The home stretch

The race for Joe Kennedy's congressional seat comes down to the wire

by Michael Crowley

"This is a street campaign," declares Michael Capuano. "And a street campaign works." Despite the fact that a Boston Globe poll has just anointed him the front-runner in the chaotic, 10-person race to succeed Representative Joe Kennedy (D-Brighton), the Somerville mayor is his usual no-frills self, in standard-issue starched white shirt and tightly knotted necktie.

Capuano stands in the gloomy gymnasium of Somerville High School, where an interminable candidates' night, sponsored by the city's Democratic Party, is under way. The floor is covered by a dirty brown tarp. Campaign signs hang from the basketball hoops and backboards. An endless procession of candidates for every type of office drone before a small audience from a small wooden stage.

Despite his dismal surroundings, Capuano is feeling good on this Thursday. Often overlooked until now because of his low-key image, he has snuck up through the polls and, according to today's Globe, actually passed former Boston mayor Ray Flynn, the front-runner since late April. Sure, Capuano has garnered only 16 percent to Flynn's 15 percent, and the poll shows fully five candidates in the splintered field above 10 percent -- not to mention the poll's 5 percent margin of error. But when the front page of the Boston Globe says you're in first place, things start to happen.

"That poll invigorated us. We can smell it," Capuano says. "We've had more people in the headquarters, I've gotten more money dropped off, more requests for yard signs."

As if on cue, a young man bounds up to Capuano and claps him on the shoulder. "Good numbers!" he exclaims as he passes.

Capuano's success (he's also been endorsed in the past week by the Boston Herald and the CNC newspaper chain) comes from his strength in Somerville, where he has been knocking on doors for months. Capuano knows that Somerville could account for as much as 12 percent of the vote in a primary where perhaps 80,000 people will vote and victory could require fewer than 20,000 votes.

Not only was the Globe poll good news for Capuano, but it marked a major turning point in a race long defined by a sense of Flynn's inevitability.

"The expectations have been confounded," says Boston city councilor Tom Keane, who is also running. "Ray Flynn will not win."

Adds former state senator George Bachrach, a top-tier candidate who placed fourth, with 10 percent, in the last Globe poll: "Mike Capuano has picked up some votes at Ray's expense. I think that has lowered the bar from 20 percent for all of us."

The candidates George Bachrach Age: 45 Background: former state senator 1980-1986, lawyer-lobbyist, telemarketing executive Lives: Watertown Is the only candidate who: has run for governor (in 1994) What you'll get: a politically savvy liberal ideologue who seeks massive new education spending and big cuts in the defense budget Caveat emptor: Bachrach can have a smug demeanor that drives some people crazy Mike Capuano Age: 46 Background: tax lawyer, Somerville alderman 1984-1990, mayor of Somerville 1990-present Lives: Somerville Is the only candidate who: has topped Ray Flynn in a published poll What you'll get: a no-bullshit scrapper with a working-class mentality and a solid -- if not crusading -- cultural liberalism Caveat emptor: Capuano can be flaky and hotheaded Marjorie Clapprood Age: 49 Background: health care executive, state representative 1984-1990, television and radio talk-show host 1991-1997 Lives: Sharon (rented a house in Watertown for this campaign) Is the only candidate who: has been endorsed by the Phoenix What you'll get: a brash, in-your-face liberal who defends welfare and other big social programs and emphasizes women's issues and gay rights Caveat emptor: Clapprood's high-velocity shtick could bomb in the Capitol's staid corridors Ray Flynn Age: 58 Background: state representative 1970-1978, mayor of Boston 1983-1993, US ambassador to the Vatican 1993-1997 Lives: South Boston (rented a house in East Boston for this campaign) Is the only candidate who: opposes abortion rights What you'll get: a culturally conservative, working-class populist with deep Boston roots and a pronounced international humanitarianism Caveat emptor: Flynn's political judgment and work habits seem to be degenerating Chris Gabrieli Age: 38 Background: venture capitalist, former chairman of public policy think tank MassINC Lives: Beacon Hill Is the only candidate who: hasn't run for office before What you'll get: a centrist policy wonk who breaks with liberals on reforming education and Social Security Caveat emptor: Gabrieli may be more tuned in to Big Picture politics than to the district's humdrum parochial needs Tom Keane Age: 42 Background: businessman, Boston city councilor 1993-present Lives: Back Bay Is the only candidate who: hails the late Senator Paul Tsongas as a political hero What you'll get: a smart moderate who, like Gabrieli, bucks the liberal line on schools and Social Security Caveat emptor: Keane could be too fiscally conservative for many Eighth District voters John O'Connor Age: 43 Background: grassroots organizer, environmental activist, real-estate and environmental businessman Lives: Cambridge Is the only candidate who: has a mastery of environmental issues What you'll get: a boisterous rabble-rouser with a crusading, us-against-them spirit and an emphasis on environmental and energy issues Caveat emptor: O'Connor's freewheeling, hyperbolic style could get him in trouble Alex Rodriguez Age: 57 Background: chairman of the Massachusetts Commission Against Discrimination 1984-1991, deputy assistant secretary of the US Treasury 1994-1998 Lives: South End Is the only candidate who: has worked for the federal government in Washington What you'll get: a quirky, liberal civil rights advocate Caveat emptor: Rodriguez has shown little evidence that he's qualified for a legislative job Susan Tracy Age: 37 Background: former Boston City Hall aide, Brighton state representative 1990-1994, campaign organizer, political consultant Lives: Brighton Is the only candidate who: is openly gay What you'll get: a sincere and caring woman with a strong sense for the district's working-class and poor populations Caveat emptor: Tracy's parochial instincts may be better suited for the local scene than for Washington Charles Yancey Age: 49 Background: Boston city councilor 1983- present Lives: Dorchester Is the only candidate who: is black What you'll get: a soft-spoken liberal who would be Massachusetts's first black member of the US House of Representatives Caveat emptor: Yancey has no rationale for his candidacy other than identity politics

Through the summer months, this campaign has been defined by fundraising, television advertising, and media exposure. But as the race hurtles toward the September 15 Democratic primary, the candidates are fixated on what Capuano calls the street campaign and others call the "ground campaign" or "field": the lost art of knocking on doors, passing out campaign fliers, calling potential voters from phone banks, and dragging your supporters out to the polls on Election Day.

"This race is won in the field," Jim Braude, campaign manager for Cambridge businessman and environmentalist John O'Connor, said recently. "The goal is to identify an approximate number of voters and make personal contact with them, and pull them out of their houses on Primary Day."

The campaigns that have done this sort of work pride themselves on it. Tom Keane, for instance, is a low-profile candidate, mired in the lower echelons of the polls. But he, like O'Connor, has one of the strongest field operations in the race: he claims that calls from his phone banks have gotten 15,000 voters to pledge their support. "Field," Keane says, "means that you visited every one of those houses."

Field alone may not be enough to win the race, however. "I've always thought you needed a good base, a good message, and enough money to get your message out," says George Bachrach. "There are some people in this race who have had a ton of money but not the other two. There are some who've had a decent base and no message and no money. I think we've had the kind of successful balance that a campaign needs."

The campaigns with the best shot at winning, of course, have both the backers and the means to mobilize them. Capuano, for instance, not only has thousands of supporters in Somerville and other working-class and Italian neighborhoods, but a political machine cultivated in his eight years as mayor. Ray Flynn, whose entire campaign has been based on personal contact with voters in streets, churches, and pubs, has a base of reliable voters who don't need much coaxing to turn out.

Rivals of Marjorie Clapprood, on the other hand, say that despite her strong poll numbers -- she registered third in last week's Globe poll, with 13 percent -- she lacks a strong ground operation. Campaign consultant Jim Spencer denies that, arguing that Clapprood has a better idea than anybody else of who her supporters are. "We've been doing the hardest, most conservative [voter] IDs possible," Spencer says.

As for John O'Connor, he's running a ground-war clinic on the streets of North Cambridge. On a recent day, Cambridge politico Sean Murphy accompanies O'Connor with a clipboard listing addresses where voters have turned out in three of the past four elections. If nobody's home, O'Connor hangs a personally inscribed "Sorry I Missed You" flier on the doorknob. But when he gets in the door, as he does at the home of one white-haired woman who's in her easy chair recovering from a fall, he's a powerhouse. Marching his burly frame into a small living room crammed with Catholic imagery, O'Connor explains his plan for limiting the cost of drugs developed with federal grant money.

"Oh my God!" exclaims the chairbound woman. "That's a good idea!" She won't be mobile on Primary Day, but O'Connor arranges to get her an absentee ballot, which she promises to cast for him. Her friend says she's with O'Connor, too. "Aw, you da best!" he replies.

All this flesh-pressing will be for naught, however, if the campaigns can't get the voters they've identified to show up at the polls. Delivering votes means getting volunteers to hold signs outside polling sites, monitoring voting lists to see which of your supporters have turned out, and imploring those who haven't to get to the polls -- sometimes even offering them rides.

None of this is a secret to Mike Capuano, who watched with some amusement all summer as pundits debated the impact of multimillion-dollar advertising blitzes, campaign stunts, and piddling differences among various polls.

"I never try to be the big strategist," Capuano says. "I know what I have to do and I just do it."

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Capuano, meanwhile, has been seeing the downside of his emergence as a contender: attacks from his rivals. "I have a target on my back," he jokes.

That a candidate with momentum should draw fire isn't surprising. But the source of Capuano's grief is Chris Gabrieli, the millionaire venture capitalist who joined the race as a political neophyte intending to run an ideas-based campaign.

These days, Gabrieli seems a little like an undercover cop who gets sucked too far into the underworld. Like Donny Brasco, Gabrieli is in danger of becoming one of Them.

The Gabrieli-Capuano fight is over issue number one in this race: education. Capuano likes to brag about reduced class sizes and rising test scores in Somerville. But in public appearances and TV ads, Gabrieli has ridiculed Capuano's boasts, saying that the scores are dismal and that attendance in private and parochial schools has been rising.

Capuano, who is not known for his even temperament, didn't take kindly to this assault. Gabrieli, he told the Globe last week, "didn't have the courage to look me in the eye and debate me. I wish he had been man enough."

Now, Gabrieli may be something of a bookish wonk, but you don't become a millionaire by being soft. And Capuano's remarks seemed to push a button. So there was Gabrieli at Thursday's Somerville candidates' night, carrying a thick packet of charts and graphs showing the trajectory of test scores during Capuano's tenure as mayor. His face shining with sweat in the muggy gym, Gabrieli clutched one wrinkled chart in his hand and studied the numbers intensely, his brow furrowed as he tried to explain Iowa reading tests and the "scaling" of SAT scores. One could imagine Gabrieli studying a shareholder's report with the same all-consuming intensity.

The two men crossed paths at the end of the night, and it was clear things had gotten personal. They stood toe to toe, jaws clenched, looking as if somebody might take a swing. The taller Gabrieli loomed over the beefier Capuano, pointing a stiff finger just short of his chest. "I didn't appreciate that line," Gabrieli snarled, presumably referring to the mayor's "man enough" jibe. The encounter ended with forced smiles and backslaps (perhaps because a reporter was watching), and the two went their separate ways.

Welcome to Boston politics, Chris!

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Speaking of Gabrieli, one of the most unexpected phenomena of the race's final days has been his chase for the district's minority vote.

Gabrieli, after all, would seem to be the embodiment of the white establishment: a Beacon Hill mogul who has spent $4 million on his campaign.

All that money appears to have bought him is a scant 5 percent or so in the polls. But somewhere along the way, Gabrieli caught on to a fact that most candidates seem to have ignored: more than 40 percent of the Eighth District's residents are minorities.

And so there was Gabrieli waving at cars from a traffic median outside the Washington Square shopping center in Roxbury last week, explaining the neighborhood's importance to his campaign.

"This is a very strong part of town for me," Gabrieli says. "If I don't get the minority vote, I lose."

Sound improbable? Well, Gabrieli did win the endorsement of the Bay State Banner, the state's leading African-American newspaper. He also argues that minorities like his messages about improving education and empowering the inner city through wealth creation.

Few other candidates have vigorously courted the city's black neighborhoods. People familiar with local minority politics report that such top contenders as Flynn, Capuano, and Bachrach have been virtually invisible in those areas (although Flynn's reputation as a racial healer is still remembered fondly). There are two minority candidates in the race -- Boston city councilor Charles Yancey and former Massachusetts Commission Against Discrimination chairman Alex Rodriguez -- but both have been too lackluster to generate real support.

This week, however, John O'Connor won a round of endorsements that could translate into thousands of minority votes. On Tuesday O'Connor got a stamp of approval from some of the biggest names in the black community -- a coalition that includes Bishop Gilbert Thompson of New Covenant Church and the Reverend Jeffrey Brown, a cofounder of the 10 Point Coalition. (An official endorsement from influential 10 Point Coalition leader and Newsweek cover man Eugene Rivers is said to be on the way.)

The congregations of the various ministers -- who have pledged to support O'Connor from the pulpit, call their parishioners, and offer rides to the polls -- may total close to 10,000 people.

"We're hoping to get several thousand votes from out of there," says O'Connor field director Natasha Perez. The ministers, she says "are literally going to have an army of workers out there."

No one pretends to have a clear sense of what minority turnout will actually be. The last time this seat was open, in 1986, Dorchester, Mattapan, and Roxbury weren't part of the district. But if black voters are smart, they'll jump at this chance to assert their potential clout.

"There hasn't been much talk about what this part of the district means," Perez says. "This is [the minority community's] chance to say, `We're being disregarded, we're a political community that matters and we're going to exercise that power.' "

Even with these endorsements, the obstacles O'Connor and other white candidates face in earning the trust of minorities may remain huge.

That was clear as Gabrieli waved to passing cars not far from a billboard advertising WIGS HAIR SUPPLIES GOLD JEWELRY. Emerging from a parking lot in a dark, dented Oldsmobile, a middle-aged black woman extended an arm and called out: "Are you Chris? Are you Chris?"

"Yes, I am," Gabrieli replied, hopefully.

"What're you gonna do for us?" she asked, not waiting for an answer but simply driving off, an upraised palm still hanging ponderously from the window.

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Is it possible for a candidate to be both Too Gay and Not Gay Enough? Ask Susan Tracy, whose once-promising campaign is finishing a long, sad fizzle.

A few months ago, the former Brighton state representative seemed a potential dark horse in the race. Short and gentle-faced, with a knowing wink, Tracy was an honest and experienced pol admired in both the working-class and liberal-activist worlds.

But those days are gone. Tracy showed just 6 percent of the vote in an August Herald poll, and a Globe survey last week showed her at a piddling 3 percent.

To be sure, Tracy always lagged behind her rivals in money, name recognition, and personal flash.

But Tracy was also openly gay. And there's little doubt that the way the local political community -- and Tracy herself -- reacted to that fact helped speed her campaign's demise.

Tracy never planned to come out in the middle of a nationally watched campaign. She disclosed her sexuality in a sympathetic April 2 column by the Herald's Peter Gelzinis -- but only after Herald's Howie Carr had begun outing her with cryptic asides.

Tracy would have been the first openly gay candidate ever elected to a vacant seat in the US Congress, but there's no sign that she suffered from any voter homophobia. (Her campaign's polls showed that only 11 percent of voters would be less likely to vote for a gay or lesbian candidate; 7 percent said they'd be more likely to do so.)

But the issue clearly threw Tracy off balance and off message, preventing her from getting into a groove. Tracy's strategy was to win over working-class regulars in Brighton with a down-to-earth image, and to impress liberals with her social conscience. Instead, Tracy was typically defined as the gay candidate in the race. "It has been a roadblock to getting out the larger message," acknowledges one Tracy supporter.

Tracy was expected, at least, to win the support of gay and lesbian activists. But many of them doubted her commitment to their cause. Some resented that she hadn't come out sooner; others grumbled about her support for conservative House Speaker Tom Finneran (D-Mattapan); and some noted that her campaign literature made no mention of gay rights.

As a result, Tracy was repudiated in a community many people though she'd have a lock on. Several major local gay and lesbian organizations endorsed Marjorie Clapprood instead. The defining moment may have come with an August In Newsweekly editorial calling on her to drop out of the race. "She is far from being the best candidate for the gay and lesbian community," wrote news editor Fred Kuhr. "Having come out publicly only a few months ago, she still looks and sounds too uncomfortable talking about being gay to be an effective legislator for the community."

And that, in turn, caused the mainstream media to cover her not only as "the gay candidate," but as the gay candidate who wasn't gay enough for gays. At both televised candidates' debates held in the past month, the first question put to Tracy concerned her support within the gay community. Tracy's response was that she wants the support not of any single interest group, but of a diverse coalition "that looks like the district." Even in dismissing such questions, though, Tracy appeared uncomfortable and frustrated. She certainly didn't seem to show the poise that would be demanded from a member of Congress.

(Of course, Tracy wasn't so uncomfortable with the gay label that she wouldn't hype it when it benefited her. "We are writing to seek your help in making gay and lesbian history!" one of her fundraising letters declared.)

Given a chance to do it again, perhaps Tracy would choose not to discuss her personal life. "The way to do it," says a supporter, "would have been to say to anyone who asked, `If you want to talk issues, I'll talk issues. But I'm not going to talk about my personal life.' "

At last week's Somerville candidates' night, Tracy had just finished talking about her working-class roots and her affordable-housing plan when she turned to field her one question from a panel of local reporters. It was about her sexuality. Tracy gave her standard response about diversity of support but ultimately explained that yes, she is gay, and that's just part of who she is. Looking toward the camera that was broadcasting the event into the living rooms of a socially conservative city, Tracy finished with a tone of defeat: "So there you are, Somerville cable TV." Then she quickly stepped off the stage and headed straight for the door, no doubt glad to be finished.

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A final note on polls, those all-powerful arbiters of which candidates are "hot":

Did anybody ever really know what the hell was going on?

All summer long there's been something absurd about trying to figure out the strength of candidates in a race where the difference between first place and seventh place falls within the margin of error.

It was a perennial complaint of the candidates that published polls in the Globe and Herald -- which drive media coverage and, thus, voter opinion of the candidates -- often bore little relation to their own surveys.

"I've not spoken to one pollster, either ours or with another campaign, who says that it's possible to do justice to a 10-person field," says one campaign manager. "I don't think anyone's ever encountered anything like this."

The difficulty of knowing what to believe was underscored earlier this summer when George Bachrach, whose campaign got off to a dismal start by showing just 5 percent in a May Globe poll, conducted a poll of his own and declared himself the number-two candidate in the race.

And just last week, O'Connor was boasting that his own surveys put him in second place -- although published polls put him in fourth or fifth with around 10 percent of the vote.

Especially in such a tight campaign, methodology can make all the difference. Was the poll properly weighted for historical turnout in various neighborhoods? (Such weighting was how Bachrach explained his wondrous rise in his own poll.) What time were calls made? (One campaign suggests that young professionals are often missed by early-evening calls.) Were people who don't vote weeded out? (Another campaign insider says that failure to do this is the downfall of published polls.)

"Polling's not telling you much," says Tom Keane. "Turnout matters."

Michael Crowley can be reached at mcrowley@phx.com.