A Race to Run (and Drive, and Walk)
Howie Denis Puts Shoe Leather to Grass Roots
By Lori Aratani
Washington Post Staff Writer
Monday, October 30, 2006; C01
Howie Denis goes door to door
Howard "Call Me Howie" Denis has been hitting the trail for almost 40 years. He first ran for office in 1967, for delegate to a mock constitutional convention. He lost.
This time, he's running to keep his seat on the Montgomery County Council, where he is the lone Republican.
In between: Five dog bites. One gun incident. A win-loss record of 6-5. The emergence and fine-tuning of the "Call Me Howie" Campaign Regimen.
There are folks in this world who love a parade. Denis, 66, loves a campaign. And if he can campaign in a parade? Best of all!
Of course all politicians will say they love the stump: Oh how they love the kissing of babies, the pressing of flesh, the mingling with "real" people.
But judging from the color-coded precinct lists Denis carries in slightly tattered manila folders and the custom arch supports he has fitted into his shoes each campaign season, you get the sense that this guy is the rare politician who really means it. Other politicians may look at their cars and think "transportation." Denis sees opportunity, which is why his silver Chevy Cobalt boasts two American flags flying from the roof and a triangular red and white rooftop sign that proclaims: "Re-Elect Denis" complete with a star to dot the "i."
There he goes up 270, behind the wheel of this un-Montgomery County setup, and other motorists stare, the way they do when they see a clown driving to a children's party.
The ";Call Me Howie" Campaign Regimen has not always been a winning strategy; there was that unsuccessful bid for lieutenant governor and the failed tries at the state House of Delegates. Now, in his quest to keeping representing District 1 (Bethesda, Chevy Chase, Potomac and points in between), he's facing a tough challenge from Democrat Roger Berliner. But, says Denis, he understands that if you're going to play the game, you can't be afraid to lose.
Sometimes, he gets the one-fingered salute. Or worse.";I guess I just knocked on the wrong door" is how he perceives why a man once opened his door and waved a gun when the candidate stepped onto his property.
The key, he says, is to start slow. Eighteen months before Election Day, he starts walking precincts. A few here, a few there. Too much walking too soon can result in painful -- really, really painful -- late-night leg cramps. Denis has been there.
About six months before Election Day, he abandons potatoes and bread and embraces the South Beach or Atkins diet. More energy. And less poundage means less strain on his back and feet during those increasingly lengthy precinct walks. This season, he's lost eight pounds.
The way Denis sees it, half the battle is getting people to remember your name, particularly in this election, when the County Council candidates are down near the end of the ballot. That's why he's never been shy about trying something different. He scoffs at those who sniff at his unconventional tactics.
"At this level there's no such thing as too much," he said. "You never reach a saturation point when you're at the bottom of the ticket."
This philosophy is what led to the horse. During his 2000 council campaign, Denis was so concerned that people would forget to vote in the April special election, he contemplated borrowing a horse to ride through town, like a latter-day Paul Revere calling his fellow citizens to action. But Denis, a lawyer and Hill staffer currently on leave, had never been much of an equestrian; as a child, he was thrown from his steed and broke his leg. So his campaign staff balked at the notion, afraid he'd hurt himself again.
To this day, he still thinks it was a great idea and is currently pondering whether to try it this week.
Out on the trail one day last week, Denis pointed out a landmark of campaigns past. That hill, he said, pointing near where the Capital Crescent Trail crosses Bradley Boulevard in Bethesda. That was his favorite billboard spot. Now billboards are banned everywhere in the county. This still irks Denis. "Blight," he harrumphed.
So Denis found another way to get his name out there and, according to state board of elections records, spent about $18,000 to do it.
Taxi tops.
This season, commuters can see Denis grinning in full color on the roofs of 25 cabs cruising Montgomery County streets.
"At night," he pointed out proudly, "they're illuminated."
On precinct walks and during supermarket stops, he is pleasant but brief. The palm cards are stuffed in the left pocket of his sport coat. There's a bright red "Re-elect Denis" sticker on his lapel.
He greets people with a quick introduction and ends with "I'd appreciate your consideration."
Denis can make conversation with anyone. Upon hearing that a pair of potential voters hail from Canada, he presses them before they can scurry away.
"Where in Canada?"he asks.
"Oh, Ottawa,'' he says. "I've always wanted to go to Ottawa."
There's a bit more small talk. The woman's body language changes. She lingers. She takes a palm card.
"Democrat or Republican?"; she asks.
"Republican,"; Denis said.
She hands back the card.
"No. Absolutely not,"she says.
Such is the reality of a campaign trail where registered Democrats outnumber Republicans more than 2 to 1.
But for some, to know Howie is to love Howie.
Robert Mertz had e-mailed his request for a lawn sign. So Denis drives over to the Mertz house in Bethesda. He opens his trunk and pulls out the sign. He knocks at the door. Pamela Mertz answers.
"Robert!" she hollers. ";Howard Denis is here!"
Her husband runs up from the basement. He says, ";I didn't expect I'd get a personal delivery!"
Denis returns to his Cobalt, with the roll-down windows and the Mylar balloon, which looks tired. The interior is crammed with boxes of campaign literature. In between them, there's a small plastic bottle of Brut.
For more formal occasions, Denis has the use of a different car.
A few years ago he persuaded his wife of 20 years, Babette, to buy herself a new car, a Chrysler Sebring convertible. After all, he reasoned, who doesn't love a convertible?
But Denis had another motive.
Saturday, despite the wind and threat of rain, there he was in the back seat of the silver-blue Sebring, Babette at his side, both of them waving. A volunteer was driving, two dogs wearing Denis T-shirts followed, and Denis was happily campaigning in the Potomac Day parade.
Vote Denis
Tags: howard_denis, howie_denis, maryland, election2006, vote, montgomery_county, vote_denis, coreydenis
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