Rout’s Roll Who’s paying for the reelection of Shelby County’s top public official – and why? by Phil Campbell hat do you give a man who has everything? For Shelby County Mayor Jim Rout, the answer is, “A check for up to a thousand dollars.” Rout is still receiving money from campaign contributors, even though his chances of getting beaten by Robert “Prince Mongo” Hodges are about as good as Hodges having a well-attended flesh-pressing photo op in Collierville next week and encountering a fellow Zambodian there. (Zambodia, as few of us need reminding, is the planet Hodges has claimed he’s from.) Rout stopped his efforts to raise campaign contributions earlier this year, after it became clear his apparent invincibility had washed away all viable opponents. With Democrat Jim Kyle having decided long ago not to challenge Rout, there remains little for Rout to do but go back to his regular job of being the county’s top executive, a situation complicated by the fact that the county budget still has to be whipped, sawed, and wheedled into some type of financial balance. Rout’s mega-fund-raisers are over, but the money still trickles in. A couple of months ago, for example, Holiday Inn founder and Germantown resident Kemmons Wilson donated $500. When asked why he contributed, Wilson offered a response only the affluent can truly appreciate. “I don’t remember,” he said, perhaps recognizing the inevitability of Rout’s imminent victory. “Maybe somebody asked me when I ran into him [Rout], or something.” Wilson says he thinks Rout is “a very good man,” and adds, “I always give something to someone I like. I’m not a Republican or a Democrat.” Wilson’s son Spence also gave Rout $700. Wilson is a rare bird in this campaign that is no longer a campaign. He’s made his money, and doesn’t have to worry about anything as mundane as a government contract or how he appears to Rout or about the ideological and pragmatic wings of the local Republican party. Still, in the final days before Rout is crowned county mayor a second time, checks between $100 and $5,000 are going to be recorded at the Shelby County Election Commission as belonging to Rout – for campaign purposes only, of course. The connection between money and politics was established long ago. Money means influence, no matter what sector of the economy in which one works. The private sector wants it and the government has some to dole out, especially in terms of construction contracts. And everyone knows Rout’s position holds the key to those contracts. And if outright influence isn’t what one wants, then there’s ideology, or just a plain old sense of identification with one’s candidate. Rout knows the importance of money, as well as the importance of his position. From September 1994 until September 1995, Rout had already collected $98,691. That was just the beginning of a fund-raising juggernaut which produced, over four years, more than three-quarters of a million dollars. The Election Commission doesn’t have campaign-finance information stored electronically, but after manually entering 922 of Rout’s recorded contributions onto a computer spreadsheet, we were able to perform a basic analysis of Rout’s campaign’s contributions from November 1994, after his first successful campaign, to the present. Overall, a graphic representation of Rout’s fund-raising during that period would resemble a python that swallowed a rat. It’s fattest in the middle, at the time when Rout thought he would have some competition for his job. The tail and the head aren’t anything to step on, either. After Kyle opted out of the race, Rout dropped plans to hold another large fund-raiser because he had essentially won, says John Ryder, Rout’s campaign chairman. “I think we have more than enough money to take on Prince Mongo,” Ryder says dryly. From September 1996 until September 1997, Rout garnered $422,860 from supporters. Had Kyle stayed in, Rout would have tried to keep up this frenetic pace – up until the very end. But the chronological story of Rout’s campaign money is less interesting than other aspects. Rout’s campaign numbers are both unsurprising and sociologically revealing. Their underlying demographics underscore the fiscal power of the more affluent eastern part of Shelby County, as well as the racial imbalance of those who would curry favor with the county’s top official. If BellSouth made a special phone book and called it “Shelby County’s Players,” it could easily start by looking at Rout’s campaign-finance disclosures. A total of 649 individuals, many of them well-known, are responsible for $643,000 in contributions. Several members of the Fogelman family are represented, as are Ira Lipman of Guardsmark and his wife Barbara. AutoZone’s “Pitt” Hyde is there, as well as members of the high-cotton Dunavant family. There’s architect Metcalf Crump and mega-developers Tommy Farnsworth and Jim McGhee. Bayard Boyle is here, as is Beale Street entrepreneur John Elkington. There’s the Hyneman family of home-builders and the Dobbs family of car dealers and the Lightman family who created the Malco theatre chain. There’s inventor Harry Phillips and Sam Phillips (no relation), who created rock-and-roll. There are hundreds more like the above, but you get the idea. It’s a Who’s Who of sorts. In addition, there are 54 PACs present, both inside and outside Shelby County, all of whom together gave some $103,000 to Rout. Again, the top names are all there, including FedEx, First Tennessee, and Jack Belz’s development company. The list includes dozens of real estate developers, builders, architects, and the kinds of attorneys who specialize in representing real estate developers, builders, and architects. Heads of companies who already have contracts with the county, and those who don’t but would like to secure some, have all ponied up for their Republican mayor. These facts aren’t unusual, but the landscape of giving and receiving in political campaigns is already changing, thanks to 1996 contribution-reform laws. Before January 1996, individuals and PACs had no limits on how much they could spend on a candidate. After that date, the limit became $1,000 for an individual and $5,000 for a PAC for each election cycle (primary, general election, and runoff). Instead of making the rule retroactive, though, the commission simply considered the slate wiped clean. People who give Rout $1,000 in December 1995 could have given $1,000 a month later and wouldn’t have to give the money back. It also means that, in the future, political candidates are going to have to rely on large quantities of smaller donations. They won’t be able to just sit back and host a few $1,000-a-plate fund-raisers. Reformers hope this means that there will be a greater diffusion of contributors, so politicians will feel less in thrall to certain interests. If Rout decides to run for a third term, he will have to come to terms with the fact that only $25,301, less than 3 percent, of his total campaign money has come from contributions of less than $100. He will have to work harder at concentrated direct-mailing efforts. Smaller donations mean involving more people, which brings up a major point about Rout’s campaign money. For a group that seems to have gained significant political legitimacy in the past 10 years, African Americans are woefully underrepresented in the effort to buy Jim Rout. A total of 922 contributions in all were made to Rout from late 1994 through mid-1998. Of these, 219 contributions were repeat contributions (sometimes as many as four) from the same individual or PAC, bringing the total number of individual or PAC contributors to 703. Of these 703 contributors, less than a dozen recognizable blacks are present. Among these are Allan Wade, the city council attorney, county attorney Donnie Wilson, Morgan Keegan analyst Archie Willis III, mechanical contractor Winston Gipson, and Ruby Wharton, the wife of Shelby County public defender A C Wharton. How does one account for the lack of blacks among Rout’s financial backers? Rout’s campaign chairman Ryder readily admits that the mayor, as a Republican, doesn’t have the complete support of the black community. “I think, in terms of solid political support in this election, the African-American community, which is predominantly Democrat, was waiting for something to happen,” he says, referring to the rise of a possible opponent from the opposition party. But he quickly adds, “I don’t think it’s a problem. I think the breadth of popularity the mayor enjoys spans the entire community.” Partial support for this thesis is supplied by investment broker Mark Yates, an African American currently serving as chairman of the rival Shelby County Democrats. “He’s something of a community mayor, doing a pretty good job,” shrugs Yates, who was unable to recruit a worthy opponent for the county mayor after Kyle stepped back from the starting line. Unfortunately, the situation also speaks to the lack of economic power among the rank and file of blacks in the county. Practical entrepreneurs of all races don’t care about the political stripe of their public officials. If they can get a return on a financial-campaign “investment,” – a lucrative construction contract or a new road through a subdivision for a developer – then that public official is as good as any other. Rout’s job is mostly about the economic growth of Shelby County, after all; he doesn’t really have to worry about ideological flashpoints such as abortion, gay rights, or the death penalty, and Sheriff A.C. Gilless is the one held responsible if there are any public concerns over the incidence of suburban crime or the behavior of county law enforcement. There’s race and there’s class, and then there’s geography, which is still held up as an indicator for both. Contributors’ addresses and zip codes are included in reports to the Election Commission. Common sense tells us Rout’s base of support is in the eastern part of the county. A computer analysis shows us how strong this tie is. Downtown’s 38103 zip code, with its banks, law offices, and other commercial centers, held its own, providing Rout with $52,350 in contributions. East Memphis also supported Rout strongly; the 38117 zip code (with its I-240 boundary to the east) contributed $72,526. Then the suburbs ring in. Germantown paid out $93,725 to the county mayor’s campaign. Collierville, a surprisingly unimpressive $14,560; unincorporated Cordova, $28,850; Bartlett, $8,250; Millington gave $4,950. Taking into account all of the zip codes east of I-240, though, tells the story. Rout received $354,510 from this part of Shelby County, slightly more than half of the money that can be traced by geography. Midtown and other parts of Memphis have not been as helpful to Rout. In fact, if you take Midtown and combine it with North Memphis, South Memphis, Westwood, Whitehaven, and all the zip codes inside the I-240 loop except East Memphis’ 38117, there’s not much more money for Rout than what he received from all sources outside Shelby County. Non-Shelby Countians hailing from Nashville, Mississippi, Florida, Texas, Virginia, and New York gave Rout $53,425, while Memphis’ center city and inner city could only come up with $76,700. This comparison brings up a puzzling question. Should Midtowners, North Memphians, and South Memphians be giving money to a candidate who is pre-ordained to win this election anyway? Should Democrats be concerned that they’re not being counted among Rout’s political allies? The answer is self-evident: In this political game, if you can’t reform the system, it might pay to pay. But where was Jim Rout when Memphians were up in arms over Chapter 98, the unconstitutional state law that would have created a dozen or more “Toy Towns” in Shelby County, thereby ending the city’s annexation rights forever? And what was Jim Rout thinking when he slashed funding for the Regional Medical Center at Memphis by $2 million this year? To be sure, the upscale citizens of East Memphis and the suburbs have a far smaller chance of getting shot and ending up in an emergency room on Jefferson Avenue than someone from Hickory Hill, Greenlaw, or Cooper-Young does. Rout, with his less than 3 percent rate of dependence on small campaign contributions and his heavy financial reliance on the big names from out east, will continue to be the mayor of Shelby County. The question lingers as to how he will fulfill his current campaign slogan of representing all of Shelby County. They Gave at the Office Well, strictly speaking, elsewhere, but county employees did pony up for Rout. helby County Sheriff A.C. Gilless has his deputies working for him on his reelection campaign. Should anyone be concerned that Shelby County Mayor Jim Rout has received thousands of dollars from his own employees for his reelection bid? Perhaps if the mayor had a viable opponent this election year, the revelation would have come out sooner. Gilless’ opponent for sheriff, candidate Melvin Burgess, certainly hasn’t made poor political use of the deputy-as-campaign-volunteer issue. But Rout is running against Robert “Prince Mongo” Hodges, a perennial candidate who has claimed to come from the planet Zambodia and seems disinclined to make hay with mere mortal problems. The information about Rout’s employee-benefits-in-reverse turned up during a computer analysis of the county mayor’s campaign contributions. According to paper records at the Shelby County Election Commission, at least 19 of Rout’s appointed employees have contributed as much as $11,000. These staffers include chief administrative officer Jim Kelly, County Attorney Donnie Wilson, finance director Henry Marmon, special assistant for health policy Nancy Lawhead, and personnel administrator James Martin. The spouses of Rout’s employees gave the mayor at least an additional $4,850. Since there are no rules governing who can and who can’t contribute to a political campaign, Rout has done nothing illegal. John Ryder, Rout’s campaign chairman, offers a plausible explanation. “There are a lot of personal associations there, as well as political,” Ryder explains. “First, Rout’s been in county politics for decades. So lots of people know him well and want him to succeed. Second, since most of the contributions have come from employees holding appointed positions, the employees would naturally want to help Rout no matter what the price, because if he loses, they’re most likely out of jobs themselves.” But the question of a potential conflict of interest lingers. How much were the employees “encouraged” to contribute? It’s a question that is almost impossible to answer. What employee who wants to keep his or her job would admit to undue pressure? Looking at the dates on those contributions, much of Rout’s campaign money from employees stems from a $100-a-plate fund-raiser at the Rendezvous restaurant in January of this year. Steve Satterfield, Rout’s administrative assistant, gave $200, a donation that he says was within his ability to pay (compared to, say, Donnie Wilson, who with his wife Antoinettte has contributed $2,500 to the mayor’s campaign in the past four years). Satterfield describes the Rendezvous event: “It was just a word-of-mouth thing. A lot of employees will help him move those tickets. I don’t know how many county employees were there, but I’d say a bunch of them. I’d say 100 or so from all levels of the county.” Satterfield and other employees deny receiving pressure from the mayor’s office. “I’m strictly non-political,” says Joseph Jackson, the county’s administrator of information technology. Jackson has given $450 altogether, $200 in November 1994 and $250 during January’s Rendezvous fund-raiser. “No, I didn’t get a note, and no one specifically came to me,” he steadfastly avers.