio, it was the latter and, aided by the acoustics of the arena as well as the energy of the crowd, a Latino-inflected one which had been the most ethnically diverse of the trip so far, Dean had literally soared, his concluding repetittions of the phrase "You have the power" becoming a mantra, an incantation that was matched syllable for resonant sylllable by the crowd. The mood had been , in the truest sense of the term, electric, and every reporter, staff member, and supporter on the plane Tuesday morning was still charged by it. Hemingway said to Ledbetter as the two sat side by side, "I don't see how he can be denied." And the TV reporter nodded gravely. Hemingway would later recall in some wonder how Dean had lnursed presidential ambitions during the runup to the 2000 campaign and seen his balloon deflated by a premature leak of his intentions by a watchful Al Gore. Vermont reporters had teased the governor unmercifully. "How's your poll ratings in Iowa, Howard?" had been a sure rib-tickler among the press corps up thataway. Recalling all this in Manhattan's Bryant Park on Tuesday night as Dean was wrapping up the tour simultaneously with the announcement on a Jumbo screen that the million-dollar mark in contributions had been reached, thereby tying Brush's proceeds for the weekend, Hemingway tried to put things in perspective, suggesting that Dean might yet come back to earth with the end of the calendar year and the beginning of the presidential year proper. In an effort to capture the loyalty of Democratic traditionalists, Dean might be forced to retract his boldness somewhat within the shell of party cautiousness. Nah. It looked to be a case of the home-state reporter still pinching himself. The reality was that Dean's fundraising was far in excess of what his Democratic opponents could muster -- and was likely to remain so. His crowds were large and spontaneous, their enthusiasm genuine -- not whetted up by campaign operatives. There was no such thing as a Dean rally without chants going up and sometimes interrupting the candidate. Dean, Dean, Dean or We Want Dean, We Want Dean, or any of several permutations on the theme. The excitement of these crowds, their satisfaction at seeing a Democrat on the attack, was palpable. They were believers in search of a redeemer -- literally -- and they believed they had found him. Alexandra Pelosi was visibly frustrated twice on the tour -- once when her handheld camera failed to capture a tranvestite activist in a ball gown at Portland and another time, more tellingly, when she didn't get the Young Democrat on the dais at Boise who likened his first experience of Dean to that of encountering Christ. Dean himself would recall, on the last leg of the plane trip, standing on the platform at Seattle's Westlake Park and looking back at a sea of humanity, sme 10,000 strong, that snaked into all the side streets. "That was the most extraordinary moment," said the man who, at that point, had been running for president for a solid year and a half. "that was the first time I realized that a very large number of people were dependent on me to change the course of things in America." A steady component of the candidate's set speech, close to the end, usually, was his declaration that "the biggest lie told in campaigns by people like me to people like you is that we can solve your problems." The reality, as he would move on to say, was that people could take, first, their party back, then their country, by actions of their own. You have the power. "It isn't so much what I say. It's how I say it," Dean would conclude. And, in truth, his rhetorical style, which -- he confessed to a reporter -- had once been that of "a bore," had become intense, even at times incandescent. Sometimes he would even try to moderate expectations, as when in Austin, he had warned his listeners that he was "too conservative for you." He later dilated on that: "They know I'm a little more conservative than they are -- on the death penalty, for example, but they tolerate it because they want to win. and they also know I'll stand up for what I believe in. The thing about me is that I'm not timid. I fight back, and I have an articulate vision. I don't just throw bombs and say how terrible things are." Observant reporters began to notice a peculiarly studied practice of Dean's. When preparing to disembark from the plane to address a throng, he would carefully roll up his shirtsleeves to the elbow. When returning to the plane he would fastidiously rebutton the sleeves. He could be candid about such calculations of effect. "They come to see the show, and you've got to give them the show," he said enroute to his last stop of the tour, in New York. "People don't want things so 'presidential' any more." It is the same realization, he believes, that has occurred to George w. Bush and which accounts for the president's continued respectable (if dropping) ratings in the polls. Conservative, liberal, showman, statesman, or whatever, the man who ran Vermont's state government for 12 years and oversaw, as he likes to boast, a string of balanced budgets, the small-state governor who opposed gun control and was supported by the NRA in his gubernatorial campaigns, the self-professed "non-ideological" executive who happened also to sign a bill legalizing civil unions for gay and lesbian couples and who, most importantly of all, regularly gives George Bush hell is very much the man of the hour in Democratic politics. "This is a political phenomenom the likes of which hasn't been seen before," boasts campaign manager Trippi, and maybe he's right. Maybe indeed it's too late -- at least before the general election itself -- for anyone to stop Dean. The rest of the Democratic field tries to be "too nice" to the president, tries to be "Bush Lite," the candidate likes to say, somewhat scornfully, and that may cost them. It is certainly denying them the kind of momentum he -- so far uniquely -- can boast. THERE ARE MANY CORNERS TO HOWARD DEAN. Before he entered politics, he had careers as both a stockbroker and as a G.P. practitioner of medicine. It is the latter profession which he credits for giving him his impressively grasp of -- and dependence on -- facts. As for the origins of the charismatic politician now on display, to the surprise of so many (perhaps even himself), perhaps some clue was offered the night he boarded a bus of supporters headed from his rally in Austin to the one in San Antonio. A woman who had seen Dean, an amateur musicvian, on C-Span the month before playing the harmonica from Des Moines surprised him by handing him no fewer than five harmonicas, each tuned to a different key. "I like to come prepared," he said, and bade him play. After trying several out, he settled on the one that was duned to D and gave a spirited rendition of Bob Dylan's "With God on Our Side." He handed the harmonica back and said, "I really wanted to do some blues riffs, but I couldn't find the frets." So far in this presidential campaign season, it is Dean's political opponents who are experiencingng the blues, and the doctor from Vermont seems to have found the right frets to keep doing that.

COMMENTARY

Rare Bird

...is Howard Dean. And after him may be another, Wesley Clark. It is the redeeming quality of American politics that occasionally a figure comes along unique enough to transcend all the operatives and G.O.T.V. manuals and crafted soundbites of a normal (which is to say, boring) political campaign. One such is Howard Dean, the Vermont ex-governor and Democratic presidential candidate whose cross-country campaign tour of last week is the subject of this week's Flye cover story. Dean has become a phenomenom by doing something that, for other Democrats this campaign season, has evidently become undoable -- taking the fight forthrightly to the opposition, in this case no less than the president of the United States, George W. Bush. Republicans have been doing this to Democrats for quite some time, and it has, arguably, gained them control of the presidency, the House, the Senate, most governorships, and (not coincidentally) the Supreme Court. Democrats have -- no other way to put it -- feared to. Putting aside for the moment the rights and wrongs of the president's tax cuts or his decision to make war in Iraq, it is incontestable that these are policies or high national moment, with consequences that for better or for worse will affect all Americans. What has distinguished the commentary of most leading Democrats on these issues, at least up to the present moment, is the tentative -- nay, mealy-mouthed -- nature of it all. So carefully calculated so as to seem pale shadows of the president's own pronouncements, most official Democratic statements have been of he "yes, but' variety -- failing in both clarity and apparent sincerity. One is reminded of former president Harry Truman's reported statement that if Americans are given a choice between a Republican point of view and a Republican point of view, "they'll take the Republican every time." Howard Dean, in conscious emulation of Truman (and of Republicans like Barry Goldwater and Ronald Reagan) has decided to provide instead the proverbial "choice, not an echo." Of all things -- the presentation of an opposing point of view! Dean even says out loud that he thinks the president might be (shhhhh) lying about some things. That kind of forthrightness is, right or wrong, what got Dean to where he is today, in front of the Democratic pack of presidential hopefuls and about to make a rout of the race. Dean argues convincingly that if he keeps it up he'll draw three or four million new voters out, enough to make a diffderence at the polls. Threre was an after-hours moment during his campaign tour last week -- in San Antonio, Texas, of all places -- when Dean and members of his staff took turns, as an outgrowth of their prep for a televised Democratic debate this week, doing impressions of the Vermonter's party rivals. Dean, at 5' 8", was especially skillful at suggesting a long, lean Senator John Kerry drawing himself up, caterpillar-like, to his full dignified height. And he did a credible molasses-mouthed version of John Edwards, the senator from North Carolina. (The candidate's staff would just as soon we hadn't blabbed all that, but -- hey! -- telling it means telling it.) There's one potential Democratic candidate that Dean doesn't have a distance on yet, and that's former NATO commander Wesley Clark, the telegenic Arkansan (sound familiar) who, like Dean, is a critic of Bush's tax cuts and his Iraq policies and is apparently about to announce his own candidacy for the presidency during the next week or two. The two of them will be talking before that happens, said Dean, who granted that Clark's positions were similar but opined that he might draw more votes away from Kerry than from himself. (Dean's campaign manager, Joe Trippi, a tell-all type if there ever was one, was candid about Clark: "He'll have legs." If Clark does get in, we'll have a sudden embarassment of riches. Two candidates willing to put it on the line? All we can say is, Bring it! -- J.B.

Tuesday, September 2, 2003

CARNEGIE WALL

CARNEGIE WALL

Posted By on Tue, Sep 2, 2003 at 4:00 AM

Sandy Levine points out Don and Martha

The Carnegie Deli at 7th Avenue and 55th St. in midtown Manhattan offers what might be the largest and most edible sandwich portions of any eatery anywhere (the pastrami is mountain-sized; the Reuben, swimming in a homemade succulent sauce, redefines the species); it also serves up some passing large coincidences. Take about 5 p.m. last Tuesday night, when a few handlers from the Howard Dean campaign led a busload of journalists into the place, which was already crowded and would stay that way. This was a chance for the group, who had been touring the country with Democratic presidential candidate Dean, to light for a while in the company of one or more of the bountiful snacks. No sooner were they seated than a large, gregarious man who introduced himself as Sandy Levine, the manager, came stalking in to ask, “Anybody here know Governor Sundquist or Governor Musgrove?” Now, Tennessee’s former governor and Mississippi’s present one were both known to at least one member of the visiting party -- moi -- but, even as I acknowledged the fact, I couldn’t fathom why he should have named just those two. Half of our group hailed from New York, a goodly part of the remainder called D.C. home, and the rest were from points north or from urban areas of Florida (the next closest thing to north). And while, as it turned out, framed and autographed photos of both Don Sundquist (with wife Martha) and Ronnie Musgrove were attached to the wall of the room we were seated in, so were hundreds -- if not thousands -- of other such photographs, from political and athletic and entertainment celebrities of every kind, from every point of origin under the sun. Whatever the reason, Levine had pushed my button, and once he’d ID’d me, went on to point out the photographs in question, then said, “You know Senator Persons? I got something to show you from him!” Now, that had to be Curtis Person (not Persons), the state senator who represents portions of East Memphis, Cordova, and Germantown, but now the coincidence was turning uncanny. I do indeed live in Curtis Person’s senate district. And, sure enough, just around the corner in another room was another wall covered from side to side and top to bottom with framed photographs and mementoes, and Sandy (he was one of those specimens who get to be on first-name terms with you right away) proudly showed me the certificate, signed by Curtis Person and other state officials, which made him an honorary citizen of Tennessee. Moral of the story? There is none -- unless it is that the political skills of the formidable Senator Person -- who has been opposed for reelection only once since 1966 -- extend to midtown Manhattan. Or that Governor Sundquist, the frustrated tax-reform advocate whose tenure has been put somewhat in the shade by the legislative prowess of budget-cutting successor Phil Bredesen, still has boosters in the Big Apple. Or that Governor Musgrove, locked in a close battle this year with Haley Barbour, is running ahead in the Carnegie poll. Or that, indeed, it is a small world. But one with prenaturally large, delicious sandwiches. The Carnegie Deli -- even without Sandy’s several teeming walls -- is not to be missed.

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