Where the Liberals Roam
A House race in Boston pits a colorful pol and a talk-radio star
against a rich unknown with ideas
By JAMES CARNEY/BOSTON
At a street corner in a gritty Boston neighborhood, a truck
driver leans out his window and hollers a question at
congressional candidate Raymond Flynn. "Hey, Ray! Can I have a
job if you get in?"
Flynn, the former Boston mayor, jogs over to the truck. "Sure,"
he says with a laugh. "I appreciate your support."
Trading jobs for votes may be one Boston tradition that's fallen
by the wayside, but the city's politicians still do most things
the old-fashioned way. There aren't many other places in America
where a candidate can declare himself an "unabashed, unrepentant,
unreconstructed liberal"--and leave most of his opponents wishing
they'd come up with the line first. But Massachusetts' Eighth
Congressional District isn't like anyplace else. Encompassing
nearly half the city of Boston, all of what locals call the
People's Republic of Cambridge, and several limousine-liberal
suburbs, the Eighth has sent just three Congressmen to Washington
since 1946: John F. Kennedy, former House Speaker Tip O'Neill and
Joseph P. Kennedy II. It is a shrine to old-school liberalism and
one of the safest Democratic seats in the country. And so, when
Joe Kennedy announced his retirement earlier this year, it wasn't
long before 10 local Democrats had swarmed into the race to
replace him.
Which would be great news for the district's voters--if there were
more to distinguish one candidate from another. But almost all of
them are as "unreconstructed" and predictable in their liberalism
as George Bachrach, the former state senator who made the remark
during a televised debate last week. In fact, the most prominent
contenders for the seat, Flynn and former talk-radio host
Marjorie Clapprood, are known less for what they would do in
office than for the controversial things they have done in the
past. A once loved mayor with nearly universal name recognition,
Flynn has a gift for working a crowd and a reputation for
excessive drinking that was examined last fall in a front-page
story in the Boston Globe. Clapprood is a raspy-voiced bleached
blond who jumped from a stint in the state legislature to a gig
as one of New England's most famous--and raunchiest--radio
personalities. (On the air she once asked Fabio, the
romance-novel cover model, if he has "big private parts.") The
mayor of Somerville, Michael Capuano, showed strength in a recent
poll, but the best hope for an upset may be a wonkish venture
capitalist named Chris Gabrieli, who's spending his own millions
to run a campaign focused on, of all things, policy ideas. Can
his fortune beat their fame?
Flynn and Clapprood hail from two sides of the liberal tradition.
An Irish Catholic who rose to prominence in the early 1980s as a
populist champion of the working class, Flynn, 59, is an F.D.R.
Democrat who's tight with organized labor. He left city hall in
1993 to serve for four years as Bill Clinton's U.S. ambassador to
the Vatican, but he still sounds more like a ward heeler than a
diplomat. "I've always been a fighter for the poor people of this
city, and I'll continue to do that," Flynn says one morning as he
waves at rush-hour traffic. It's a well-earned boast, but it
isn't backed up by much in the way of new ideas. Asked what he'd
do in Congress, Flynn ticks off a laundry list of Democratic
perennials, like raising the minimum wage and increasing spending
for early-childhood education.
Flynn's low-budget campaign intends to use the remnants of his
once mighty grass-roots operation to get out the vote. But the
residual goodwill from his 10 years as mayor is ebbing. After he
left office, two of his top aides were convicted of
fund-raising-related crimes. And Flynn's tenure as an ambassador
earned him a reputation for erratic and often unstatesmanlike
behavior in Washington and Rome. After the Globe published an
eyewitness account of him appearing drunk in the late afternoon,
Flynn went on 60 Minutes to rebut the charges. Now he dismisses
the controversy. "I don't think [voters] take it seriously," he
says.
Clapprood, 48, is the only other candidate who can match Flynn's
backslapping style. When a motorist honks approval at an
intersection in East Boston, she shouts, "I love you," then
totters after a voter on her 4-in. heels. Suddenly, she stops
short, whirls around and asks her campaign adviser, Jim Spencer,
"Do I have schmutz on my face?"
Spencer shakes his head no, and Clapprood accosts two women on
the sidewalk, one of whom has just declared, "It's her!"
"This is very important," Clapprood tells them. "You gotta help
me win, O.K.?"
Spencer, who worked for Joe Kennedy, insists that Clapprood is
more than a celebrity. And he's right. She served six years in
the state legislature, then ran a credible race for Lieutenant
Governor in 1990. Her loss was blamed on her famously acerbic
running mate, Boston University President John Silber, who was
defeated by William Weld. Clapprood has a record of involvement
in groups that help poor women and children, and she is trying to
exploit Flynn's biggest vulnerability in such a liberal district,
his opposition to abortion. She touts herself as the pro-choice
candidate who can beat Flynn, and in last week's debate, she
essentially asked voters to elect her because of her gender.
"We've never sent a woman to Washington to stand for us," she
said. "I'd like to be that woman."
Of the eight others angling to sneak by Flynn and Clapprood, the
most visible is Gabrieli, 38, a nerdy, prematurely gray father of
four. Gabrieli has visibility because he paid for it. Since early
summer, the multimillionaire has spent more than $2 million of
his own money, most of it on television. But unlike other
self-financed candidates, who spend their early money on
get-to-know-me ads aimed at raising their name recognition,
Gabrieli has been running substantive spots about issues like
setting standards for teachers and HMO reform. He wants voters to
associate him with progressive ideas, even ones that are
controversial in traditional Democratic circles, such as charter
public schools. Gabrieli distinguished himself in the debate,
promising "to step on some toes" to get things done. His strategy
seems to be working. At a subway "T" stop in Somerville, most of
the morning commuters who pause to take a leaflet recognize
Gabrieli and know his positions on the issues. Some are not
impressed, like the woman who badgers him for being "against
teachers." But others are more positive. "My husband just said
he's probably gonna vote for you," says Cynthia Close, 53. "I
might too."
So far, Flynn has remained atop the few polls that have been
made public, but his margin is small and the number of undecideds
high. In any case, voters aren't likely to start paying attention
to the race until just before the winner-take-all Sept. 15
primary. (Its victor has a virtual lock on the November general
election.) By September, Gabrieli hopes, a summer's worth of
provocative issue ads will have kicked in with voters. In a field
of 10 candidates and as few as 100,000 people expected to cast
ballots, 11,000 votes could conceivably be enough to win. For
Gabrieli, who will end up spending around $3 million, that would
mean that victory cost $273 per vote.
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