In Paul they trust

The odds of Republican Ron Paul winning his party's nomination? Slim to, well, none. But he gives supporters something else: hope.

By Lane DeGregory, Times staff writer
Published January 29, 2008

ST. PETERSBURG - By the time Mary Miller bids her fifth-graders goodbye, a thick mist shrouds the streets of Precinct 216.

She climbs into her old Honda and tugs on a black sweatshirt, slaps a bumper sticker across her chest: Ron Paul for President 2008.

From the backseat, she pulls a canvas bag fat with fliers. She paid for them herself, on her part-time teacher's salary. From her front seat, she yanks a map from beneath a tower of yard signs. She paid for those too.

The map is a maze of residential roads, with addresses and arrows scrawled through the thin troughs. Mary's boyfriend, Tommy Kennedy, printed it off the computer to track registered Republicans. A man they met online penciled in their route.

On this foggy Thursday afternoon, five days before Florida's presidential primary, they've promised to hang pamphlets on 442 doors.

"Okay, we're going up Dartmouth, right?" Tommy asks, joining Mary just after 3 p.m.

"I don't know," Mary says, squinting over her clipboard. "This is like Twister. I think we've bitten off more than we can chew."

- - -

Four months ago, neither had ever heard of the 10-term Republican representative from Texas named Ron Paul.

Now Mary, 44, and Tommy, a 51-year-old musician, are spending every hour they have - and money they don't have - trying to help Paul become president.

They know people call him a crackpot. They know he wants to get rid of income tax and the Department of Education.

They know he can't win.

So why are Mary and Tommy - and 1,000 other Tampa Bay area residents - giving up their weekends to wave banners in busy intersections? Why are they "dropping Benjamins" - donating $100 at a time - through online fundraisers? Why have their date nights turned into political rallies?

Why did these two lifelong Democrats march into the courthouse a few weeks ago and do the unthinkable?

"I'm glad my mother didn't live long enough to see me become a Republican," Mary says. "I'm afraid to tell my brother."

Tommy laughs. "There was a better chance I'd turn gay than Republican."

- - -

For the past 20 years, Mary hasn't voted for anyone. Only against political candidates. "I'd choose the lesser of the evils."

But Ron Paul, she says, is worth renouncing her Democratic heritage.

"He's the new Thomas Jefferson," Tommy says. "He makes me feel like a patriot."

Tommy first saw Ron Paul on C-SPAN in October, grilling board members of the Federal Reserve.

Mary, like so many Paul supporters, saw a sign towering from a telephone pole: "Google Ron Paul." So she did.

Initially Mary and Tommy were drawn to the 72-year-old obstetrician because of his stance on the war: Paul wants to immediately pull all U.S. troops from Iraq. He's the only Republican candidate who has said the war was wrong. He wants to close U.S. military installations across the world.

The more Mary and Tommy learned about him, the more they liked.

Ron Paul grew up in Pennsylvania, graduated from Duke University medical school, was first elected to Congress in 1976. He grows organic tomatoes. He used to be a Libertarian and ran for president under that party in 1988. He opposes gun control and the IRS. Wants to kill the Department of Homeland Security and repeal the Patriot Act.

"After 9/11, I was so afraid I wouldn't even go protest the war," Mary says. "I don't want to be afraid anymore. With Ron Paul, there's someone to be confident in. I don't trust the Democrats anymore." Democrats have controlled Congress for two years. What, she asks, have they done?

As for abortion, Mary says women should have the right to choose. Paul says on his Web site that he is "strongly pro-life," pointing out that he introduced legislation that would negate the effect of Roe vs. Wade and define life as beginning at conception.

Mary gets past this apparent difference by saying, "He's not trying to control my uterus. He's just saying it should be up to the states. ... Does the federal government really have the right to legislate something like that when they can't even help us out of Hurricane Katrina?"

- - -

Mary used to think something in her country had to change. Now she knows: Everything has to.

She acknowledges that Paul's platform spans the political gamut, admits that will make it harder for him to get elected. Still, she says, the man no one knew a year ago has raised millions of dollars and drawn the support of thousands of volunteers. "He's starting a revolution," she says.

Mary and Tommy cheered the night Paul placed second in Nevada's primaries. They grieved after his poor showings in New Hampshire and South Carolina. In Florida, only 3 percent of voters say they support Paul. That's why Mary and Tommy have to hang fliers on hundreds of door handles.

- - -

The fog is heavier; the fliers are getting soggy. Just after 5 p.m., Mary drapes another rubber band around another door knob. Her bag is half its former thickness. They still have five blocks to go.

On the sidewalk, Tommy slides a chart of guitar chords from the clipboard. He has printed Paul's voting record on the back. Then he eases out a lyric sheet with a speech someone else wrote on the flip side. Like much of the campaign literature Tommy prints off his computer, this speech is homespun, written by another recent devotee, neither authored or even officially authorized by Paul's presidential campaign.

"I gotta tell you about Ron Paul," the speech starts. "He is totally for our Constitution and Bill of Rights, which you probably know is in SERIOUS jeopardy these days ..." The speech tells would-be orators when to pause and nod, how to engage and empathize.

Tommy decides to be himself, like Ron Paul. "Hello," he calls to a well-dressed woman climbing out of a shiny BMW. The woman's name is on his list; she's a registered Republican. "I'm out here tonight ..." Tommy begins.

The woman sees the bumper sticker plastered across his T-shirt, takes in his girlfriend and her canvas bag. "I may be a Libertarian one day," she says. "But I'm Mitt Romney in this one."

Tommy comes closer, wielding his chord chart. "Do you know Ron Paul's politics?" he asks. "Do you know his voting stance?"

The woman backs away. "I know Ron Paul," she says, shaking her head. "He's just too much for me right now."

Tommy and Mary head up the road, into the mist. "Right now," the woman had said. They console themselves with that.

Times researcher Caryn Baird contributed to this story. Lane DeGregory can be reached at degregory@sptimes.com or 727 893-8825.

[Last modified January 28, 2008, 16:51:18]