David Axelrod remembers relishing the occasional visits Stanley Nason made to his house when he was a youngster growing up in New York City. "He came around before elections and talked politics with my parents. I'd sit there listening with rapt attention. I thought he was a nifty guy."

Photo by Richard Foertsch/Photoprose David Axelrod in his den, his favorite place for working.

It wasn't until he moved to Illinois as a student at the University of Chicago in the early 1970s, Axelrod says, that "I realized Stanley was our precinct captain." And now Axelrod is himself a precinct captain of sorts. Actually, David Axelrod is a political consultant, a nineties brand of precinct captain who has helped transform American politics by marketing candidates on a scale Stanley Nason must never have imagined possible. If the precinct captains of the 1960s employed a brand of door-to-door, one-on-one retail politics, Axelrod deals in wholesale politics on a mega-level, selling his candidates to millions of voters the way Ralston-Purina sells Puppy Chow.

Some view this develop-

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ment as the ruin of democracy. "You're suspect as a political consultant," Axelrod concedes. "The image is of someone who will do anything to get a candidate elected."

Others see it as a natural — and neutral — outgrowth of an increasingly technological culture. "The nature of contemporary politics is such that a lot that drives it happens in that little box over there," says Axelrod, pointing to a Sony television stationed across his office. "Because if you're not being heard on TV," he says, "you're not being heard."

In either case, David Axelrod is no more to blame if you don't like your government than Ralston-Purina is if your puppy doesn't like his dog food. The political marketplace much resembles the free enterprise marketplace. "People get what they want," says Carter Hendren, chief of staff to Senate President James Philip and manager of Jim Edgar's 1990 gubernatorial campaign.

Notes Axelrod, in a 1991 interview with the Chicago Reader: "I hate to apologize for the system, but I think the system's working better probably than the hand-wringers over at the League of Women Voters and other places are willing to concede." David Axelrod began his political career 33 years ago when he helped distribute leaflets on the streets of Manhattan supporting the campaign of John F. Kennedy for president. He was five years old. "I've always liked politics," he says. "I was precocious that way." Politics was a passion in a household run by parents Axelrod has described as "your classic New York leftist Democrats." He carried that passion with him when he enrolled as a political science major at the University of Chicago, but felt frustrated on a campus that seemed "introspective and cloistered" from the electric political atmosphere of Chicago.

He had resisted persistent entreaties from Democratic Congressman Paul Simon to join his campaign to unseat Charles H. Percy, the state's last Republican U.S. senator

Axelrod satiated his political interests by writing a column about local politics for the Hyde Park Herald and took on stringing assignments for Time magazine. Journalism gave him a practical outlet for pursuing his fascination with politics and public affairs, and after graduation in 1976, he got a summer internship at the Chicago Tribune, which in turn led to a full-time reporting position with the paper. "I had the night catastrophe beat," recalls Axelrod, a bit ruefully, of his experience chasing fires and murders. Election time typically gave him an opportunity to cover a political race, but just as typically, he says, "they had me cover the candidate who wouldn't win."

Until 1979. That's when he covered the campaign of a little-known political reformer running for mayor of Chicago: Jane Byrne. Axelrod's coverage of Byrne's outsider campaign against the remnants of the Daley machine was glowing and no doubt contributed to her triumph, he says also somewhat ruefully. Byrne's election catapulted Axelrod's journalistic career when Bill Griffin, who covered politics for the Tribune, left the paper to join the new mayor's administration. Axelrod took over the Tribune's political beat and promptly began to document, rather to his surprise, Byme's betrayal of just about every campaign promise she made.

By 1981, Axelrod was the Tribune's chief political writer with his own column. One former journalistic colleague describes Axelrod as "competent, accurate but not regarded as really great."

What he had were great political instincts.

In 1984 a combination of forces drove — or lured — Axelrod away from the Tribune. He says he was becoming increasingly frustrated by the trend at the newspaper and in the profession toward "the corporatization of journalism." He told the Reader: "There were changes at the Tribune that probably precipitated the move, because it became a lot more bottom-line oriented. And when I got there, there was an almost romantic sense of mission.

"I had always had a mission to make government more honest and more responsive — and I don't think that's changed. I still have the same reverence and regard for journalism, and most of my friends are still reporters, not politicians. But there's an advantage to being in the room when events are being shaped, instead of just reporting on them. I enjoy shaping the news the same as I enjoyed reporting on it — not more, the same. And when you're a reporter, there are limits to how partisan you can be and to the impact you can have."

The other force that propelled Axelrod away from journalism was an opportunity to enter the rooms where events are shaped. He had resisted persistent entreaties from Democratic Congressman Paul Simon to join his campaign to unseat Charles H. Percy, the state's last Republican U.S. senator. But after Simon won the primary against three opponents, Axelrod decided to make the move "even though it was a risk and I had two small children at the time." Simon wanted Axelrod's journalistic connections in Chicago and made him the campaign's press spokesman, but within a month Axelrod took over as campaign manager. The Simon campaign had what he describes as "the most incredible group of young people ever gathered in one place for a campaign." Among the alumnae: David Wilhelm, now chairman of the Democratic National Committee; Rahm Emanuel, renowned fundraiser and adviser to President Clinton; Amy Zisook, now an aide at the Clinton White House; and Forrest Claypool. now superintendent of the Chicago Park District.

Axelrod took command of the campaign and shaped the theme of the race: Simon would be a senator Illinoisans could trust. "Trust was very important," Axelrod recalls of concerns on voters' minds in 1984. "Percy was not very well trusted."

He says Percy had taken an ideological right turn after he narrowly defeated Alex Seith in 1978 and had watched moderate Republican colleagues in the Senate — Clifford Case in

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New Jersey and Jacob Javits in New York — fall to right-wing Republican challengers. "Plus, he saw Ronald Reagan get elected in 1980." As Percy began his march to the right, Axelrod says, he raised suspicions among his moderate followers while failing to overcome longstanding suspicions of conservatives. Both camps, Axelrod says, began to question Percy's trustworthiness. "On a series of issues he had flip-flopped, and we made much of those flip-flops." The campaign even appealed to conservative voters with the pitch about trust. "We told them: 'You may not agree with Paul, but at least you know where he stands,' " Axelrod recalls. "Exit polls showed we got 25 percent of the self-proclaimed conservative vote."

Axelrod: 'No matter how good or clever you are, there's always an element of luck and timing in any campaign. You have to be ready to respond to your opponent's mistakes quickly ...'

Another part of the message was that average Illinoisans, mired in a punishing recession, could not trust the patrician Percy to look after their interests. "We asked whether he'd fight for average people or for special interests. He had received a lot of money from the oil industry and had made several special interest votes that we tagged him with," Axelrod says. Finally, Axelrod says, the Simon campaign sought to raise doubts about Percy's effectiveness, citing such credible sources as the respected Almanac of American Politics which described Percy as "a showhorse, not a workhorse," and comparing that image to the Almanac's "companion judgment of Simon's performance which was the opposite." The message of trust — you can trust Paul Simon to be consistent in his positions, to be the friend of average Illinoisans, and to be an effective senator — went out over the airwaves and in stump speeches.

Then Percy himself helped out. One of his flip-flops, says Axelrod, concerned prayer in the schools, which Percy had once opposed but then changed his mind. At a debate before a Jewish audience, Simon defended his opposition to school prayer with a familiar story about a Jewish House colleague, Dan Glickman of Kansas, who had been sent from the classroom in his elementary school while his Christian classmates said their prayers. When Percy was asked what he would tell a child in such a situation, he responded: "Well, I'd say that life isn't always fair." The comment, regarded as remarkably insensitive and widely publicized, came on the heels of another Percy gaffe: he had described Jews as "an intelligent people, but an emotional people." In preparation for the debate with Percy, the Simon campaign printed and distributed a thousand buttons that read: "I'm an intelligent and emotional Jew for Simon."

Percy had moored his reelection bid to "the Reagan miracle" — the burgeoning economic recovery that was bringing the nation out of recession but had yet to trickle down to most Illinoisans. On the Friday before the election, fresh unemployment figures showed that Illinois' jobless rate had climbed a full percentage point. Percy characterized the news as "just a blip in the economy." Axelrod saw an opportunity and seized it: Percy was trailed until election day by unemployed workers carrying signs that read: "I'm a blip."

Axelrod: "No matter how good or clever you are, there's always an element of luck and timing in any campaign. You have to be ready to respond to your opponent's mistakes quickly, and we did that."

As a result, one of the mementos that decorates Axelrod's office is a framed front page from the Chicago Sun-Times. "LANDSLIDE!" blares the banner headline in reference to Ronald Reagan's reelection; "Simon Beats Percy," announces a more modest headline in the corner of page one. "It was a very energizing experience and a very tough year," Axelrod recalled in an interview with Illinois Issues. "Walter Mondale lost Illinois by several hundred thousand votes; Paul won by 88,000 votes." More impressively, the victory came after Simon's own polls showed him behind by 11 percent with two weeks to go in the campaign. "We really got our message out in those last days," says Axelrod. "That campaign worked in the way a campaign is supposed to work in the textbooks."

Thanks to David Axelrod, Paul Simon had a new job. Thanks to Paul Simon, David Axelrod had a new career.

Axelrod: "I decided I liked putting together the message of a campaign."

After the Simon campaign, Axelrod declined an offer to join the new senator's staff in Washington and instead, with Claypool, formed a fledgling media consulting firm, Axelrod & Associates, operated out of a lawyer friend's office — rent-free. Eight years later, Axelrod and his associates seem to have little trouble paying the rent on their expansive and stylish offices in Chicago's fashionable River North area.

"We've done races all over the country," Axelrod says, "from the presidential level to the local level, including the last three mayor's races in Chicago." His candidate was elected mayor of Detroit last month. He helped elect state Treasurer Patrick Quinn, Comptroller Dawn Clark Netsch and Cook County Board President Richard Phelan; the latter two are candidates for the Democratic gubernatorial nomination. He says the majority of the firm's work is outside Illinois, though he cites several clients in Cook County offices and notes: "The mayor, obviously, is a client."

Axelrod has many admirers. "He is a very savvy guy," says Tom Littlewood, a professor of journalism at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign who is at work on a book about the history of political journalism. "Axelrod is probably as astute about politics as the typical precinct captain ever was, and he also brings the link to the communications technology that you need to have in modern campaigns," says Littlewood. "The savviness added to the technological capability is a combination that pays off."

In 1988, Campaigns & Elections, a sort of trade journal for

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political professionals, pronounced Axelrod one of the Democrats' 48 "rising stars." In 1991, Chicago magazine placed Axelrod in the inner orbit — "close to the heat," the magazine said — of the 50 top Illinoisans with clout. The magazine described Axelrod as the "preeminent spin doctor in the city, the state, and the Midwest, and one of the best in the country ... ." A Washington, D.C., political newsletter. The O'Leary/Kamber Report, called Axelrod "a face to watch" and forecast he would "rise to the top of his profession in the '90s."

Political observers agree that Axelrod has no peer in Illinois, or throughout the Midwest for that matter. His firm is the only in Illinois to routinely handle statewide races and to be involved in significant campaigns in other states and cities. With Axelrod waiting on the sidelines to see whether Pat Quinn runs for governor, Netsch, Phelan and Atty. Gen. Roland Burris, another officeholder seeking the Democratic gubernatorial nomination, all have hired Washington, D.C.-based consultants for their primary campaigns. Gov. Jim Edgar also uses a Washington consultant, Don Sipple, who has also worked for California Gov. Pete Wilson.

Opponents also respect his abilities. "Axelrod is very capable, very smart," says Carter Hendren, who managed Gov. Edgar's 1990 campaign. "I wish he were still writing for the Tribune so we wouldn't have to work against him," he says.

No such luck. "I love doing this," says Axelrod. "I think politics and public life is the most dynamic process in a democratic society. A strong leader can have impact on people's lives. I like being in the middle of that."

He works out of a private study that he built as a respite from the bustle of his office, a place to hole up and think. But even there his assistants interrupt to confer about strategies and finalize arrangements for an evening conference call with a client which, to his relief, he'll be able to take at home. "At least I'll be able to see my kids," he says.

Adorned with pictures of his family and drawings by his children, the study looks no different than the office of any successful baby boomer small businessman. Except for the bookshelf that dominates one wall of the study; it is dominated by the tomes of the trade: books about the Kennedys, FDR, Truman, Gandhi's Truth and, perhaps more to the point. The Kingmaker and The Portable Machiavelli. Indeed, the bookcase resembles the Current Events/Biography/ History display at Kroch's and Brentano's — except, that is, for the absence of any Republicans after Lincoln.

"Unless there would be an egregious flaw in the Democratic candidate, I can't see getting involved in a Republican campaign," says Axelrod, true to his Democratic roots. Though he has worked with both Netsch and Phelan, Axelrod is a strong supporter of Quinn, whose populist appeal to the average Illinoisan he thinks would offer the best chance of beating Gov. Edgar, whom he thinks is beatable. "Edgar is more vulnerable than people believe," Axelrod says. He is reluctant to publicly explore the weaknesses of the announced Democratic candidates other than to say, "Whether he [Edgar] is vulnerable to this field of candidates remains to be seen." Quinn, he says, "would be the most competitive against Edgar. But you have to win the primary first and that is problematical because of the nature of the field." Despite being state treasurer (or maybe because of it), Quinn would be the least well-known candidate among the Democratic field. He would also be the youngest, and therefore the one who could bide his time to wait for a more propitious time to run for governor.

He is reluctant to publicly explore the weaknesses of the announced Democratic candidates other than to say, 'Whether he [Edgar] is vulnerable to this field of candidates remains to be seen'

Meanwhile, Axelrod contends, "People see Edgar for what he is — a person with limited ideas about how to run government. Edgar sees himself as the chief clerk of Illinois, while people see enduring economic problems — there are depression conditions in some parts of the state — and a governor with no economic plan. That is a tremendous vulnerability.

"Edgar has the 'vision thing' problem in spades," says Axelrod, referring to George Bush's fatal blind spot for the pocketbook concerns of voters. But besides Quinn, he says, "I don't see any other candidate positioned to take advantage of that."

The Edgar camp, not surprisingly, says Axelrod overestimates how much advantage there might be in questioning the governor's performance. Mike Lawrence, Edgar's press secretary, describes as visionary the administration's effort to tame government. He says Edgar has "downsized state government, just as many businesses have done," has increased access to health care for low-income families and has succeeded in passing a gun registration measure similar to the Brady bill. Lawrence says Edgar also "imposed fiscal discipline in government rather than raise taxes at the first sign of trouble," adding that "Dave might not recognize this as vision because he made a lot of money handling the campaign of Dick Phelan who promised there would be no tax increase and then turned around after he was elected and raised property and sales taxes." Phelan, elected Cook County Board president with Axelrod's help, is now running for governor without it.

Although Axelrod is not working for any of the announced Democratic candidates, he says that each of them has strengths, even if his assessment of their merits sounds more like damning with faint praise:

• Burris "has the cache that comes with years of public service. There is a level of comfort with him."

• Phelan "is indefatigable. He is a relentless person. If personal stamina is enough to win, he will win."

• Netsch is "indisputably one of the brightest people in public life in Illinois. She needs to expand her rhetoric beyond the scope of revenue streams and tax tables. You almost need

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a dictionary of arcane governmental terms to follow her discourse. She won't connect with working people if she focuses her whole campaign on tax references. Perhaps if she broadens her message she could become more competitive."

Axelrod has become a master of the message.

"I really like the challenge of taking an issue and helping people present it in a way that has impact," Axelrod says. "He's very good at defining themes that resonate with average voters," an opponent once said of Axelrod.

"You're marketing a product," argues Carter Hendren, who has been involved in several statewide campaigns. "You're marketing a philosophy and issues and an individual rather than a car or truck. Consultants are expert at refining an image, like Pepsi Cola."

But the impression persists that peddling politicians like soft drinks results in politics lite — one-calorie candidates with no more substance than a 30-second sound bite.

Charles N. Wheeler III, long-time state government reporter for the Chicago Sun-Times and now a professor of journalism at Sangamon State University in Springfield, speaks for many skeptics when he says: "I'm sort of old-fashioned. I don't think they're good for the political process. Consultants are hired guns who come in and market you. There's a certain lack of honesty and candor. There's a certain phoniness to it all when you don't really know what a person stands for, you know only what the consultant wants the candidate to say to be on the safe side."

Critics like Wheeler long for the good old days "when the politician said: 'Here is what I believe in, here is what I stand for, and if you don't like that then vote for the other guy.' Now we have focus groups and polling and consultants telling candidates where they have to be on this issue or that."

Axelrod bridles at the suggestion he is an image-maker, a political alchemist who creates something from nothing. "Anything you do in this business has to be predicated on building on the qualities that are there. You can't manufacture qualities that aren't there. In the long term, if they're not what you depict them to be, people will catch on. Most people have multiple dimensions. Your job is to find the three or four things that will resonate with voters and determine how to weave them into a message that is truthful and has impact."

He cites Simon as an example. "He possessed three elements we wanted to key on: He had firm convictions and would be honest with people; he had been a steadfast advocate for working and middle class people; and the fact he had been very effective in Congress, and had passed legislation. All three represented a contrast with Percy."

Hendren believes that voters bought a bill of goods in electing Simon, but he agrees with Axelrod that the role of the consultant is to market — not mold — the candidate. "The consultant asks the candidate, 'What do you believe? What are your opinions about gun control or abortion or taxes. I can defend either position, I'm a consultant.' It is up to the candidate to tell the consultant what he believes."

Perhaps. But how much of what one believes can fit into a 30-second television commercial, the staple of the modern campaign?

"If a voter decides on the basis of criteria you set, then you have a good chance to win," Axelrod says. "So a campaign is a battle for definition and that battle is waged over television." He notes that there has been a proliferation of news programs — all-news radio stations, multiple newscasts on TV. "So, you need a strategy that conforms to the demands of contemporary news" — that is, a message at once pithy and pointed, and quick on the draw, responding to an opponent's attacks within the same news cycle. "If one candidate refuses PAC contributions and the other takes them and there is a relationship between the money received and the votes cast, you can convey that in a 30-second commercial." Besides, he notes, "as a practical matter, if you took away the 30-second commercial, there aren't a lot of voters who would sit through a League of Women Voters' debate."

Probably so. But others worry that television trivializes, or at least oversimplifies political discourse. Littlewood of the University of Illinois says: "TV is simply unable to really explore complicated issues in real depth. What happens is — people in public life become fearful of taking positions that can be oversimplified by an opponent. So you can't get too chancy about things that are complex and you end up sticking to what's safe: motherhood and such."

Nonetheless, Littlewood is reluctant to blame the messenger for the message. "I don't think the consultant business is anything to be alarmed about. It's in line with the way our society has evolved. It is just a natural consequence of the way campaigns have evolved."

Hendren believes that voters bought a bill of goods in electing Simon, but he agrees with Axelrod that the role of the consultant is to market — not mold — the candidate

Carter Hendren agrees. "There has been a decline in voter participation and concern about issues. But the fault does not lie with consultants. "I wish more voters would read the editorial page or the front page. People turn first to the comics, then the sports page, and then the horoscope. When we've asked about the major source of news, the most interesting stat is the number of people who really don't have a source of news. That's frustrating. Voters get what they ask for." * Donald Sevener is a Springfield free-lance writer and associate editor of Illinois Issues.

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