Post by paultripp on Aug 7, 2007 2:48:36 GMT -5
www.omaha.com/index.php?u_page=2835&u_sid=10097054
PORTLAND, Ore. — One is a Democrat, the other a Republican. They've never met, but they share much in common.
Both wear dark suits and sneakers. Neither has a lot of name recognition. Both are running for president.
Mike Gravel and Ron Paul. Their names, sharing space at the bottom of the polls, seem increasingly linked. Though detractors on blogs have dismissed each as a "crazy old coot," both came out swinging in the debates and scored points for candor and quirkiness — and, in Gravel's case, crankiness.
The oldest of the declared candidates, Gravel, 77, and Paul, 71, have become the campaign's upstarts.
After the first debate, Gravel generated more Internet traffic than any other Democratic contender except Sen. Barack Obama of Illinois. Through much of June and early July, "Ron Paul" was among the top three most frequently searched terms on the Web. Paul's YouTube videos were viewed 2.3 million times.
So who are these guys? Can two old men in rubber shoes win their parties' nomination to be leader of the free world?
Mike Gravel, former senator from Alaska, had just flown to Portland from Indianapolis.
He rode economy, landed after 2 a.m., grabbed some sleep and strolled into the hotel restaurant just past 11 a.m. — the cutoff time for breakfast.
"Would there be any chance you could manage one more breakfast?" Gravel asked the hostess. "I'm sorry . . .," she began. Then someone from behind whispered to her that this man is running for president. He's important.
The hostess looked the candidate over.
Gravel smiled at her.
He was wearing the obligatory uniform of male presidential hopefuls — dark suit and tie — and looked top to bottom like a decent enough fellow, with his thinning white hair and rimless eyeglasses. The hostess glanced at his shoes: black strap-on Velcro walkers.
She sighed. "This way," she said.
Gravel spoke about his flight. "My feet were hurting so bad, I couldn't sleep," he said. His voice, coincidentally, sounded . . . gravelly. Gravel (pronounced gruh-VELL) suffers from neuropathy and chronic back pain, so traveling can be agony.
At one point during the meal, supporter Deborah Petri, 38, approached to shake his hand. "You're my hero," Petri told the candidate. "I love you."
Like many other supporters, Petri loves him despite his deficits — or, perhaps, because of them. His numbers in most national polls remain below 1 percent. Broke, unemployed and politically marginalized, Gravel can't help but relate to the struggling masses.
After a dozen years in the Senate, Gravel lost his seat in 1981 and disappeared from public life — until April 2006, when he became the first Democrat to declare his run for the presidency.
Gravel had become angry over the government's inaction on the Iraq war, which he considers immoral.
He also wanted to focus attention on a project he had worked on privately for more than a decade: governing by "national referenda." His idea, which he calls the National Initiative, is to turn the American people into one giant legislative body.
The people, once and for all, would decide on the most pressing issues, such as illegal immigration, health care, the war in Iraq and the war on drugs. He considers both wars disastrous.
At his age, it was now or never "to accomplish something, more than what I've already done, before I die," he said. "Our chances of winning are remote. But you never know. Lightning could strike."
Jimmy Carter, Michael Dukakis and Bill Clinton were relative unknowns when they entered the races, respectively, for the 1976, 1988 and 1992 Democratic nominations. Carter and Clinton got to the White House, of course.
During the first Democratic debate this spring in South Carolina, Gravel scored laughs and stole the show with his old-coot routine. He said the front-runners "frighten" him with their unwillingness to rule out the use of nuclear weapons.
"Tell me, Barack," Gravel said in the most quoted line of the debate, "who do you want to nuke?"
Gravel, who says he has "zero net worth," began his campaign in debt and continues to struggle financially. The latest figures show his campaign has raised $175,000 but has spent $197,000.
In cyberspace, Gravel continues to generate buzz, but no one knows whether it will translate into votes. On his Web site, one recent discussion topic began with this intriguing title: "Mike Gravel and Ron Paul as third-party Pres/Vice Pres Ticket!"
"Hey Gravel," says one post. "Give Ron Paul a call!"
In the lobby of the Hyatt Regency in Kansas City, Mo., a sea of people did not part for Paul, who was there to speak at a National Right to Life Committee convention.
Paul descended the escalator the way he moves across the country: unrecognized, except by a loyal few — such as the woman who approached Paul and his campaign manager, Kent Snyder.
"I want you to know I think you're so real," she gushed. "I wish I could give more."
Scavenging the bottom of her purse, the woman dug out a crumpled $10 bill. Snyder snatched up the bill, because every dollar helps.
It has been predicted that serious contenders for the nominations will have to raise tens of millions by the end of the year to compete. Paul, as of mid-July, had raised $3 million. Plus, now, $10.
In the second GOP debate, Paul offered an almost scholarly explanation for growing anti-American sentiment abroad. America's policy of intervening in foreign affairs, especially in the Middle East, he said, partly explains Islamic anger.
"We've been bombing Iraq for 10 years," he said.
It was at that moment that Kansas City resident Richard DeYoung, 28, a software engineer, decided Paul was his man.
"I was absolutely floored by his candor," DeYoung said. "He's not about trying to pander to the American people. He's about giving his take on the truth."
When supporters asked him to join the race two years ago, Paul resisted.
But the supporters — many from the Libertarian pocket of the Republican base — persisted, and Paul relented, egged on partly by his frustration over the current crop of candidates. None of them, he believes, would end American involvement in Iraq immediately. Paul says he would.
"Things were getting worse," said Carol Paul, the candidate's wife of 50 years. "More men were dying in the war, and Ron felt responsible for what was going on."
In Kansas City, Paul was the last of four Republican candidates to speak in front of the conventioneers. Afterward, half the room applauded and the other half looked him over, seemingly unmoved.
Later that day, about 500 supporters gathered in an antiquated theater for a rally. It was a crowd of believers. They roared and chanted and held banners announcing "the Ron Paul Revolution" and cheered wildly when the candidate, looking slight on the grand stage, took the podium.
"People ask, 'How come you're doing so well on the Internet?'" Paul said in speech that was countryside-slow. "It might just be that freedom is a popular idea." Big applause.
In 20 minutes of oration, Paul told not a single joke. True to form, he mentioned the Constitution frequently.
"Almost every problem we have is because we didn't follow the advice of the Founding Fathers and the Constitution." Bigger applause. "What we want is noninterference by the government in our personal lives." Standing ovation.
Outside the theater, a handful of supporters waved Ron Paul placards at endless passing cars.
The most recent CNN poll showed Paul at about 2 percent nationally among registered Republicans.
"Go, John Paul!" someone screamed from a pickup.
"It's Ron!" a sidewalk supporter screamed back.
The revolution has a ways to go.
PORTLAND, Ore. — One is a Democrat, the other a Republican. They've never met, but they share much in common.
Both wear dark suits and sneakers. Neither has a lot of name recognition. Both are running for president.
Mike Gravel and Ron Paul. Their names, sharing space at the bottom of the polls, seem increasingly linked. Though detractors on blogs have dismissed each as a "crazy old coot," both came out swinging in the debates and scored points for candor and quirkiness — and, in Gravel's case, crankiness.
The oldest of the declared candidates, Gravel, 77, and Paul, 71, have become the campaign's upstarts.
After the first debate, Gravel generated more Internet traffic than any other Democratic contender except Sen. Barack Obama of Illinois. Through much of June and early July, "Ron Paul" was among the top three most frequently searched terms on the Web. Paul's YouTube videos were viewed 2.3 million times.
So who are these guys? Can two old men in rubber shoes win their parties' nomination to be leader of the free world?
Mike Gravel, former senator from Alaska, had just flown to Portland from Indianapolis.
He rode economy, landed after 2 a.m., grabbed some sleep and strolled into the hotel restaurant just past 11 a.m. — the cutoff time for breakfast.
"Would there be any chance you could manage one more breakfast?" Gravel asked the hostess. "I'm sorry . . .," she began. Then someone from behind whispered to her that this man is running for president. He's important.
The hostess looked the candidate over.
Gravel smiled at her.
He was wearing the obligatory uniform of male presidential hopefuls — dark suit and tie — and looked top to bottom like a decent enough fellow, with his thinning white hair and rimless eyeglasses. The hostess glanced at his shoes: black strap-on Velcro walkers.
She sighed. "This way," she said.
Gravel spoke about his flight. "My feet were hurting so bad, I couldn't sleep," he said. His voice, coincidentally, sounded . . . gravelly. Gravel (pronounced gruh-VELL) suffers from neuropathy and chronic back pain, so traveling can be agony.
At one point during the meal, supporter Deborah Petri, 38, approached to shake his hand. "You're my hero," Petri told the candidate. "I love you."
Like many other supporters, Petri loves him despite his deficits — or, perhaps, because of them. His numbers in most national polls remain below 1 percent. Broke, unemployed and politically marginalized, Gravel can't help but relate to the struggling masses.
After a dozen years in the Senate, Gravel lost his seat in 1981 and disappeared from public life — until April 2006, when he became the first Democrat to declare his run for the presidency.
Gravel had become angry over the government's inaction on the Iraq war, which he considers immoral.
He also wanted to focus attention on a project he had worked on privately for more than a decade: governing by "national referenda." His idea, which he calls the National Initiative, is to turn the American people into one giant legislative body.
The people, once and for all, would decide on the most pressing issues, such as illegal immigration, health care, the war in Iraq and the war on drugs. He considers both wars disastrous.
At his age, it was now or never "to accomplish something, more than what I've already done, before I die," he said. "Our chances of winning are remote. But you never know. Lightning could strike."
Jimmy Carter, Michael Dukakis and Bill Clinton were relative unknowns when they entered the races, respectively, for the 1976, 1988 and 1992 Democratic nominations. Carter and Clinton got to the White House, of course.
During the first Democratic debate this spring in South Carolina, Gravel scored laughs and stole the show with his old-coot routine. He said the front-runners "frighten" him with their unwillingness to rule out the use of nuclear weapons.
"Tell me, Barack," Gravel said in the most quoted line of the debate, "who do you want to nuke?"
Gravel, who says he has "zero net worth," began his campaign in debt and continues to struggle financially. The latest figures show his campaign has raised $175,000 but has spent $197,000.
In cyberspace, Gravel continues to generate buzz, but no one knows whether it will translate into votes. On his Web site, one recent discussion topic began with this intriguing title: "Mike Gravel and Ron Paul as third-party Pres/Vice Pres Ticket!"
"Hey Gravel," says one post. "Give Ron Paul a call!"
In the lobby of the Hyatt Regency in Kansas City, Mo., a sea of people did not part for Paul, who was there to speak at a National Right to Life Committee convention.
Paul descended the escalator the way he moves across the country: unrecognized, except by a loyal few — such as the woman who approached Paul and his campaign manager, Kent Snyder.
"I want you to know I think you're so real," she gushed. "I wish I could give more."
Scavenging the bottom of her purse, the woman dug out a crumpled $10 bill. Snyder snatched up the bill, because every dollar helps.
It has been predicted that serious contenders for the nominations will have to raise tens of millions by the end of the year to compete. Paul, as of mid-July, had raised $3 million. Plus, now, $10.
In the second GOP debate, Paul offered an almost scholarly explanation for growing anti-American sentiment abroad. America's policy of intervening in foreign affairs, especially in the Middle East, he said, partly explains Islamic anger.
"We've been bombing Iraq for 10 years," he said.
It was at that moment that Kansas City resident Richard DeYoung, 28, a software engineer, decided Paul was his man.
"I was absolutely floored by his candor," DeYoung said. "He's not about trying to pander to the American people. He's about giving his take on the truth."
When supporters asked him to join the race two years ago, Paul resisted.
But the supporters — many from the Libertarian pocket of the Republican base — persisted, and Paul relented, egged on partly by his frustration over the current crop of candidates. None of them, he believes, would end American involvement in Iraq immediately. Paul says he would.
"Things were getting worse," said Carol Paul, the candidate's wife of 50 years. "More men were dying in the war, and Ron felt responsible for what was going on."
In Kansas City, Paul was the last of four Republican candidates to speak in front of the conventioneers. Afterward, half the room applauded and the other half looked him over, seemingly unmoved.
Later that day, about 500 supporters gathered in an antiquated theater for a rally. It was a crowd of believers. They roared and chanted and held banners announcing "the Ron Paul Revolution" and cheered wildly when the candidate, looking slight on the grand stage, took the podium.
"People ask, 'How come you're doing so well on the Internet?'" Paul said in speech that was countryside-slow. "It might just be that freedom is a popular idea." Big applause.
In 20 minutes of oration, Paul told not a single joke. True to form, he mentioned the Constitution frequently.
"Almost every problem we have is because we didn't follow the advice of the Founding Fathers and the Constitution." Bigger applause. "What we want is noninterference by the government in our personal lives." Standing ovation.
Outside the theater, a handful of supporters waved Ron Paul placards at endless passing cars.
The most recent CNN poll showed Paul at about 2 percent nationally among registered Republicans.
"Go, John Paul!" someone screamed from a pickup.
"It's Ron!" a sidewalk supporter screamed back.
The revolution has a ways to go.