Libby Mitchell walked into this year's Maine governor's race with three important weapons: name recognition, public funding, and the support of the Maine Democratic Party machine. But the Mitchell campaign also faced a significant problem: how to overcome the stigma of being a well-established political insider, at a time when voters wanted change, and when the four other candidates all provided that option. Patty Wight has part four in our weeklong series taking an inside look at the race for the Blaine House.
Listen at:
http://www.mpbn.net/News/MPBNNews/tabid/1159/ctl/ViewItem/mid/3762/ItemId/14691/Default.aspx
At Mitchell campaign headquarters in Portland, ethernet wires dangle from the ceiling, against a backdrop of bare walls and an old stained carpet. As a publicly-funded campaign, the game plan is to distill down to the essentials.
One key essential, they say, is the media strategy--everything from press conferences to television ads. So on a Friday in August, her staff gathers for their daily 9:00 a.m. conference call to plan a commercial shoot for the next day. They need people to fill a town hall setting.
Staff member 1: "Um - how are we doing for any of the other folks that we need?"
Staff member 2: "Gabby got us two more working moms last night, um, so we're about halfway there on that front?."
Mitchell is a clean elections candidate, and the matching public funding she receives is finite. Planning ahead is the key to make sure it will last. So the campaign has to make strategic decisions now about commercials that won't run for another two months.
Staff member 1: "Okay, and we'll try to get that nailed asap."
Staff member 2: "All right. Sounds good. Thanks guys."
"We're a clean elections campaign. We have a very small budget," says Mitchell's director of communications, David Loughran (pictured above). "I mean, there's only five of us. So our plan is really around pushing out Libby's positive message for Maine."
Patty Wight: "And how do you drive that message out?"
David Loughran: "The strongest way to drive it out is candidate appearances. To know her is to love her. So getting her around to talk to undecided voters and supporters is absolutely key to our strategy."
The campaign is actively courting women, moderate independents in the first congressional district--and, of course, Democrats.
On a Sunday afternoon in August, Mitchell attends the Lincoln County Democrats lobster bake in Damariscotta. Bumper stickers on parked cars still promote some of Mitchell's Democratic rivals from the June primary--which is exactly why she's come to an event like this.
"It's important to get back together," Mitchell says. "And also we have to energize our base. The tea party people are very energized."
The tea party has rallied behind frontrunner Paul LePage. At this point in the campaign, Mitchell is running second, and Independent Eliot Cutler is trailing a distant third.
Mitchell's campaign sees LePage as its sole rival. Their mantra was "it's a two-way race." But some members of the Democratic Party here at the lobster bake, including Tom Eichler, worry about the impact Cutler could have.
Eichler: "What distresses me about this race is with the vote splitting that's gonna happen between you and Eliot Cutler. And... "
Mitchell: "It's a race between Paul LePage and Libby Mitchell. And the contrast is stark."
Eicheler: "The difference between you and Eliot Cutler is not so great, though, too."
Mitchell: "That's really not true either."
Eichler: "I hope you can really make that point strongly because..."
Mitchell: "I'm trying to do that."
Eichler: "Or uh, it's going to be important for this election."
"The day I joined, we had a conversation about how hard it was going to be," Loughran says. "Running someone who had a long distinguished record of public service with a very frustrated electorate who was looking for anything but the people who had been in power, ya know, it was going to be tough."
To have a shot at winning, Mitchell first has to close the gap on LePage. The best way to do that, the campaign decides, is through comparison ads.
Mitchell ad: "Paul LePage wants to eliminate our environmental protections that keep our waters clean and our air pure."
These ads are viewed by some as negative, but there is some evidence that they work. And after the ads have run for a couple of weeks, polls indicate that Mitchell has pulled to within just a few points of LePage. To surge ahead, the campaign needed a shot in the arm. And it comes in the form of a visit from former President Bill Clinton.
Loughran: "How ya doin'?"
Man: "Good. This is a home run. Home run. Good momentum."
About 1,500 people have turned out to see Clinton at Southern Maine Community College in South Portland. Mitchell campaign staffer David Loughran stands just outside the gym doors to greet the incoming crowd.
"We're getting remarkable press coverage for a Sunday evening," he says. "You would never get this sort of thing. We had pre-stories, we'll have post-stories. So it's a very positive thing in terms of generating attention for Libby's campaign."
Perhaps most importantly, Clinton appears to rally Mitchell's base.
Clinton: "I want you to promise yourselves before you walk out of here, if it was enough trouble for you to come here, then you oughta take the trouble every day between now and election day to talk to somebody about what we talked about tonight. This is about jobs, education..."
By the end of the night, the crowd is electric with enthusiasm.
"I'm very taken with him," says Kyle Slayback. Slayback says she was on the fence about whether to support Mitchell. Now, she says, the former president has convinced her to jump on board and spread the word. "I'm over anything he ever did wrong. We all do things wrong!" she says.
The Mitchell camp understands that when planning a campaign strategy, timing is everything. You try to peak not too early, and not too late. The Clinton event, it turns out, marked Mitchell's peak in the campaign. The next day, she took the lead by one point. But it didn't last.
The RGA--the Republican Governor's Association--had released its own negative ads targeting Mitchell's record on tax policy.
RGA ad: "And boy does Augusta have big problems. Libby Mitchell has been there for years, trying to raise the sales tax twice by over $200 million."
The campaign doesn't have the funds to produce ads to respond, and is forced to fire back in debates and press releases, but to little effect.
Mitchell takes another hit when the Maine Democratic Party puts out negative mailers attacking Cutler, who was gaining momentum. Even though they didn't come from Mitchell's campaign, there is a public outcry against the ads, which even upset some Democrats.
In the final days, the campaign gives a final push with a "sprint to victory" campaign across the state with retail political stops, press conferences, and even another visit from former President Clinton.
"There were a lot of things still happening at the end, that you know--you talk yourself into thinking, you know, one or two things go your way and it can change, you know, everything," Loughren says.
Mitchell's fate is sealed early on election night. She concedes just two hours after the polls close and garners only 19 percent of the vote. Loughran says if he had to do it over again, he would have paid more attention to other candidates--namely, Eliot Cutler.
"He was low double digits for much of the campaign, so he wasn't really involved in the back and forth between Libby and LePage. So he was able to build up a lot of good will," Loughren says.
But Loughran says what really did them in was those tax ads from the Republican Governors Association. He wishes they had somehow pushed back more.
Ultimately, he says, the national Republican wave was too much to overcome. And he believes that they ran the campaign that would have put them in the best position to win had things broken their way. "And at the end of the day it's more important to prioritize what's important, and do that well, rather than try to do everything," Loughren says.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 30, 2010
The Race for the Blaine House--An Inside View of Five Campaigns: Eliot Cutler
Imagine applying for a job for which you have to convince tens of thousands of people to hire you, and spend hundreds of thousands of dollars just to be able to stay in the running. That's kind of what it's like to run for governor of Maine, and it can be even more daunting if you don't have the organization of a major political party behind you. In part 3 of our weeklong series on the 2010 race for the Blaine House, Patty Wight takes a look inside the campaign of Independent Eliot Cutler.
Listen at: http://www.mpbn.net/News/MPBNNews/tabid/1159/ctl/ViewItem/mid/3762/ItemId/14666/Default.aspx
On the night of Nov. 2nd, 2010, Eliot Cutler is sitting in a hotel suite in Portland, watching his early lead slip away.
Man: "What are the numbers looking like?"
Justin Schair: "We're leading by less than 3,000 votes."
Cutler: "I don't think this bodes well."
The story of how Cutler got to this moment begins almost two years ago, after he gave a speech about education at the Muskie School in Portland. People in the audience liked it so much, many suggested that he run for governor.
One of those people would later become Cutler's campaign manager. "And a few months later he contacted me and said were you serious?" says Ted O'Meara.
O'Meara says that Cutler, a lifelong Democrat who at one time worked for Sen. Ed Muskie, and also in the Carter administration, switched over to the Republican party in 2006. But O'Meara says Cutler didn't feel at home in either party, and decided to run as an Independent.
While running without a national party infrastructure had its drawbacks, O'Meara says it also brought a sense of freedom from party protocol. "The more we got into it, the more we felt totally liberated from all that and that he didn't have to worry about which local politician or party leader here was offended because he didn't come to this meeting or that."
And this past June, with Paul LePage and Libby Mitchell chosen as the party nominees, O'Meara says the Cutler camp got exactly what it had hoped for: a wide center in the electorate, ready for the taking. But the parties were still a force to be reckoned with.
"As an Independent, you're not just running against two party nominees, you're running against their national party groups, their state party groups, the interest groups that support them," O'Meara says. "So it's like running against two four-headed monsters instead of just one individual."
To combat this four-headed monster, the Cutler campaign set up a tightly-organized army of staff that focused on specific missions. Will Perry, in correspondence, writes letters to every single person Cutler meets, from fundraisers to meetings.
"And it's really a hard job, and it's really--almost half of it is up to the people who are staffing Eliot. And they do a really good job most of the time of letting me know, these are the people, this is what they talked about," says Perry.
The campaign also blankets the Internet with ads. The strategy is to make a Cutler ad appear whenever someone googles a relevant search topic, such as energy or education. Ads also appear on seemingly random sites, such as YouTube.
John Lombardo, the director of new media, says if the user is from Maine, a Cutler ad will pop up. "At the end of our campaign, we will have done something more like approaching 90 million ads for 1.3 million people--that's people, not just voters. So you're talking about something like 80 ads per person almost. I don't know what the results are going to be. I know that we're generating a lot of clicks right now."
The campaign's early research indicates that Cutler will appeal across the spectrum of voters. There was no sweet spot of support to target. And with all of their effort, it seemed virtually impossible for Cutler's popularity not to rise. But by mid-September, he was stuck at around 11 percent in the polls.
"I mean we're all kinda mystified, and some of us have been at this for a long time," O'Meara says. "It just seems like the response he is getting out there, that he really does have a lot of great support out there."
O'Meara believes the polls themselves, which he says are of questionable accuracy, are partially to blame. They are being used to paint Cutler as a spoiler.
"There's been a well-orchestrated effort to get people to contact him, and write letters to the editor saying that he's the spoiler in this and has to get out of the way for the good of the state. I mean, that's just garbage."
Weeks go by, and Cutler's numbers don't budge. O'Meara says he felt like the campaign was hanging on by its fingernails. But in mid-October, Cutler starts to climb onto the ledge. A Rasmussen poll shows him nearing striking distance to Mitchell. A few days later, he gets an endorsement from the Bangor Daily News. The campaign presses to build on this momentum.
"Hi. I'm out campaigning for Eliot Cutler today." The campaign goes door to door. Holds rallies. Endorsements come in from almost all the major newspapers in the state, as well as from former Independent Gov. Angus King. It all culminates in a four-day bus tour and then, it's Election Day.
"Hi Good morning. I'm Eliot Cutler. I'd love to have your vote if you haven't voted." At 5:30 in the morning, Cutler is at Bath Iron Works, ready to shake hands in the cold darkness. "I think a lot of people aren't making up their minds until they go to the voting booth. And even if it's only 3 percent of the voting population, that's a lot of people."
Cutler: "Hi. I'm Eliot Cutler. I'd love to have your vote if you haven't voted."
Man: "You have my vote!"
Cutler: "Thank you - Thank you very much!"
Man: "Good luck!"
Cutler: "Thanks a lot!"
That night, Cutler joins his staff at the Eastland Hotel in Portland, for the election night party. Within hours of the polls closing, Cutler is showing an early lead. "For the first time, I sort of let myself believe that we were actually were gonna do this, and this was gonna be a storybook ending to campaign that a lot of people said couldn't win," O'Meara says.
After giving interviews and mingling with supporters, Cutler, some staff, family and friends go up to a private suite to watch as the numbers come in. They laugh and make jokes. But then, the lead starts to shrink. The tv blips out, and the room is eerily quiet.
Man: "What are the numbers looking like?"
Justin Schair: "We're leading by less than 3,000 votes."
Cutler: "I don't think this bodes well."
The tension is palpable. Campaign staffer Justin Schair is glued to the computer screen, letting out sighs to blow off steam while Cutler starts clicking his pen.
Before long, Paul LePage moves into the lead. It won't be until the next day that it's clear he has enough of a margin of victory for Cutler to concede. The margin is about 8,000 votes. "It's hard. It's really hard," O'Meara says. "This is an all or nothing business. Ya know, second place really doesn't count."
Looking back, the Cutler camp blames early voting through absentee ballots for sealing their fate. People cast their votes before Cutler was seen as viable. "And the real irony is that, you know, for a campaign so many people were saying a month, six weeks before wasn't viable--to come within a percentage and a half--that answers the viability question right there."
O'Meara says running a campaign is like running a million dollar business. It's grueling physically, mentally and emotionally. "But the one thing that I think separates it from most other endeavors is it has a definite ending point, and you get in there and you run, and you run faster and faster and faster, and then, boom, one day, either move on, or it's over. And the silence is deafening."
Listen at: http://www.mpbn.net/News/MPBNNews/tabid/1159/ctl/ViewItem/mid/3762/ItemId/14666/Default.aspx
On the night of Nov. 2nd, 2010, Eliot Cutler is sitting in a hotel suite in Portland, watching his early lead slip away.
Man: "What are the numbers looking like?"
Justin Schair: "We're leading by less than 3,000 votes."
Cutler: "I don't think this bodes well."
The story of how Cutler got to this moment begins almost two years ago, after he gave a speech about education at the Muskie School in Portland. People in the audience liked it so much, many suggested that he run for governor.
One of those people would later become Cutler's campaign manager. "And a few months later he contacted me and said were you serious?" says Ted O'Meara.
O'Meara says that Cutler, a lifelong Democrat who at one time worked for Sen. Ed Muskie, and also in the Carter administration, switched over to the Republican party in 2006. But O'Meara says Cutler didn't feel at home in either party, and decided to run as an Independent.
While running without a national party infrastructure had its drawbacks, O'Meara says it also brought a sense of freedom from party protocol. "The more we got into it, the more we felt totally liberated from all that and that he didn't have to worry about which local politician or party leader here was offended because he didn't come to this meeting or that."
And this past June, with Paul LePage and Libby Mitchell chosen as the party nominees, O'Meara says the Cutler camp got exactly what it had hoped for: a wide center in the electorate, ready for the taking. But the parties were still a force to be reckoned with.
"As an Independent, you're not just running against two party nominees, you're running against their national party groups, their state party groups, the interest groups that support them," O'Meara says. "So it's like running against two four-headed monsters instead of just one individual."
To combat this four-headed monster, the Cutler campaign set up a tightly-organized army of staff that focused on specific missions. Will Perry, in correspondence, writes letters to every single person Cutler meets, from fundraisers to meetings.
"And it's really a hard job, and it's really--almost half of it is up to the people who are staffing Eliot. And they do a really good job most of the time of letting me know, these are the people, this is what they talked about," says Perry.
The campaign also blankets the Internet with ads. The strategy is to make a Cutler ad appear whenever someone googles a relevant search topic, such as energy or education. Ads also appear on seemingly random sites, such as YouTube.
John Lombardo, the director of new media, says if the user is from Maine, a Cutler ad will pop up. "At the end of our campaign, we will have done something more like approaching 90 million ads for 1.3 million people--that's people, not just voters. So you're talking about something like 80 ads per person almost. I don't know what the results are going to be. I know that we're generating a lot of clicks right now."
The campaign's early research indicates that Cutler will appeal across the spectrum of voters. There was no sweet spot of support to target. And with all of their effort, it seemed virtually impossible for Cutler's popularity not to rise. But by mid-September, he was stuck at around 11 percent in the polls.
"I mean we're all kinda mystified, and some of us have been at this for a long time," O'Meara says. "It just seems like the response he is getting out there, that he really does have a lot of great support out there."
O'Meara believes the polls themselves, which he says are of questionable accuracy, are partially to blame. They are being used to paint Cutler as a spoiler.
"There's been a well-orchestrated effort to get people to contact him, and write letters to the editor saying that he's the spoiler in this and has to get out of the way for the good of the state. I mean, that's just garbage."
Weeks go by, and Cutler's numbers don't budge. O'Meara says he felt like the campaign was hanging on by its fingernails. But in mid-October, Cutler starts to climb onto the ledge. A Rasmussen poll shows him nearing striking distance to Mitchell. A few days later, he gets an endorsement from the Bangor Daily News. The campaign presses to build on this momentum.
"Hi. I'm out campaigning for Eliot Cutler today." The campaign goes door to door. Holds rallies. Endorsements come in from almost all the major newspapers in the state, as well as from former Independent Gov. Angus King. It all culminates in a four-day bus tour and then, it's Election Day.
"Hi Good morning. I'm Eliot Cutler. I'd love to have your vote if you haven't voted." At 5:30 in the morning, Cutler is at Bath Iron Works, ready to shake hands in the cold darkness. "I think a lot of people aren't making up their minds until they go to the voting booth. And even if it's only 3 percent of the voting population, that's a lot of people."
Cutler: "Hi. I'm Eliot Cutler. I'd love to have your vote if you haven't voted."
Man: "You have my vote!"
Cutler: "Thank you - Thank you very much!"
Man: "Good luck!"
Cutler: "Thanks a lot!"
That night, Cutler joins his staff at the Eastland Hotel in Portland, for the election night party. Within hours of the polls closing, Cutler is showing an early lead. "For the first time, I sort of let myself believe that we were actually were gonna do this, and this was gonna be a storybook ending to campaign that a lot of people said couldn't win," O'Meara says.
After giving interviews and mingling with supporters, Cutler, some staff, family and friends go up to a private suite to watch as the numbers come in. They laugh and make jokes. But then, the lead starts to shrink. The tv blips out, and the room is eerily quiet.
Man: "What are the numbers looking like?"
Justin Schair: "We're leading by less than 3,000 votes."
Cutler: "I don't think this bodes well."
The tension is palpable. Campaign staffer Justin Schair is glued to the computer screen, letting out sighs to blow off steam while Cutler starts clicking his pen.
Before long, Paul LePage moves into the lead. It won't be until the next day that it's clear he has enough of a margin of victory for Cutler to concede. The margin is about 8,000 votes. "It's hard. It's really hard," O'Meara says. "This is an all or nothing business. Ya know, second place really doesn't count."
Looking back, the Cutler camp blames early voting through absentee ballots for sealing their fate. People cast their votes before Cutler was seen as viable. "And the real irony is that, you know, for a campaign so many people were saying a month, six weeks before wasn't viable--to come within a percentage and a half--that answers the viability question right there."
O'Meara says running a campaign is like running a million dollar business. It's grueling physically, mentally and emotionally. "But the one thing that I think separates it from most other endeavors is it has a definite ending point, and you get in there and you run, and you run faster and faster and faster, and then, boom, one day, either move on, or it's over. And the silence is deafening."
The Race for the Blaine House--An Inside View of Five Campaigns: Kevin Scott
When Kevin Scott decided to run as an Independent candidate for governor, he had in mind a simple notion: that any citizen of the state of Maine can become governor. But in reality, the road to the Blaine House is long and difficult. We continue our five-part series on the 2010 governor's race with an inside look at the Scott campaign, which, as independent producer Patty Wight discovered, struggled with funding--and according to Scott, the media.
Listen at:
http://www.mpbn.net/News/MPBNNews/tabid/1159/ctl/ViewItem/mid/3762/ItemId/14662/Default.aspx
The limit to what you can achieve, says Kevin Scott, is based on what you go after. He put himself through college. He started an employment firm for engineers. He dove into local politics in his hometown of Andover to--as he puts it--clean up bureaucratic and financial problems.
Running for governor, he figured, didn't feel like much of a stretch. "I'm not a legislator-type person. I'm not a committee chair-type person. I'm an executive-type person."
So, starting last January, he, his father, and some friends spent months collecting the 4,000 signatures needed to put his name on the ballot. He ran as what he called a "citizen" governor, with a campaign to match.
Scott had help from his wife, some volunteers and eventually a part-time manager. But he essentially ran the campaign on his own. His official headquarters were at his home in Andover. But he spent so much time on the road, it was Scott's 1991 Oldsmobile that would serve as his base of operations.
"In the back area by the window, I have a backpack here and that keeps my notes and things that I'm gonna be using at various locations. On the other side I have my ties. I have the gold tie and the orange tie, which are usually for televised appearances."
Patty Wight: "Why the gold and the orange for tv?"
Scott: "They pop! I mean if you look at the other candidates, they're all wearing blue shirts and red ties. Well I've got a white shirt and a popping tie, so who sees me on tv? Everybody."
And Scott knew that he had to be seen. He drove more than 35,000 miles through the constant flow of public events he needed to attend in order to build name recognition/
"Sir how are you? Good. I'm Kevin Scott. I'm a candidate for governor." There were meet-and-greets, some well-attended, some less-so.
Scott: "Hey there."
Woman: "Hi, there how are you?"
Scott: "Good. Okay, we have 5, 4, 5 people--hello! Nice to meet you."
And there was the Windsor Fair's "political pull"--a cow milking contest for candidates.
Announcer: "On your marks - get set - go!"
Scott: "C'mon baby. Stay still."
These so called "earned media events" are particularly important for lesser-known candidates such as Scott because they present a chance to be covered in local news. Scott didn't want to spend a lot of money, so he didn't buy tv advertising. His campaign, which was largely self-funded, spent just $24,000.
Even though Scott and his wife Susan Merrow knew that it takes money to win in politics, that's part of the reason they were so unwilling to spend it. "I think that's part of what's gone wrong," Merrow says. "If I'm standing here and I don't like the way the government is headed, it's like, 'Well lady, you're out of luck unless you have a million dollars.'"
Scott could have bolstered his campaign war chest if he had run as a clean election candidate. But he says when he collected his ballot signatures, he didn't have the network in place to also collect the more than 3,200 $5 contributions to qualify for public funding.
But his decision to keep spending to a minimum did not appear to help his cause. By September, he was polling at just 1 percent.
"What do you think my odds are? The correct answer is 1 in 5. They're pretty slim, we know that. But we're working hard."
A month out from the election, Scott eats breakfast in his dining room in Andover. He's pouring over a report on higher education on his laptop to get ready for a forum. "This stuff was sent a couple weeks ago. I have the pleasure of looking at it for the first time this morning. And by 1:00 today I'll be an expert on this 36-page white paper right here."
After an hour of copying and pasting notes, it's time to get ready to go. Before he closes his computer, he checks the news with his wife Susan. Scott usually feels lucky if gets more than one quote in a story. This morning, there's a whole article about a speech he gave to the Waterville Rotary.
"He repeatedly told Rotarians he wouldn't have all the answers as governor," he reads from the article. "He downplayed the suggestion that he's unqualified to be governor. He's one of five candidates, he's dead last with 1 percent of the polling."
Scott takes notice of media coverage. He's been cropped out of news photos. There have been stories on television with his image, but no quotes.
His chances may be slim, but he wonders sometimes if the news media are trying to seal his fate. Scott usually exudes optimism and confidence. But on the way to the higher education forum, he admits that he's nervous.
Patty Wight: "Why?"
Scott: "Well, because everything's going against me. 'Oh, you're at 1 percent, you're dead last. Always trying to explain, oh, he doesn't have answers.' You know, I'm really being dissed and marginalized, and that really beats you down. It's like why should I even go to this thing? Everybody's already written me off. Ya know? But that's what people get sucked into--that's why people are defeated in life."
It might be tempting for Scott to throw in the towel. But he says he didn't want to abandon his supporters. He didn't get in this race to quit.
A week before election day, Scott visited Sacopee Valley Middle School in Hiram for their mock election. A win here might guarantee him news coverage. And he was happy to get away from the daily campaign grind. His speech to the students sounded a bit like a reflection on his own campaign.
"You will face challenges. And you will face challenges in your neighborhood, in your class, in your studies, and in your life. And the way you're gonna overcome those challenges is through information. I will encourage you to look beyond what you're reading and try get to the source, because there's always more than one story behind every fact."
On election night, while other candidates rallied in public venues with their raucous supporters, Scott invited a small group of friends over to his house. They didn't turn on the tv or radio. Periodically, they'd check the Internet for results. By the end of the night, he claimed just 1 percent of the vote.
"You don't change 100 years or 60 years of dysfunctional political behavior in 10 months. You don't do it spending $15,000 of your hard-earned dollars. So I'm looking to differentiate myself, and if that cost me a win, then so be it. But I've already won. My spirits are high, I've seen the inside."
And Scott hints that he may return to the political arena. The next race for governor is only four years away. And our last interview, it seems, didn't cover everything he wanted to say.
Patty Wight: "Anything else you want to say?"
Scott: "Um. Yeah. Tons."
Listen at:
http://www.mpbn.net/News/MPBNNews/tabid/1159/ctl/ViewItem/mid/3762/ItemId/14662/Default.aspx
The limit to what you can achieve, says Kevin Scott, is based on what you go after. He put himself through college. He started an employment firm for engineers. He dove into local politics in his hometown of Andover to--as he puts it--clean up bureaucratic and financial problems.
Running for governor, he figured, didn't feel like much of a stretch. "I'm not a legislator-type person. I'm not a committee chair-type person. I'm an executive-type person."
So, starting last January, he, his father, and some friends spent months collecting the 4,000 signatures needed to put his name on the ballot. He ran as what he called a "citizen" governor, with a campaign to match.
Scott had help from his wife, some volunteers and eventually a part-time manager. But he essentially ran the campaign on his own. His official headquarters were at his home in Andover. But he spent so much time on the road, it was Scott's 1991 Oldsmobile that would serve as his base of operations.
"In the back area by the window, I have a backpack here and that keeps my notes and things that I'm gonna be using at various locations. On the other side I have my ties. I have the gold tie and the orange tie, which are usually for televised appearances."
Patty Wight: "Why the gold and the orange for tv?"
Scott: "They pop! I mean if you look at the other candidates, they're all wearing blue shirts and red ties. Well I've got a white shirt and a popping tie, so who sees me on tv? Everybody."
And Scott knew that he had to be seen. He drove more than 35,000 miles through the constant flow of public events he needed to attend in order to build name recognition/
"Sir how are you? Good. I'm Kevin Scott. I'm a candidate for governor." There were meet-and-greets, some well-attended, some less-so.
Scott: "Hey there."
Woman: "Hi, there how are you?"
Scott: "Good. Okay, we have 5, 4, 5 people--hello! Nice to meet you."
And there was the Windsor Fair's "political pull"--a cow milking contest for candidates.
Announcer: "On your marks - get set - go!"
Scott: "C'mon baby. Stay still."
These so called "earned media events" are particularly important for lesser-known candidates such as Scott because they present a chance to be covered in local news. Scott didn't want to spend a lot of money, so he didn't buy tv advertising. His campaign, which was largely self-funded, spent just $24,000.
Even though Scott and his wife Susan Merrow knew that it takes money to win in politics, that's part of the reason they were so unwilling to spend it. "I think that's part of what's gone wrong," Merrow says. "If I'm standing here and I don't like the way the government is headed, it's like, 'Well lady, you're out of luck unless you have a million dollars.'"
Scott could have bolstered his campaign war chest if he had run as a clean election candidate. But he says when he collected his ballot signatures, he didn't have the network in place to also collect the more than 3,200 $5 contributions to qualify for public funding.
But his decision to keep spending to a minimum did not appear to help his cause. By September, he was polling at just 1 percent.
"What do you think my odds are? The correct answer is 1 in 5. They're pretty slim, we know that. But we're working hard."
A month out from the election, Scott eats breakfast in his dining room in Andover. He's pouring over a report on higher education on his laptop to get ready for a forum. "This stuff was sent a couple weeks ago. I have the pleasure of looking at it for the first time this morning. And by 1:00 today I'll be an expert on this 36-page white paper right here."
After an hour of copying and pasting notes, it's time to get ready to go. Before he closes his computer, he checks the news with his wife Susan. Scott usually feels lucky if gets more than one quote in a story. This morning, there's a whole article about a speech he gave to the Waterville Rotary.
"He repeatedly told Rotarians he wouldn't have all the answers as governor," he reads from the article. "He downplayed the suggestion that he's unqualified to be governor. He's one of five candidates, he's dead last with 1 percent of the polling."
Scott takes notice of media coverage. He's been cropped out of news photos. There have been stories on television with his image, but no quotes.
His chances may be slim, but he wonders sometimes if the news media are trying to seal his fate. Scott usually exudes optimism and confidence. But on the way to the higher education forum, he admits that he's nervous.
Patty Wight: "Why?"
Scott: "Well, because everything's going against me. 'Oh, you're at 1 percent, you're dead last. Always trying to explain, oh, he doesn't have answers.' You know, I'm really being dissed and marginalized, and that really beats you down. It's like why should I even go to this thing? Everybody's already written me off. Ya know? But that's what people get sucked into--that's why people are defeated in life."
It might be tempting for Scott to throw in the towel. But he says he didn't want to abandon his supporters. He didn't get in this race to quit.
A week before election day, Scott visited Sacopee Valley Middle School in Hiram for their mock election. A win here might guarantee him news coverage. And he was happy to get away from the daily campaign grind. His speech to the students sounded a bit like a reflection on his own campaign.
"You will face challenges. And you will face challenges in your neighborhood, in your class, in your studies, and in your life. And the way you're gonna overcome those challenges is through information. I will encourage you to look beyond what you're reading and try get to the source, because there's always more than one story behind every fact."
On election night, while other candidates rallied in public venues with their raucous supporters, Scott invited a small group of friends over to his house. They didn't turn on the tv or radio. Periodically, they'd check the Internet for results. By the end of the night, he claimed just 1 percent of the vote.
"You don't change 100 years or 60 years of dysfunctional political behavior in 10 months. You don't do it spending $15,000 of your hard-earned dollars. So I'm looking to differentiate myself, and if that cost me a win, then so be it. But I've already won. My spirits are high, I've seen the inside."
And Scott hints that he may return to the political arena. The next race for governor is only four years away. And our last interview, it seems, didn't cover everything he wanted to say.
Patty Wight: "Anything else you want to say?"
Scott: "Um. Yeah. Tons."
Judge Clears Verrill Dana Attorneys of Ethics Charges
The Maine Supreme Judicial Court has cleared six Portland attorneys of ethics charges in connection with the misconduct of former partner John Duncan. In a ruling issued late this afternoon, Justice Donald Alexander finds that prosecutors with the Board of Overseers of the Bar failed to prove that Duncan's former colleagues at Verrill Dana violated codes of professional conduct by failing to uncover and report evidence of his crimes in a timely way.
Listen at:
http://www.mpbn.net/News/MPBNNews/tabid/1159/ctl/ViewItem/mid/3762/ItemId/14675/Default.aspx
The board of Overseers of the Bar had sought sanctions against the six lawyers after a three-year investigation raised questions about whether they had properly reported Duncans' actions, including the theft of $300,000 in client funds.
In their case against the six attorneys, who served on the firm's executive board, prosecutors argued that if they suspected that Duncan might have been guilty of unethical--if not illegal--conduct, it was their duty under bar rules to report him.
In his 35-page ruling, Justice Donald Alexander found that prosecutors had failed to prove the allegations.
"Well, it's gratifying, although certainly not suprising, that the judge was able to capture what this case was really about," says Portland attorney Melissa Hewey, who represented Verrill Dana attorney James Kilbreth in the case.
"The bar rules are clear, that you examine these things based on what people know when they know it, and one incident doesn't form anybody's complete picture of another person," Hewey says. "So knowing John Duncan, knowing who he was, really made these people decide to do what they did."
Duncan was a well-respected and long-serving attorney with Verrill and Dana in 2007 when evidence emerged within the firm that he had improperly written checks to himself from client accounts.
The opinion concludes that it was understandable that Duncan's colleagues at the time believed his explanation, and that while they thought Duncan may have broken the firm's partnership agreement, it wasn't clear that he had broken any laws.
Justice Alexander's ruling also finds that his colleagues were understandably concerned about his mental health. Further, Alexander found that when it later came to light that Duncan had, in fact, stolen much more from clients, and from the firm, proper steps were taken to report him.
Justice Alexander concludes: "With the clarity of hindsight, the respondents were perhaps too trusting when they had good reason to trust, but they committed no violations of the Code of Professional Responsibility."
"I don't think that the decision changes the rules," Hewey says. "I think that what it highlights is that these are ethical rules, and that attorneys have a lot of different obligations--the obligations to each other, the obligations foremost to their clients, but that acting humanely and trusting people is not unethical."
Calls to the Board of Overseers of the Bar were not returned by airtime. Duncan was disbarred and served two years in federal prison.
Listen at:
http://www.mpbn.net/News/MPBNNews/tabid/1159/ctl/ViewItem/mid/3762/ItemId/14675/Default.aspx
The board of Overseers of the Bar had sought sanctions against the six lawyers after a three-year investigation raised questions about whether they had properly reported Duncans' actions, including the theft of $300,000 in client funds.
In their case against the six attorneys, who served on the firm's executive board, prosecutors argued that if they suspected that Duncan might have been guilty of unethical--if not illegal--conduct, it was their duty under bar rules to report him.
In his 35-page ruling, Justice Donald Alexander found that prosecutors had failed to prove the allegations.
"Well, it's gratifying, although certainly not suprising, that the judge was able to capture what this case was really about," says Portland attorney Melissa Hewey, who represented Verrill Dana attorney James Kilbreth in the case.
"The bar rules are clear, that you examine these things based on what people know when they know it, and one incident doesn't form anybody's complete picture of another person," Hewey says. "So knowing John Duncan, knowing who he was, really made these people decide to do what they did."
Duncan was a well-respected and long-serving attorney with Verrill and Dana in 2007 when evidence emerged within the firm that he had improperly written checks to himself from client accounts.
The opinion concludes that it was understandable that Duncan's colleagues at the time believed his explanation, and that while they thought Duncan may have broken the firm's partnership agreement, it wasn't clear that he had broken any laws.
Justice Alexander's ruling also finds that his colleagues were understandably concerned about his mental health. Further, Alexander found that when it later came to light that Duncan had, in fact, stolen much more from clients, and from the firm, proper steps were taken to report him.
Justice Alexander concludes: "With the clarity of hindsight, the respondents were perhaps too trusting when they had good reason to trust, but they committed no violations of the Code of Professional Responsibility."
"I don't think that the decision changes the rules," Hewey says. "I think that what it highlights is that these are ethical rules, and that attorneys have a lot of different obligations--the obligations to each other, the obligations foremost to their clients, but that acting humanely and trusting people is not unethical."
Calls to the Board of Overseers of the Bar were not returned by airtime. Duncan was disbarred and served two years in federal prison.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Maine Town Refuses Credit Cards
SCARBOROUGH, Maine – Residents of Scarborough can no longer pay excise and property tax bills with credit cards, WCSH-TV reports. The town is refusing plastic payments because of reductions in its budget.
Town Manager Tom Hall said the town paid about $110,000 annually for credit-card transactions. Hall estimates the town will save $25,000 this fiscal year by refusing credit card payments.
Scarborough will accept credit cards as soon as town officials decide on what fee to charge those who use plastic. Last September, a state law went into effect that lets municipalities assess a fee on credit card transactions. Debit card transactions are not effected by the change.
Nationally, the credit card reforms passed last May go into effect today. Despite the many reforms that the Credit Card Accountability, Responsibility, and Disclosure (CARD) Act will enact, Congress has yet to address swipe fees, also known as “interchange,” which are set in secret by the banks and credit card companies and charged to store owners every time they run a customer’s credit card.
Without swipe fee reform, the big banks and credit card companies will still be raking in billions of dollars in hidden, unfair fees from Main Street businesses and their customers. In fact, the $48 billion that Americans paid in swipe fees in 2008 is more than they paid in annual fees, cash advance fees, over-the-limit fees, and late fees combined.
“Swipe fees are crippling Main Street businesses and hurting our customers at a time when we can least afford it,” said Jennifer Hatcher, vice president of government relations at the Food Marketing Institute. “As long as the big banks and credit card companies get to keep lining their pockets with these unfair, hidden fees, we won’t truly have reform. You can’t fix the abusive credit card system without fixing the biggest hidden fee of all – and that’s the swipe fee.”
So today, as other credit card reforms take effect, American businesses and consumers will still pay over $130 million in swipe fees — an amount they will continue paying each day until Congress acts to reform the biggest fee of them all.
The Race for the Blaine House - An Inside View of Five Campaigns
Say you're fed up with politics. So fed up that you decide to run for public office. And not just any office.Governor. The thing is, you have no political experience. You don't belong to any party. And you only have four months to put together a winning campaign. This is where Shawn Moody found himself last June. Independent producer Patty Wight spent over 90 hours with all five campaigns in the race for the Blaine House, and tonight begins a five-part series on the view from inside the campaigns. | |||
If there is one thing that Shawn Moody is known for, it's that he's a nice guy. Humility may be a virtue, but Moody says it made campaigning a real challenge. "Well, truthfully, the campaign has really got me out of my comfort zone in the sense - I'm not a self-promoter." Getting your name out is one of the first and biggest challenges a candidate faces. One way to do it is through something called "retail politicking": essentially, going out and meeting voters face to face. So, one summer afternoon, Moody stopped by Sabre Yachts in Windham to take one of their workshop tours, and attempt a little self-promotion. "Hi there. We're runnin' a little bit late. I don't know if we're too late to get in on the tour." It's clear the receptionist doesn't know who Moody is. "I'm Shawn - Shawn Moody." Receptionist: "Nice to meet you." Moody: "How ya doin?" After the exchange, Moody is unaware that he left out some important information. Patty Wight: "So do you say, ya know, 'Hi - I'm Shawn Moody I'm running for governor.' Or do you just talk to people and wait for them to sort of ask or figure it out?" Moody: "Well we just went in the office in there, you saw for yourself. How did that go?" Wight: "Well you didn't introduce yourself. I think you said, 'I'm Shawn Moody' - but I don't think you said, 'I'm running for governor.'" Moody: "Did I leave that out?" Wight: "I think you did." Moody: "I've gotta get better at that." Shawn Moody is an outsider when it comes to politics. And when he set out on the campaign trail, he thought that's precisely what would attract voters to him. "I don't have an axe to grind. I don't have anybody's palm to grease. I'm just a working person with a family and I think people are starving for that type of representation." To his credit, Moody has created a successful auto repair business that was just listed as one of the top 40 places to work in Maine. He wanted to lead the state with the same philosophy he leads Moody's Collision Centers: quality, efficiency, frugality, and compassion. The trick was getting that message out. And this is where frugality would play an important part. Of the $500,000 Moody ultimately invested in his campaign, most of the money went into tv advertising. Moody campaign consultant Dennis Bailey says money is critical in a major race, but it doesn't guarantee success. "You have to have money to win. But you can have money and lose--the landscape is littered with candidates who had all the money in the world and lost." Bailey says what matters is how you spend your money. Moody used what he called the 'small ball' approach: unconventional steps here and there that would hopefully lead to a home run. Things like flying a campaign banner over beaches and fairs, or running ads on community access stations. Moody had a steep mountain to climb. He jumped into the race in June after the party primaries, and almost a year after most other candidates started. By September, he was polling at 5 percent. Still, Bailey saw an opening for Moody at the time. "I don't think the other Independents in the race are catching on. I do think Paul LePage has got a substantial lead. I do think he's gonna come down, and the only question is how much and where are those votes gonna go?" Bailey thought they'd go to Moody. In fact, he said, Moody's success ultimately depended on Le Page's failure. "And it's tough to have a strategy based on another candidate failing, ya know? I don't like to do that, but that's the position we're in right now." To open himself up for those potential votes, Moody needed to increase his name recognition. Forums and debates were a good chance to do that. But there were dozens of them, hosted by special interest groups, and focused on very specific topics. It took hours to prepare. The key, Bailey kept telling Moody, was to keep one thing in mind. "I always say, 'what do I want to see in the headline tomorrow or in the story tomorrow about me?' And that's the game plan." Probably the best example of where this strategy may have worked for Moody was in the first live televised debate on WGME in Augusta. He walked in armed and ready with a punch line. Dennis Bailey: "And our strategy was to sit back." Moody: "He said - these guys are gonna go at each other. It's primetime live tv. This is where it happens." Debate: Sen. Libby Mitchell: "And you say you're going to cut everything." Moody: "Just be prepared, because you're probably gonna have an opening." Debate: "Mr. Cutler, your chance to respond, then we're gonna move on. Cutler: "Libby, I never..." Bailey: "And he just came in and said, ya know what?" Debate: Moody: "We've heard from the Democratic Party, the Republican Party, the Green Party, the tea party. Well guess what? The party's over." Moody: "The party's over. That really had a ripple effect that no matter where I went for the next couple of weeks. People really -- whether they were supporters or not -- they really connected with that." The campaign saw this debate as a turning point, in which Moody seemed to be gaining momentum. A new poll came out showing him on the heels of the leading independent Eliot Cutler. A few days later, Moody was endorsed by the former chair of the State Republican party. Bailey: "Ya know, this is a game of perception, and part of it is momentum. Now we've got someone that's been in the party saying - this guy can do it. It helps with people saying -- ok -- maybe this guy is real or legitimate." In the final weeks, Moody won other endorsements. He had good performances in other debates. But his polling numbers still hovered in the single digits, and republican Paul LePage maintained his lead over the field. Moody says he remained hopeful to the end, but on election day he got just 5 percent of the vote. Moody: "One thing I will say is that those 5 percent are loyal supporters… You're not gonna move them with a stick of dynamite!" At the start of this race, Moody figured that being a political outsider was an asset. He still believes that. But, looking back, he says he may not have understood how it might also be seen as a liability. "What do the people of Maine want when they say they want someone who's got experience? Ya know, do you want someone who has had experience and tremendous success in the private sector and in life? Or do you want someone who's had experience in politics? Because politics is what got us to this point." As for the lessons learned, Moody says he should have started earlier. He should have done a better job selling the voters on his business experience. And despite his showing in the 2010 governor's race, he says he's not ready to close the book on politics just yet. "It's kinda like the beginning of -- we made that commitment to get into politics. To make that run, and take away from that all the things that we've learned and all the people we've met and the experience and build on it." Tomorrow, running on a shoestring: the campaign of Independent Kevin Scott. | |||
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