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Election 2004

24 years at the elections helm

Kurt Browning whips a dreaded election into shape even as he faces a challenger for his job.

By STEPHEN HEGARTY
Published November 7, 2004

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Kurt Browning's right hand has a death grip on the steering wheel as he barrels down U.S. 301 approaching downtown Dade City. With his left hand he cups his cell phone to his ear. He sees a familiar car driving by and wiggles the fingers on his right hand, which enables him to say hi, keep control of his blue Dodge Ram and keep in touch with the office.

It's 9:15 a.m., Election Day, and the guy running Pasco's election is rushing home to vote.

"Let me know if I'm going to hit somebody," Browning jokes as he approaches a traffic signal.

The quick getaway to his neighborhood precinct in St. Joe is Browning's only break in a 20-hour day at the office. The drive takes him through the heart of Dade City, where he has worked 29 years. It takes him near Pasco High School, where he was the skinny kid with the off-center grin who got elected class president. It takes him by his home, where he lives next door to a guy he has known since the fifth grade.

Browning's job as Pasco's supervisor of elections has put him on national television and in international newspapers. His in-box spills over with e-mails from other elections officials seeking advice. Florida Secretary of State Glenda Hood said she "relies on him regularly." Gov. Jeb Bush went right to Pasco's returns, among the first Florida counties reported Tuesday night, to get a feel for how his brother's presidential race would turn out.

Despite all that attention out there in the world, Browning, 46, is very much the local guy who married the local girl and who never left town. His longtime friends won't let him forget it.

"I don't want to say too many nice things about him, his head will get too big," said Allen Altman, who has known Browning since the fifth grade and was the best man at his wedding. "It's a lot more fun to mess with him."

In late September, Browning was fielding interview requests from all over the nation, preparing for a much scrutinized election and trying to get himself re-elected. In the midst of it all, he got an e-mail from a friend pretending to take offense at an omission in Browning's political resume.

"I was very disappointed to see that you did not put as a community involvement that you were the chairman of the Pasco County Fair Hog Committee. I thought that the Hog Committee was your favorite one."

The e-mail concluded, "I guess I'll vote for you anyway."

Browning responded that it was an oversight: "It is the MOST important thing I do."

An elections mainstay forged at Pasco High

Kurt Browning got into politics early in life.

His best friend, Altman, ran for junior class president in 1975, and Browning helped in the campaign. Altman lost. The only surprise was that it was close. The winner was one of the school's most popular jocks.

The next year, Browning ran for the big prize - senior class president. Altman helped. Browning won, and Altman has worked on his campaigns ever since.

Even in high school, politics was a good fit for Browning. Altman spoke of Browning being likable, honest, trustworthy and a hard worker.

Then, Altman added, "Of course, Kurt never had any ability athletically, none at all, so politics was a good choice for him."

When asked whether her son had any nicknames growing up that would offer insights into his formative years, Browning's mother, Willie Browning, responded, "Oh, you mean Ashley?"

Ashley?

She explained: "First of all, he never gave me any problems. Ever, ever, ever.

"But one time I got mad at him - I don't remember why - and I told him "You know, you're not really our child. You were adopted. And another thing, your name's not Kurt, it's Ashley. Ashley Ann.' That's just what popped into my head."

Young Kurt knew not to take any of it seriously.

There was a nickname that stuck for a while: Pond Bird, a reference to the teenage Browning's thin, egret-like features.

"He was so tall and skinny," Altman said. "He tried to put on weight; he was drinking milk shakes and eating everything in sight. But he couldn't do it."

The tall, skinny teen started work at the elections office before he was even out of high school.

He was a high school senior when teacher Greta Adams asked if he would like to work part time at the elections office. It was over at the courthouse.

"I thought I wanted to be a lawyer," recalled Browning, who as a youngster entertained thoughts of running for Congress someday. "I figured, hey, it's the courthouse, right? Courthouse. Lawyers. Perfect."

Browning said he did everything in the office, including taking out the trash and getting coffee. And he learned a few things about elections.

Just five years later, as a 22-year-old, he decided to run for the top job.

"We didn't know if he could win; he was just a kid," said Melba Hamilton, a longtime family friend, now Browning's chief deputy. "But it was amazing. We'd go to these big political rallies and elderly people would come up with tears in their eyes and say, "Don't you love him? He reminds me of my grandson."'

He won the job, making him the youngest elections supervisor in Florida. He didn't face opposition for 12 years. In his first re-election race, in 1992, he won 60 percent of the vote.

It would be three more terms and another dozen years before he faced opposition again in 2004.

Inevitably, the election to rival all others arrived

Browning dreaded the 2004 election. He called it "the election after the election," referring to the nightmarish 2000 presidential vote count that tainted the reputations of many of his colleagues.

Not only did Browning have to conduct the most scrutinized election ever, he had to run to keep his job.

He hates to ask people for money. And he knew he'd have little time to actively campaign. Luckily for hin, he got widespread exposure just doing his job.

In his mind, he ran as if he were the challenger. He worried that on Election Day voters facing long lines might vote against the elections supervisor out of spite.

When he left his voting precinct at the parish hall at Sacred Heart Catholic Church, Browning said there was only one page on the electronic ballot that he revisited - the one for his race. "I just wanted to make sure."

He won the race with nearly 83 percent of the vote. That's a wider margin than anyone on the ballot. (That excludes U.S. Rep. Mike Bilirakis, who faced a write-in opponent.)

During the campaign, Browning's opponent tossed plenty of allegations the supervisor's way. One of the most surprising came in a debate when challenger Patrick Bergy accused the supervisor of lacking a sense of humor.

Browning's staff, many of whom attended the debate, were flummoxed at that dig.

This about a supervisor who, during a pause in the counting of absentee ballots, placed a ballot envelope toward the side of his forehead - a la Johnny Carson's soothsayer Carnac the Magnificent - squinted his eyes and said, "Hmmmm. Let's see."

The criticism about his sense of humor showed that on some subjects, Browning sees little to smile about. On Election Night he raised his voice more than a few times. He gave short and demanding orders to his staff as he rushed from challenge to challenge.

When he gets compliments, he routinely deflects them, praising his staff instead. That's his way of offsetting the demands he puts on them. He said that when he has his first pre-election meeting with the staff, he warns them that "You're going to hate me," because he will demand so much.

In the middle of Election Day, he was informed of a poll worker who saw a problem, left her post and called one of the party headquarters.

"All right," Browning said. "Tell her she's not working for us anymore."

Browning's surplus of goodwill in Pasco took a hit in 2002 when he switched political parties. A lifelong Democrat, he joined Pasco's growing GOP majority. A deacon in his church, First Baptist of Dade City, Browning said he could no longer relate to the liberal wing of the Democratic Party.

Many die-hard Democrats are still angry with him.

Some showed up at a debate to cheer Browning's opponent and to snicker at Browning's comments.

"Trust Kurt Browning? I don't, and I would tell him that to his face," said John Russell, an unsuccessful Democratic congressional candidate who disagrees with Browning on the use of touch screen voting.

Though his party switch and controversies over voting machines have created some enemies for Browning, the relatively smooth election and the fact that he won 83 percent of the vote would indicate that a good number of Democrats, Republicans and others like him just fine.

On Thursday, as Pasco's elections canvassing board was certifying the unofficial elections returns, Browning expressed concerns about a possible recount for one of the amendments. If there was a recount, it would have to be done Friday - the day his 17-year-old son, Kristopher, would swim in a state meet in Gainesville.

Browning knew his staff was tired, and that the canvassing board had busy schedules. But he really wanted to make it to the swim meet.

There was no recount. Browning drove to Gainesville on Friday for the meet. On the way home, he was a relaxed and happy man, and it wasn't because of the swim team's performance.

"How'd they do?" Browning said. "Well, they went in ranked 14th and they came out ranked 14th. They were a little slow today.

"But you know what? As soon as it was over with, they're asking "What you want to eat?' Isn't that great?"

[Last modified November 6, 2004, 23:27:31]

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