The Election that Couldn't Be Bought - Statistical Data Included

David Beiler

How Mike Capuano's modestly financed grassroots campaign beat household names and mega-millionaires in one of America's most hallowed political bastions

IT WAS THE SUPER BOWL of congressional primaries. The ultimate trophy was the most storied seat in the U.S. House. Ten candidates spent a total of $11.7 million, though money didn't seem to move the numbers: One hopeful paid $922 per vote, finishing less than 2 percentage points ahead of a rival he outspent by a 288-1 ratio.

Remarkably, the prize was won the old-fashioned way, with a common touch, straight talk, a substantive record, hometown and ethnic loyalties, a lot of spirited door knocking, and a single-spot TV campaign. For those who bemoan the power of money in American politics, the Eighth District of Massachusetts cast a beacon of hope in September 1998.

District of Destiny

The Eighth is a tough audience. Home to Harvard, M.I.T and the Kennedy School of Government, it is a blend of highly sophisticated denizens of the Information Age and blue collars weaned on ward politics. Large numbers of minorities have recently been introduced, but remain relatively apathetic and leaderless in the electoral arena.

Despite this diversity, the Eighth is remarkably homogeneous in its partisan inclinations: Democrats in competitive statewide races can consistently rely on three-quarters of the vote here. Much of that loyalty can be traced to the district's tradition of strong Democratic leadership.

First, there was James Michael Curley, "The Rascal King," and template for the lead character of Frank Skeffington in the classic novel The Last Hurrah. Curley had already been mayor of Boston, governor and a convicted felon by the time he was elected to serve in Congress in the newly carved district in 1942.

In 1946, John F. Kennedy parlayed his war record, family money and his maternal grandfather's political legacy into winning the seat at age 29. When Kennedy successfully ran for the Senate in 1952, the Eighth (then still known as the 11th) was won by state House Speaker Thomas P. "Tip" O'Neill, eventually Speaker of the U.S. House. O'Neill's retirement in 1986 occasioned the return of a Kennedy, as JFK's nephew, Joseph P. II, captured the hearts of the famed constituency.

"Joe K" was expected to seek the governorship in 1998, and he gave it a hard look for most of 1997. But when summer brought the publication of an unflattering book by his ex-wife and a sex scandal involving his brother Michael - a close political aide - the congressman abandoned thoughts of higher office. After Michael's death in a ski accident at year's end, Joe decided to exit elective office altogether.

When the Eighth District Democratic field began to form, it looked quite different from the roster that had been contemplated less than a year before, when it had appeared Kennedy would run for governor. State Sen. Warren Tolman had turned his sights to the lieutenant governorship, while state Senate President Tom Birmingham took a surprising pass at higher office. Another aspirant was knocked out by a federal tax conviction.

Flynn vs. The Field

The biggest surprise in the race was former Boston mayor (1984-93) and Ambassador to the Vatican (1993-97) Ray Flynn, who had been languishing in a longshot bid for the governor: Flynn's populist, hands-on style had made him a popular figure as mayor, but his reputation had steadily declined in his years away from City Hall.

Not long after Flynn had departed for Rome, one former aide was indicted for taking kickbacks and another for embezzling $200,000 in campaign money. Although Flynn was never accused of wrongdoing, both men went to jail, and his reputation took a severe hit. What Flynn did, claims Boston-bred pollster Brad Bannon "wasn't illegal, but it looked shoddy."

During his service at the Vatican, Flynn was often depicted as something of a diplomatic boob, particularly by The Boston Globe, which published a notorious photo of the Ambassador holding an umbrella for the Pope. As the former mayor prepared to close up his State Department career and return to politics, the Globe published an expose about Flynn's apparent fondness for the bottle.

"It had been an open secret in Boston political circles for years," reveals Bannon. "No one had ever called him on it, but for some reason the Globe decided to drop the hammer on him while he was still ambassador."

Once back in the Bay State and running for governor, Flynn found his fundraising lagging. The continuous stream of bad publicity had taken its toll. "[Flynn] has never been good at raising money," insists campaign manager Charles Burke. "He just won't sit down at the phone and ask for it."

As Curley had before him, Flynn decided the Eighth District would be a good place to recharge a flagging political career. When the campaign began, he looked like a good bet: He would be the lone cultural conservative in a field of 10. And Flynn's most recognizable opponent was equally colorful and controversial.

A brassy, big-haired blonde bombshell, Marjorie Clapprood had started her career in the public eye responsibly enough, as a state legislator with significant accomplishments in the 1980s. She nabbed the Democratic nomination for lieutenant governor in 1990, but was then electorally harnessed in tandem with the party's acerbic, dour, gubernatorial nominee, former Boston University President John Silber. ("Dr. Doom and Va-Va-Voom" one waggish daily dubbed the ticket.)

After Silber's blunt campaign commentaries drove the duo to unexpected defeat in November, Clapprood got a steady gig as a talk show host on a Boston radio station. Soon, she was raising eyebrows, probing such topics as penis enlargements, and asking cover boy heartthrob Fabio if he had "big private parts."

In her new role as a shock jock, Clapprood continued to champion causes that had characterized her legislative service -- social liberalism and assistance to poor families and battered women. She was now seen as a champion by legions of grateful liberal activists. Like Flynn, Clapprood didn't really live in the district, but neither had Jack Kennedy in 1946.

Another candidate, former state Sen. George Bachrach, had a significant base in the prosperous suburbs of Watertown and Belmont. A part-time college professor proud of his '60s-style liberalism, Bachrach was popular with the campus crowds and the growing "limousine liberal" community.

But Bachrach's past campaigns had left him looking shopworn and overly ambitious. He had run even with Joe Kennedy in the 1986 congressional primary until the final stretch, when a double-whammy knocked him down to a 22-point loss: Bachrach's attempt to link his rival with Libya's Moammar Khadafy backfired, and his warmed-over New Left agenda led O'Neill to a late endorsement of the pragmatic Kennedy. Eight years later, Bachrach lost a bid for the gubernatorial nomination.

Joining the three familiar faces at the top of the odds sheet were two political novices who had the personal resources to readily overcome their relative anonymity.

John O'Connor was a progressive activist and philanthropist who cheerfully acknowledged he had married into money. He had been at the forefront of environmental and consumer causes, and had funneled funds into decaying neighborhoods and farm relief Chris Gabrieli was a gray-haired 38-year-old venture capitalist from Beacon Hill devoted to technocratic solutions such as charter schools. Both men pursued their socio-economic ideals with a religious zeal and were willing to part with millions to advance their candidacies.

Former state Rep. Susan Tracy also appeared to have potential: She had impressed legislative leaders and was popular with activists. About to be "outed" by Boston Herald columnist Howie Carr, she had recently announced her lesbian sexuality. As a Flynn loyalist counting on the old organization, Tracy saw her prospects dashed by the former mayor's entry.

A lower tier of three hopefuls included Boston City Councilor (councilman) Tom Keane, who represented a small, campus-centered constituency in Fenway and the Back Bay that was well-educated but notoriously disengaged from local politics. Councilor Charles Yancey's largely black enclave in Mattapan was similarly small and low on turnout.

A somewhat quixotic figure with almost no financial base, Yancey had challenged Kennedy in 1992 and been beaten by better than four to onc. Former federal housing official Alex Rodriguez had a small base in the Hispanic community, yet another segment characterized by electoral apathy.

An Ivy League Fonzie

Starting somewhere in the middle of the pack was a take-charge, small-city mayor with a down-to-earth attitude, street smarts and a Dartmouth education. The pundits overlooked him at first, but in the end they would agree he was the true heir of O'Neill and the power of retail politics.

Capuano wasn't long on campaign cash, but he had built a loyal base in his hometown with a solid record of accomplishment. His hometown of Somerville usually casts about one of every seven votes in the congressional district, and with 10 candidates in the race, that promised to get Capuano halfway to his goal. He planned to pick up the remainder with a little ethnic appeal and a lot of shoe leather.

Capuano was born into local politics. His father preceded him on the Somerville Board of Aldermen, which issued a proclamation at Mike's birth 47 years ago that declared him the future mayor. But he insists he had little interest in government until law school. "I worked part-time at the state House on [a committee staff] and found I was interested in policy," he remembers today. "When we moved back to Somerville after graduation and an alderman's seat opened up, going for it seemed like the natural thing to do."

Elected at age 25, Capuano looked like a young man in a hurry, but his advancement has been a slow, seasoning process. He moved up to the mayor's slot at 37, and lost a bid for secretary of state at 42.

Capuano's years at the Somerville helm were not all sweetness and light. He frequently clashed with a bloc of liberal-minded aldermen as he chartered a moderate fiscal path and challenged school system spending. He was reportedly aggressive in pursuing his agenda, but with a measured touch.

In one telling episode, the mayor was having difficulty passing a project to replace gutted, abandoned buildings with open space. To pass the resolution by a bare 4-3 margin, he had to cut the proposal by $15,000. He then made sure the funds would be spent only in the districts of those who had supported the measure. A month later, the board unanimously voted an additional $45,000 for the project.

Introducing significant open space to what had been the most densely populated city in the country was but one of Capuano's many visible accomplishments. A generation ago, Somerville was a tightly packed collection of deteriorating "three-deckers" -- working-class townhouses from the pre-World War II era. Today, much of the city is bustling with gentrification, as an influx of distinctly artsy arrivals restore homes and common areas. An ambitious construction program has revitalized a public school system that was starting to show signs of neglect in the 1980s. And Somerville's battered bond rating rose four times after Capuano became its chief executive.

"I was the only one besides Ray Flynn who had a record of accomplishment," Capuano reflects on his campaign appeal. "While others talked about what they would do, I said, 'Come look. See what I've already done.'"

"Dime" Downpour

The campaign season started predictably, with Ray Flynn in the gun sights of practically everybody, including the Globe. The paper publicized a controversy over whether some of the signatures on the former mayor's petitions had been manufactured. One suspicious address turned out to be a convent of nuns who had been drilled in a common style of handwriting.

"We had a running battle with the Globe," complains Flynn manager Charles Burke. The newspaper and Flynn "had always had a poor relationship[ldots]The Globe is very tough on social conservatives."

Flynn's stance against abortion rights and image as an old pol had clearly made him an unacceptable choice to many district Democrats, but his base of personal loyalists and pro-lifers threatened to be large enough to carry the day against the splintered opposition. Consequently, many of his rivals spent much of their energy trying to establish themselves as the Flynn antidote.

The first Globe poll (published May 10) seemed to strengthen Clapprood's claim to the mantle of "Flynnslayer," indicating she was thc only candidate within a dozen points of the returned ambassador. To hasten consolidation of the anti-Flynn vote, the shock jock issued buttons declaring, "United, we win. Divided, it's Flynn."

Bachrach produced his own poll, which placed him second, but few gave it much credence, as the Globe numbers had pegged him a distant fourth. To keep Clapprood from the brass ring, he blasted her for opposing anti-tobacco measures while in the legislature. The Boston Globe then revealed that Bachrach had substantial holdings in tobacco companies via mutual funds.

Throughout the steaming summer months, the campaigns shoveled out negative research on opposing candidates to receptive reporters. Known here and

elsewhere as "dropping a dime," the practice has been honed to a fine art in Boston. Reliance on the technique was all the more pronounced in this race, as the crowded field made negative advertising a dicier proposition: pounding on one opponent was likely to just move votes to another. And there may have been more personal motivations: "The operatives for Bachrach, Gabrieli and O'Connor were rivals who all hated each other," says a consultant who worked on the race. "They seemed to delight in dropping dimes on each other's candidate."

These backroom back-knifings followed basic forms. One was the "unsavory underling" ploy, which made the opponent look sleazy or stupid for hiring some miscreant. Reminders of the filching Flynn aides were early examples. Later, a man Bachrach had tapped to run his telemarketing business was found to have played a key role in a Teamsters campaign scandal. And a manager hired by O'Connor to oversee his incubator company turned out to have been a pimp.

Another discrediting tactic was the "hypocritical supposed savior" rap, which contrasted an opponent's current image with a contradicting track record, as demonstrated by the Bachrach-Clapprood thrust-and-parry over tobacco. Bachrach's claim to be an unadulterated save-the-whales liberal was also contrasted with his law firm's corporate clientele (including "polluting" dry cleaners), and his delivering campaign contributions from his partners to Republican candidates. (Bachrach comically recalls he told his tormentors at the Globe their characterization of him as "sleazy lawyer-lobbyist, gay, anti-Catholic, polluting Republican bagman[ldots]has thoroughly confused my Catholic wife.")

Yet another standard was the "embellishing egotist" dime-drop, to which Vice President Al Gore has so often fallen victim. O'Connor's claim to have donated a library to the black inner-city section of Boston turned out to be a four-shelf case of books in a community center. The millionaire-activist also declared he had been moved to his life of social good works by the tragic death of a small boy he had befriended, but the boy's mother told reporters she had barely known O'Connor and hadn't heard from him in nearly two decades.

Much as the Globe's Anthony Flint has observed, responses to dime drops followed a fairly standard four-step routine:

1. Claim the fact you're being targeted indicates you must have broken out of the pack.

2. Play the victim of a "smear" campaign by desperate people.

3. Scold the media for being used as the vehicles for such filth.

4. Get the media to catch the dime you drop in retaliation.

Courting the Kingmakers

When the primary campaign began in the spring, speculation centered on possible endorsements by four forces in local polities: Joe Kennedy, Boston Mayor Tom Menino, the AFL-CIO and the Globe.

Organized labor had been expected to help Tom Birmingham; but when the state Senate president opted out, its preference became a muddle. The AFL-CIO declared neutrality in late July (although Flynn and Capuano later got significant support from individual unions). The same lack of motivation appears to have convinced Kennedy and Menino to steer clear of the race.

The Globe's intentions remained a mystery until the eve of the primary, as they seemed determined to "dime" almost everyone in the race. One early instance staggered the Capuano campaign with allegations of brutality in the Somerville police department. (The charge seemed to prey on the "Mafia Syndrome" prejudice linking Italian Americans with violent methods, particularly since Somerville had been a hotbed of Mob activity decades ago.) Perhaps in retaliation, Capuano had nabbed the endorsement of the Massachusetts Police Association.

Most liberal interest groups kept waiting for the emergence of the strongest liberal challenger to Flynn, and minimized their influence by endorsing late. Clapprood and Tracy were particularly damaged, dependent as they were on the support of feminist and gay groups.

As an open lesbian, Tracy seemed to have an edge with this sector of social liberalism, but the avant-garde was not impressed. To them, she had been an insider girl Friday for powerful social conservatives -- first with Flynn at City Hall, then Speaker Finneran at the State House. "Tracy said 'It doesn't matter that I'm gay,'" explains Clapprood consultant Michael Goldman, "and these people took her at her word." But, Goldman concedes, Tracy remained competitive enough to keep the social-liberal organizations from coalescing behind Clapprood.

Hired Gun Heaven

Given all the huge fortunes that have been amassed in the techno-crazed '90s by wonkish whiz kids, we will probably be seeing a good many Chris Gabrielis in the politics of the New Millennium.

Gabrieli was a think-tanker who put his ideas to work and became a fabulously successful investor. Quite naturally, he felt the approach he had taken in business - identify societal solutions and invest in them - was the logical way to pursue public policy. The political marketplace (the voters) would surely see the opportunity, too. Before it was over, Gabrieli would spend over $5 million on his campaign - the most spent on a single U.S. House primary in American history - testing his theory.

Nothing shook Gabrieli from his faith in his technocratic approach, even after pouring millions into the campaign had failed to push his poll numbers beyond the mid-single digits. He had amassed a huge corps of top consultants and operatives, including Gus Bickford, who resigned as executive director of the state Democratic Party to ramrod it all. But none of the high-priced talent seemed able to put the candidate on the wavelength of the Eighth District. "[Gabrieli's] bio spots told you nothing," says a rival's media consultant, "then he was off on a bunch of issue spots that [ldots] were too inside and didn't connect."

Gabrieli pollster Tubby Harrison doesn't entirely disagree: "People have to understand that, in some districts, what you think is right may not sell [ldots] I told him that, but he believed in what he was saying and thought he could win on it."

The other candidate in the race advocating "New Democrat" solutions that emphasized market theories was Keane, who saw himself as the second coming of Paul Tsongas. Like Gabrieli, he made little headway in the polls, considering the money spent.

"It was the wrong course to take," assesses George Bachrach of his rivals' tactics. "Affluent pro-business people around here are Republicans. Affluent Democrats are in the FDR mold. They are not anti-politics [ldots] It was the wrong emphasis for this district.

Like Gabrieli, O'Connor spent freely - over $3 million at final count - and had a full complement of campaign professionals on his side. But his history of community activism lent credibility to his appeals, and he sounded a more traditional "help the little guy" theme. One can only wonder, however, why a Willie Nelson radio spot extolling O'Connor's work on farm aid was intended to play in one of the most urban districts in the country.

Into the Stretch

The contest came into focus fives weeks out, as debates, endorsements and TV ads began hitting in a steady stream. The first televised debate (August 11) brought some definition to the race, difficult as that was with 10 candidates splitting the time.

Gabrieli and Keane declared they would shake up public education with radical reform, with Gabrieli pointedly endorsing choice and charter schools. Capuano and Tracy echoed similar, but more moderate sentiments, with the Somerville mayor blasting Flynn for having "left the schools in shambles." Reissuing a Bachrach theme, O'Connor favored cutting defense spending to pay for school-related programs.

Bachrach used the abortion issue against Flynn, and afterward chided the women candidates for failing to do so.

In the subsequent spin sessions, most of the participants echoed frustrations that Flynn had been challenged so little, but most had been reluctant to spend their own camera time on anything other than self-promotion.

Capuano followed up on his education gambits with an op-ed on the subject in the Globe and his only TV spot (debut: August 24; $200,000 buy). The 30-second message opens with a sea of "chattering teeth" toys, while a voice-over derided the other candidates as do-nothing talkers. Pushing the theme "the difference is results," the ad extolled Capuano's record of pushing school construction and technology, as he was shown walking through Somerville High greeting his two student sons in the hallway,

In a column entitled "Capuano May Be Gaining in the Eighth," respected Globe political analyst David Nyhan was moved to write: "Capuano's record in Somerville on schools, housing and economic development is solid, and not so pie-in-the-sky as the promises of some of the rest." The piece is often cited as a self-fulfilling prophecy.

"The big liberal majority was terrified that Flynn would win against the splintered field," observes Bachrach's media man, veteran consultant Ken Swope. "The Globe set that psychology [ldots] [then] created the idea that Capuano was the only one who could stop Flynn."

Capuano's campaign had been energetic but low-key thus far, and his last-minute rise caught many by surprise. "We saw danger in moving up too early," explains his political consultant, Michael Shea. "We were afraid we'd become the target for the millionaires, that they'd blow us out with big airstrikes."

Indeed, Gabrieli now sensed the Capuano surge and tried to blunt it in the second televised debate on August 31, noting that the test scores in Somerville schools were lower than the state average and that a fifth of the city's schoolchildren were in private schools. Capuano bristled, noting that the scores were up since he'd been mayor, and that parochial schools had always been popular in his deeply devout, predominantly Catholic city. "If you were familiar with this district, you'd know that," he shot back.

Gabrieli followed up his offensive with a mass mailer that attacked Flynn and Bachrach on education as well as Capuano, declaring he would not "accept the same old excuses from the same old crowd."

A Globe poll released on September. 3 showed Capuano with a 1-point lead, in a statistical tie with Flynn and Clapprood, and with Bachrach and O'Connor just outside the margin of error. Capuano was soon the target of slams about his refusal to support a higher minimum wage for his city, his past as a lawyer-lobbyist, and the many low-paid city employees who had made large contributions to his campaign.

"The minimum wage is really a federal issue," replays Capuano today. "I had a relatively low-income community [ldots] That proposal would have made it tough to keep jobs from going to neighboring communities. Instead, lie had issued an order giving living wage employers preference in bidding for city contracts. That response satisfied the newsies, and probably solidified Capuano's helpful positioning as a pragmatic moderate in a left-heavy field. As no one offered proof of impropriety with the law practice or the campaign finances, those charges barely blipped.

Attempts to generate momentum for Bachrach or Clapprood fell flat. Gay groups and the alternative press finally signed on with Clapprood, but her campaign was already in a fall from lack of resources. When the National Organization for Women made a running jump onto the slipping bandwagon only a week out, a headline assayed: "NOW May Not Be Soon Enough."

Clapprood seemed a perfect bridge between social liberals and the three-decker vote; "Tip O'Neill in heels," assesses Globe reporter Alan Lupo. But she had limitations. "Clapprood had become a joke," observes Keane pollster Brad Bannon. "People now knew her only as that obnoxious morning DJ. That kept her from building (support]."

Clapprood's own strategist, Michael Goldman, agrees: "She was always on the edge, pushing the envelope.[ldots]I don't think she saw the damage done." But disappointing fundraising was more of a factor, according to Shea. "The lack of money caught up with her.[ldots] We were counting on EMILY's List, but it didn't pan out."

Similarly, late backing from the teachers' association and the Globe editorial page failed to move Bachrach very far. The newspaper's endorsement came only four days before the election, "too late for me to do anything but slap a ribbon on an existing ad," laments media man Swope.

Infantry over Air Force

The keys to Capuano's rapport with reporters and voters were his lack of pretension, relaxed-but-direct style, and confident, take-charge attitude. Lupo fondly recalls his own exposure: "He was driving this crummy van from City Hall through hidden back-streets miles away, streets he obviously knew very well. He was perfectly at ease, joking, laughing, reeling off stats that showed how he would make ethnicity work in certain areas.

The election day strategy for Capuano was to turn out his hometown base - where he had polled 70 percent in his last re-election - and set himself up as a fresh-and-clean version of Flynn in the blue-collar neighborhoods of Boston, Cambridge and Chelsea. The mayor would also spend much of his time personally knocking on doors. The Italian strongholds of the North End and East Boston ("Eastie") would be intensively mined with ethnic appeal, and Gaelic three-decker communities like Charlestown would be reminded that Capuano was half-Irish.

"Ethnicity still plays a role in urban politics," insists pollster Bannon. "Capuano came across as an ethnic Italian; Gabrieli didn't." (And for good reason - his parents were Hungarian, the family having left Venice several generations ago.)

While Capuano's old-fashioned approach steadily built a plurality, others were getting little bang for their bundles of bucks. Gabrieli's $3 million TV blitz started three months out, but never achieved traction.

One O'Connor TV ad was a moving testimonial from the surviving member of Tip O'Neill's fabled "Barry's Corner Gang." The O'Neill connection was tenuous, but O'Connor tried to make the most of it. Too much, in fact. O'Neill's son, Tommy, an exlieutenant governor, blasted O'Connor for unauthorized use of his father's name and image.

But the bazillionaires weren't the only ones failing to connect with the voters. The amusing spots Swope produced for Bachrach won rave reviews but few votes. "I did some of my best work, to no effect," a still shaken Swope recalls. "It was like James Bond giving Odd Job his best shot, only to see the big guy smile.[ldots] The Eighth may be the most politically sophisticated constituency in America,"

Attempting to tap into that sophistication, all 10 campaigns tried to reach voters with Web sites. The Internet craze was so big, it led Globe reporter Michael Jonas to quip: "Surest sign yet that cyber-politics has arrived: www.rayflynn.com."

The ambassador's site was predictably heavy on nostalgia. The Bachrach campaign's home page included a pitch in Armenian. Gabrieli's advanced design featured a map with community labels visitors could click on to view snaps of the candidate rubbing elbows with the locals. O'Connor's selflessness was reflected by his inclusion of links to the sites of six rivals. Capuano's practical, straightforward site bristled with links to government agencies.

Lunging at the Wire

With the polls showing five candidates within striking range of first place, the third and last televised debate - held five days before the election - carried an air of desperation.

Keane endorsed the private investment of Social Security funds and joined Gabrieli in defending NAFTA. The professional investor appeared particularly callous on the school issue, asserting "those who can't get it done ought to be weeded out."

Clapprood countered that charter schools were "a cruel hoax," while Bachrach demanded billions from the defense department for education. Flynn recalled his longshoreman father in denouncing NAFTA as another means by which "many thousands of jobs [are] being sold out by the major corporations of this country."

O'Connor's drive to be different led him to some distant corners, as he harped on the need to assassinate terrorist leaders and called on President Clinton - then fighting impeachment - to resign. The abandonment of Clinton was an astonishing position to take in the Democratic primary of a loyally Democratic district. The consensus of observers today is the move killed off the philanthropist's final rally.

Capuano used the debate to solidify his image as a moderate pragmatist, joining Flynn and Keane in opposition to cutting the defense budget, endorsing charter schools, but opposing impeachment and emphasizing the need for affordable housing. Capuano sees the debates as the key events of the campaign: "The things I did were not staged. I just had the opportunity to show people who I really am."

Capuano's substantial ground organization was relentless in the closing days. So much so there were several protests registered by rival partisans claiming that his workers and Somerville police had harassed their efforts or intimidated their voters.

Decision and Debriefing

Ray Flynn spent the waning hours of election day on the streets of the black neighborhood of Roxbury in the pouring rain. It was a curious end to a career that had started with a crusade against busing in the white working-class wards of South Boston, But Flynn's record as mayor had been one of attentiveness to the needs of the disadvantaged, and blacks provided his best hunting ground for last-minute converts.

The Eighth was drawn to maximize the clout of minorities, and they make up nearly 40 percent of the population. But many of these are Asians and Hispanics, making the voting behavior of this bloc less than monolithic. Yancey commanded a plurality in the black precincts, and Rodriguez had strong support among Hispanics, but neither had the resources to move beyond their ethnic bases. Another irony: The only white candidates other than Flynn to make substantial inroads in the minority vote were the two mega-millionaires.

O'Connor's activism in poor areas, Gabrieli's endorsement by Boston's black newspaper, and the ample funds both campaigns used to hire neighborhood organizers, gave them a lift.

Flynn swept the white working-class neighborhoods of Boston by a large margin, finished poorly in the academic environs, and ran second or third most everywhere else; Bachrach rolled up strong margins in his affluent Watertown/Belmont base and near the campuses, but lagged badly in lower-income areas; Clapprood and O'Connor polled well in Cambridge, and had significant support across the district, but suffered from a lack of geographic base; Gabrieli ran a poor sixth, but notably stronger in poor areas, where his massive TV presence proved influential with more casual voters.

Somerville's share of the district turnout was 25 percent above normal -- one of every six votes, with five times more cast for favorite son Capuano than anyone else. Flynn led him elsewhere by over 1,600, but lost Somerville by 5,100. Districtwide, Capuano triumphed by 5 points.

The spectacular failure by Gabrieli and (to a lesser extent) O'Connor to transform massive spending into votes has led many analysts to trumpet a victory of organization and GOTV over media bucks. But one candidate who did emphasize a ground game (Keane, who shelled out $85,000 to identify 17,000 "likely" supporters, and then put more than 600 workers in the field on election day) drew only 2,200 votes. Obviously, neither his substantial organization nor Gabrieli's media blitz could sell their patrician personas or New Democrat ideas to a constituency of working stiffs and well-educated leftists.

Yes, there was more to Capuano's victory than hometown support: Take Somerville off the board, and he still would have finished a close second to Flynn, ahead of eight others whose home areas would still have been included.

It has been said, over and over, that the Eighth takes its politics seriously and expects its politicians to pay their dues. That may explain, at least in part, why Mayor Capuano who had solid accomplishments as a local public official and ran a highly targeted, economical campaign with a heavy door-to-door component would ultimately defeat big money and big names to win his party's nomination to go to Congress.

As expected, Capuano easily defeated his Republican rival in the general election.

David Beiler is a freelance writer and political analyst. He is also an elected member of the Stafford County, Va., Board of Supervisors. This case study is part of The Campaign Assessment and Candidate Outreach Project series sponsored by Campaigns & Elections magazine and the University of Maryland with a grant from The Paw Charitable Trusts.

       The Horses, Handlers, Wagers and Payoffs (Primary Campaigns)
Candidate          Media                Pollster              Spending
Michael Capuano    Shea & Associates    Opinion Dynamics      $400,000
Ray Flynn          Charles Burke        Charles Burke         $334,950
George Bachrach    Ken Swope            Kiley & Co.           $841,058
John O'Connor      McWilliams, Cosgrove Greenberg, Quinlan  $3,347,428
Marjorie Clapprood Michael Goldman      Lake, Snell, Perry    $409,726
Chris Gabrieli     Squier, Knapp, Ochs  Harrison & Goldberg $5,283,156
Candidate          Votes/Percentage
Michael Capuano    19,301 (22.9%)
Ray Flynn          14,778 (17.5)
George Bachrach    12,178 (14.4)
John O'Connor      10,969 (13.0)
Marjorie Clapprood 10,395 (12.3)
Chris Gabrieli      5,728 (6.8)

30-SECOND TV SPOT

"Butts"

Clapprood for Congress

Producer/Consultant: Goldman Associates

CLAPPROOD: Hi, I'm Marjorie Clapprood, and I'm running for Congress because I think Washington could use a little attitude adjustment. They promise us universal health care but the insurance lobby kills it. They say they'll protect Social Security, but they just may invest in Wall Street. And they say education is a priority but they just never get around to it. Send me to Congress and I'll kick those butts from here to Washington. And that's a promise.

ANNOUNCER: Marjorie O'Neill Clapprood for Congress.

30-SECOND TV SPOT

"Results" Capuano for Congress Producer / Consultant: Shea & Associates

ANNOUNCER: They all talk about education[ldots]Mike Capuano gets results.

CAPUANO: As mayor, I took personal responsibility for Somerville's schools. Today we've got only 19 kids per classroom. Test scores are up; we're building six new schools; every school is going on-line and this year we start full-day kindergarten[ldots] all without soaking taxpayers.

KIDS: Hey, Dad.

CAPUANO: Hi guys. So when Newt Gingrich says we can't fix public schools[ldots] I'm the guy to give him an education.

ANNOUNCER: Mike Capuano. Democrat for Congress. The difference is results.

COPYRIGHT 2000 Campaigns & Elections, Inc.
COPYRIGHT 2000 Gale Group