I'm Thaddeus!

Last Friday, in my role as a contributor to Politico’s “Arena”, I responded to a question about the presidential candidacy of guitar-playing, wise-cracking Michigan Congressman Thaddeus McCotter. Was there room for him in the Republican field?

Sure, I replied. He can join Newt Gingrich in filling the comic relief void.  He starts out, I noted dryly, with national name ID approximating that of my dad.

Several people told me they found my remarks amusing. But as I had the chance to reflect over the weekend, I realized that – with all due respect to Mark Halperin – I was being a dick.

I disagree with most of what Thaddeus McCotter – who calls himself a true constitutional conservative –  espouses, but people shouldn’t mock passionate, sincere candidates just because they are longshots. And of all people, I definitely shouldn’t mock them.

***

When I decided to run for Congress in 2004, I was a nobody: a 29 year-old adjunct lecturing at a local university while trying to complete my Ph.D. I had no money, no political base and no name; my staff was a ragtag crew of students. The leading candidate was Russ Carnahan, scion of Missouri’s most powerful political dynasty: the “Kennedys of Missouri.” Russ’s dad was a two-term Governor and his mom a U.S. Senator; my dad had been a golf coach, a sportswriter, a pool hustler, and adverstising copywriter, and my mom counseled children with special needs. Ten candidates filed; Carnahan led the field by 40 points.

I set two benchmarks for myself, one concrete, the other less so. The real benchmark was that I vowed to raise $100K in my first quarter, somehow.

The second benchmark was somewhat less scientific. One evening after teaching, I went across the street from campus and canvassed a neighborhood to see if people would take me seriously as a congressional candidate, or if they thought I looked too young (I was a boyish 29, 5’6” and 120 pounds soaking wet). I knocked on about 40 doors.

The first door was answered by a thirty-something woman who immediately after my introduction asked me point-blank if I was pro-choice. “Absolutely,” I said. She said she’d vote for me as long as I didn’t waver on that issue. I thought to myself, OK, there’s one vote, at least I won’t get shut out.

A few doors later an older man asked me if I supported stem-cell research. “Absolutely,” I said, and he said he was a genomic researcher and would back me as long as I supported the right to unfettered scientific research. Two for two. I can do this.

A few minutes later, a middle-aged woman opened her door, and I introduced myself. “Hi, my name’s Jeff Smith, and I’m planning to run for Congress next year, but just wanted to come by today and see if you have any questions for me.”

She looked at me quizzically. “Where are you coming from?”

“Uh, well, from campus, actually.”

“Oh, yes, you must want to see Janie. Hold on one second.” She called up the stairs, “Janie, come on downstairs, there’s a young man here who wants to talk to you, he’s running for Student Congress.”

“Tell him I’m busy, Mom,” came the disembodied voice of a college girl.

I was too embarrassed to explain myself. I said goodbye, walked back to campus, and started thinking of how I could raise $100K in 3 months, which I did, barely. 

                                                            ***

No, I'm Thaddeus!

Thaddeus McCotter knows exactly what I realized back in 2003: Primaries are about finding niches. And the terrain he encounters is not unlike the one I faced nearly a decade ago: a crowded field, but one in which he can identify possible niches to fill.

I knew there would be at least seven candidates (ultimately there were ten), and with each candidate to enter, the race became that much more attractive to more candidates, given the declining percentage needed to win. I spent weeks looking at numbers, analyzing different combinations, figuring out if there was enough space for me to fill. I estimated that with seven candidates, one could win with just 28-29% of the vote, and that the entrance of another candidate or two could reduce that number to 23-24%. For me, every decline in this number made the race more appealing, because the fewer votes needed to win, the more important each vote became. And the increased importance of each vote magnified the influence of a grassroots campaign relative to a money-and-media-driven campaign.

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Jeff Smith: I’m Thaddeus!