Death On The Campaign Trail

By Josh Tyrangiel

In 1990, a few weeks after Paul Wellstone--a wiry 5-ft. 5-in. ex--college professor, liberal ideologue, professional agitator and extreme long shot--unseated an incumbent Senator in an election no one thought he could win, he sat down for breakfast with one of the few Establishment politicians he genuinely admired. Fellow Minnesotan and former Vice President Walter Mondale congratulated Wellstone on the upset but warned that the aggressiveness Wellstone had shown on the campaign trail (he starred in a series of Roger & Me--inspired ads in which he stalked his opponent) might not go over well on Capitol Hill. "Remember," said Mondale, "you have six years in the first term, not six days. Don't be so impatient, charging into everything."

Wellstone didn't hear a word. As Senator-elect in his first month, Wellstone said of new colleague Jesse Helms, "I have detested him since I was 19." Then, on his first trip to the White House, on the eve of the Gulf War, Wellstone pelted President George H.W. Bush with antiwar arguments until Bush famously asked, "Who is this chickens___?"

Over 12 years and nearly two Senate terms, Wellstone never wavered in his convictions, but he gradually adjusted his style to the courtly atmosphere of the Senate. Just how well he had adapted was evident in the hours after his campaign plane crashed two miles from a small airport last Friday 175 miles north of Minneapolis. (Also aboard were Wellstone's wife Sheila, daughter Marcia, three campaign-staff members and two pilots. There were no survivors.) "Despite the marked contrast between Paul's and my views on matters of government and politics," said Helms, his onetime nemesis, "he was my friend. And I was his."

Wellstone had been locked in a tight re-election campaign against Republican challenger Norm Coleman and had begun to pull away in recent weeks, in part because this year's chapter in the Iraq saga provided Wellstone with an opportunity to remind Minnesotans that his maverick streak remained as sharp as ever. As the only vulnerable incumbent to vote against the resolution that would give President Bush war powers, Wellstone told the Senate, "Acting now on our own might be a sign of our power, but acting sensibly and in a measured way in concert with our allies.. would be a sign of our strength." Soon after, private G.O.P. polls predicted that Wellstone would be re-elected.

Senators on both sides of the aisle broke down on Friday as they talked about their idealistic fallen comrade, but it wasn't long before they returned to the cold calculus of midterm elections. With Wellstone's death, the Senate is divided 49 to 49 to 1. If Coleman were to win, he would fill the vacancy immediately, and Republicans would suddenly have an advantage that could help them push through President Bush's struggling Homeland Security bill before the new year. Optimism, though, was hard to find among G.O.P. officials, who fear a possible repeat of what one G.O.P. Senator called the "Jean Carnahan syndrome." Two years ago, Carnahan's husband, Missouri Governor Mel Carnahan, died in a plane crash while campaigning. His name remained on the ballot, and the deceased Carnahan defeated Republican incumbent John Ashcroft. Jean Carnahan was then appointed to fill his seat for two years.

Minnesota officials disagree about the exact legal steps that follow a candidate's death. Some argue that the law would allow a repeat of the Carnahan scenario. But the Democrats are apparently not inclined to wait for such wrangling to be resolved. The party can name a replacement candidate no more than seven days after Wellstone's death and no fewer than four days before the Nov. 5 general election. And all indications point to a new candidate. With neither of Wellstone's two sons (Mark, 30, and David, 37) interested in filling their father's seat, Democratic officials phoned former Vice President Mondale on Friday afternoon and pleaded with him to run. Republicans fear that he is precisely the kind of party patriarch who could ride the coattails of Wellstone's legacy to victory. "Politics is all about emotions," says a Republican Senator. "Paul was beloved, and with his death he'll be even more beloved. If the Democrats pick a strong candidate, taking this seat could be tough."

Mondale, 74, hasn't said whether he will accept, but he was highly visible in the hours after Wellstone's death. Speaking at a news conference with Senator Edward Kennedy, Mondale said, "If Paul were here, he would want us to think about one thing, and that is to carry on the fight that he led with such brilliance and courage over all of these years. And Paul and Sheila, we intend to do that."

Wellstone's tragedy may help the Democrats keep Minnesota, but what twists of fate create, they can also spirit away. It was Carnahan's unprecedented posthumous victory, along with Jim Jeffords' unexpected party switch, that gave the Democrats their microscopic hold on the Senate in the first place and allowed Tom Daschle to stall, water down and occasionally even block key parts of George W. Bush's agenda. But that margin will be tough to maintain. The Democrats' first problem is Carnahan. Sensing that she is vulnerable, Republicans made her one of their top targets, and they have poured millions of dollars into her state over the past month in an effort to take back the seat. The G.O.P. has history on its side: a living Democrat hasn't won a Senate seat from Missouri in 22 years.

Elsewhere the picture for the Democrats was looking little better. Democratic challengers are facing photo finishes in New Hampshire and Colorado, and the early momentum of Ron Kirk in Texas has faded. (Kirk, who is black, recently suggested that his opponent favored military action in Iraq because minorities would be doing most of the fighting.) Still, with 10 races lingering within the margin of error, every day brings new possibilities. In North Carolina, Elizabeth Dole's campaign against former Clinton aide Erskine Bowles hit what one G.O.P. strategist this week called "the skids" as her lead in the polls suddenly dropped to four points. Republicans rushed veteran campaign doctors to the scene in an attempt to stop the bleeding and hold on to the seat, soon to be vacated by Jesse Helms.

The final wild card is Louisiana. Democratic incumbent Mary Landrieu is leading, but the state has a unique "open primary" on Election Day in which all candidates from all parties are thrown together on one ballot. (It's like Mardi Gras with debates.) If no one gets 50%--and there are nine candidates, three of whom are legitimate G.O.P. hopefuls--the top two finishers go to a run-off on Dec. 7, meaning that it's possible that the Senate could remain locked 49 to 49 to 1 until then. Just in case such a scenario plays out, both parties (having learned a lesson from the last election) have established toll-free hot lines to report voting irregularities. The Democrats have also assembled an army of attorneys to stand by in districts with close races and questionable voter-participation histories, and the Republicans are mobilizing their own army of poll watchers.

Whoever is sworn in on Jan. 3, 2003, will have a tough time living up to Wellstone's contrarian act. No other member of the Senate was on the losing side of so many 99-to-1 or 98-to-2 votes, and none voted more consistently against the Bush Administration, according to the Congressional Quarterly. But Wellstone was not merely obstreperous. Born to Russian-Jewish immigrants, he was encouraged by his father, a frustrated playwright and essayist who spoke 10 languages and worked for the U.S. Information Agency under Edward R. Murrow, to live a life that merged intellectual pursuits with community service. At 19, Wellstone married his high school sweetheart, Sheila Ison, the daughter of Kentucky coal miners, and, after getting his Ph.D. from the University of North Carolina, moved to Minnesota to teach at Carleton College. It was there, in 1974, that he had his first brush with politics; informed by the college administration that he would not be retained owing to his poor publishing record, he rallied students and professors to protest on his behalf. He won tenure.

"Paul wasn't scared of a fight, but he also wasn't scared of a friend," says conservative Republican Senator Sam Brownback of Kansas. After heated debates with John McCain on the Senate floor, Wellstone, a former college wrestler who still holds the Capitol Police gym record for pushups and pull-ups, would grab McCain in the cloakroom in a mock wrestling hold. And when one of his amendments was inevitably defeated by a lopsided vote, Wellstone would walk over to the opposing Senator who had defeated him, slap him on the back and joke, "You were lucky this time." He remained the ideological conscience of Senate Democrats, goading them not to compromise the party's populist tradition by promoting such seemingly lost causes as universal health care and insurance coverage for mental illness. During a recent conversation with former Nebraska Senator Bob Kerrey, Wellstone joked about his legacy. According to Kerrey, Wellstone said, "I think my epitaph is going i*Ato read, 'We don't know what he did, but he sure looked tired.'" Says Kerrey: "Now I think his epitaph will be, 'We didn't realize what a good man he was until he was gone.'" --Reported by Matthew Cooper, Michael Duffy, Karen Tumulty and Douglas Waller/Washington

With reporting by Matthew Cooper, Michael Duffy, Karen Tumulty and Douglas Waller/Washington