Back to the Campaign
The euphoria of the parades didn't last. How could it? The parades had nothing to do with my campaign. It was a mere diversion from the reality that my one-man campaign was going nowhere, as situation that would persist until I recruited more help.
There was another problem developing too, one that would not harm my campaign in any obvious way but irritating enough and continuing to wear us down. Rene and Chris had different ideas on some practical campaign issues. Each wanted me to use their own favored vendors for printing and photography. Chris wanted me to buy space on very expensive slate mailers—those postcards featuring endorsements by organizations with names like California Law Enforcement Association. The ones with mugshots of candidates and sent to thousands of voters specified by where they live. Rene hated the idea.
Rene's obsession with signs not only was about their design but also with using the printer she had always used. Chris was agreeable about the design but was adamant about who to use for printing signs and mailers we were planning, a more expensive option but all having a union bug (i.e., a logo indicating the item was printed by a union shop). A bigger disagreement was over photographers, Chris and Rene each had favorites they used for years.
The disagreements were not between Chris and Rene - I don't think they talked at all during the campaign. The disagreement was between Chris and me and Rene and me. And everyone was frustrated about the time it took me to make a decision.
By August, the decisions had been made but the frustration lingered. I knew I took too long to decide. I knew I was running out of time.
Calm Before the Storm
In early August, there was a noticeable pause in campaigning. One reason was the opening of the filing period for local and state offices. The process requires at least one in-person trip to the City Clerk’s office and the County Registrar of Voters. And often times requires multiple trips to each office. There’s a lot of waiting. Candidates can also waive their filing fee by personally collecting a certain number of signatures — a time-consuming process all by itself. Between signature gathering and paperwork, I lost the better part of two weeks.
There was another reason for the lull: vacation. Candidates and consultants who’d been grinding for months took advantage of the relative quiet to disappear for a few days. I was one of them. I left town for almost a week in mid-August. I casually texted Rene that I’d be “out of town for a few days,” and left it at that. I didn’t hear back. I didn’t tell Chris. I just left.
I wasn’t physically tired, but I was fatigued — the kind of fatigue that builds up when you’ve been running a campaign (or two campaigns, really) since the previous August.
The Emails
On the last Sunday in August, two days after I returned from my vacation, I received an email from Rene. Early Monday I received an email from Chris. They didn’t know it, but they had accidentally synchronized their frustration.
Rene’s email started like a summary of a meeting I had missed — except there was no meeting. “We continue to waste time doing nothing,” she began.
My inner dialogue replied that Rene ignored what I had accomplished during that time. I filed the city and county campaign papers, helped my treasurer with a filing for the Fair Political Practices Commission, and gathered signatures to wave my filing fee. And, oh by the way, what had she done about helping me find a campaign manager? Nothing!
My inner dialogue imagined her inner dialogue saying, “Yes, but you took a vacation at a very critical point in the campaign.”
Her email continued, “Meanwhile, every day Dee writes emails or shows up at events, and she’s not even running.”
She was mad. Not ranting but sounding exasperated. She reminded me we were down to two months.
She included a to-do list that included “Make walk lists to start canvassing.”
She closed with “Better get on this ASAP. Meanwhile, you need to canvass every evening when you get home from work. Do you have lists?”
Rene’s remarks about walk lists infuriated me. I had been making those lists for months and had enough to last me until the end of the campaign and she knew it. I also had been doing phone work, though I admit it wasn't high on my priorities.
Chris’ email wasn’t friendly either. The email said that it was at the end of August and “I have seen next to no movement. I have been doing this shit since 1986 and my successful candidates were totally committed and had that ‘fire in the belly’ they always talk about. I don’t even see embers here.”
In a way, I thought Chris’ email was meant to inspire like a coach at half time, rather than to be critical of me personally.
I decided to wait a day before responding. I waited a day and decided that they weren’t the kind of email one should respond to. We all had vented and just needed to move forward.
Like a Real Campaign
At a DEMCCO meeting in August, a woman named Nicky approached me. She had been canvassing for both Cody and Alice—until she realized Alice was a Republican. A lifelong Democrat herself and staunchly pro-choice, Nicky said she couldn’t stomach supporting someone so misaligned on that issue. She’d done some digging, found my campaign website, and loved my messaging. She offered to canvass on my behalf.
Of course I accepted.
She mentioned she was a freelance graphic designer. I asked if she could help with a new campaign handout. She said yes—but then added that she was also still supporting Cody and felt she ought to get her blessing first. I told her I understood. She got the green light.
Nicky began showing up at DEMCCO meetings to distribute flyers, volunteer sign-up sheets, and yard signs—without being asked. She was already doing the job of campaign manager, so I asked her to make it official.
She said yes, but not right away. I made a quiet announcement on the campaign blog I had started writing. Unfortunately, no one read it.
Still, I finally had a campaign manager.
The Inflection Point
Nicky’s arrival was an inflection point. My campaign, even I had to admit, wasn’t moving forward—it was marking time. The consultants had let me know they saw it too. Nicky’s appearance wasn’t just luck. It was the result of someone hearing my original ideas and deciding they were worth volunteering to help.
More than that, she gave me someone new to talk to about the campaign—someone unburdened by the long, sometimes contentious history I had with the consultants. As valuable as they were, Nicky hadn't heard the old arguments, compromises, object lessons, and adages. She also brought fresh eyes to our planning.
Nicky also brought information - intelligence - about Cody’s campaign and the people running it. In our first conversations, I was defensive about where my own campaign stood. She’d forwarded me two videos from Facebook featuring Alice and Cody. I had seen them both. Cody's was filmed outdoors with the ocean in view. Alice spoke setting behind a desk, harshly lit. The content was as expected: support for Measure A related issues and some other broadly progressive themes. Cody came off relaxed and natural. Alice looked uncomfortable reading a script. Nicky asked why I hadn’t done something like that. I said I didn’t know how and assumed it would be too expensive to do well.
Her response was a breath of fresh air. “We could probably find a good amateur videographer,” she said. “Someone who’d do it for free.” Nothing came of it, unfortunately—but the point was that she wasn’t critical. She didn’t complain. She just wanted to help however she could.
Over the next few days, she asked smart questions about fundraising, volunteers, and meet-and-greets. Most of her questions were framed by observations of Cody's campaign. My answers, often weak, didn’t phase her.
Her insight into Cody’s ground game was particularly valuable. She said she’d spoken with Dee, who told her Cody's campaign was “trying to go for 40,000 doors”—doors meaning voters homes visited while canvassing. She added, “We just need enough volunteers to walk and make phone calls, on top of your mailers.” I was sure Dee’s numbers were aspirational—but still plausible. I did some quick kitchen math. With 30 volunteers, it would take about 166 doors per person per week until Election Day. It was theoretically doable, but for us, the hard part was finding 30 volunteers.
We ended our first back-and-forth over email with a line from Nicky that made me laugh out loud in appreciation:
You are a brilliant strategist, so I am confident that with the team you have assembled in Chris, Rene, and others, you will prevail by way of a fine stealth campaign.
It was the kind of sentiment I told myself I needed to embrace—however foreign it felt. Like Dee’s door count, it let me imagine an aspirational reality. And Dee seemed to be doing okay with hers.
What I didn’t realize at the time was how much her vote of confidence would stay with me. It was a rare expression of faith. Another would come a few days later. But Nicky’s message came first.
Framing the Campaign
In seventh grade, I was pestered by a bully larger than me. He’d sneak up behind me, pick me up, and toss me aside—not to hurt me, just to show he could. One day I’d had enough. I squirmed out of his grip, turned around, and punched him in the face.
He looked stunned—almost on the verge of tears—and walked away.
That was the day I learned the lesson so often repeated in childhood: punch the bully in the nose, and the bullying stops.
I think about that moment more often than I admit.
Early in the campaign, I attended a lecture on storytelling in politics. The idea wasn’t new, but in local elections it’s not often used. I realized I could build a campaign message around my schoolyard story—connecting it to the behavior of Carlsbad’s City Council.
Rene was all in. We remade the campaign website around the theme and I did all the technical work. The home page told my story:
“Carlsbad is a great place to live, but we have a closed City Council dominated by long-serving politicians. It’s time to respond directly to the needs of residents and act in their best interests. I’m through being bullied by a Council that doesn’t listen to us.”
Nicky ordered stock “No Bullying” badges and designed and ordered campaign badges with a coastline motif for canvassing and campaign events. Even Rene liked them.
To test the bullying message, I called a friend—a former Carlsbad city planner now working as a consultant. When I asked if the Council were bullies, he said they were bullies and worse. He mentioned a study the Council had commissioned on employee morale. It was never made public, but everyone inside knew the consultants had blamed the Council.
We were intrigued. If we could find that report, it might bolster the bullying narrative. Chris explained the complexities of a Records Request—we’d need to know the name of the study or its key phrases to retrieve it. We put the plan on hold.
The Endorsement Circuit
Late spring brought endorsement season. Candidates scrambled for endorsements from political clubs, public employee unions, and elected officials.
Rene warned me not to waste time chasing endorsements from elected officials. First-time candidates rarely get them, and they don’t sway voters. Club endorsements were more valuable for recruiting volunteers and raising money, but even those had limited reach and might turn off Republicans or independent voters with "No Party Preference."
We focused on a few: DEMCCO, the San Diego Democratic Party, the county LGBTQ+ Democratic club, an environmental club, the local labor council, and the employee unions representing Carlsbad police, fire, and city workers. I also applied for an endorsement from NCEC, though I didn’t expect one.
The DEMCCO endorsement was a lock as I had been an active and visible member since before my run for Mira Costa Community College Trustee. Cody was never active in any of the Democratic clubs, though she had many supporters in them. DEMCCO endorsed both Cody and I by acclimation. We were both also endorsed by the county Democratic Party
The LGBTQ+ and environmental Democrats endorsed me. I opened my LGBTQ+ pitch by declaring myself “diversity’s worst nightmare”—a privileged white man. Somehow, it worked. The other interviews (NCEC, League of Conservation Voters, Sierra Club) went nowhere. I wasn’t invited to interview with the Sierra Club at all.
Labor Support (Sort Of)
Endorsement from the labor council required a two-hour “Labor 101” orientation. At the endorsement meeting, dozens of candidates each gave three-minute speeches and answered questions.
When asked whether I honored the Walmart boycott, I answered honestly: no. I hadn’t even known there was a boycott. I gave the same answer when asked again.
To my surprise, they endorsed me.
That endorsement didn’t come with money or volunteers—but it was a necessary step to seek endorsements from individual city unions.
Police, Fire, and the City Employees
The police, fire, and city employee unions conduct their own interviews in mid-to-late September. Historically, they often support incumbents, but occasionally they back challengers.
My interviews with the police and firefighter union members were scheduled back-to-back at a trendy coffee shop on State Street north of Grand. My firefighter interview was awkward. Dressed in plain clothes, the interviewer seemed bored. I praised first responders and cited response time data. He quickly corrected me—Carlsbad didn't use that metric. I don’t remember why. I wasn’t expecting an endorsement, but it ended with me feeling demoralized. I guessed he didn't want to give me false hope, but the attitude sucked.
My mood didn’t improve when the police union rep arrived mid-interview with the firefighter whom he greeted like an old friend. But to my surprise, the police guy was warm and enthusiastic. He said he had read every page of my website—and specifically liked the bullying story. He agreed the City Council had bullied the police.
That made my day.
A few days later, I met with the city employee association. Around 15 people sat in a cluttered conference room at the end of a long day. Only the president spoke. I gave a short stump speech, then we discussed the morale study. He said employees called it “the engagement study,” and that a PowerPoint summary had been presented at an all-hands meeting. He couldn’t share more without authorization.
None of the groups endorsed me. All three backed the incumbents—Blackburn and Wood. I expected that. I was still disappointed.
Keith Blackburn and Loraine Wood each received about $15,000 from the firefighter's union.
The Engagement Study
We regrouped. Chris was now optimistic about the “engagement study." He said because we now knew it existed as a PowerPoint seen by numerous people, we could file a focused Records Request that would likely succeed.
Here’s what Chris drafted for our submission:
We are requesting a document containing a study produced by an outside consultant ordered by the City of Carlsbad. This study is casually referred to by Carlsbad City employees as 'the engagement study.' The document contains results of a study of Carlsbad’s treatment of its employees and alleged low morale. In addition to the study document, we are requesting any and all PowerPoint slides associated with it and shown to employee groups.
Nicky produced the Records Request Form, wrote a cover letter, signed the letter and form as the person making the request, and walked it into the City Clerk's office.
On September 24th we received the PowerPoint 22 days before the election.
It was a letdown.
Titled The State of Engagement Organizational Report Summary, the 32-slide deck was full of corporate jargon. It didn’t include the word bullying. Instead, it reframed morale as “engagement,” and aimed to help employees experience more “Great Days” at work.
The most useful material came in a small section of anonymous quotes. One stood out:
The mayor and Council micromanage even the smallest details and hinder progress. They should not direct daily operations… They should be setting policies and allow city staff to handle implementation.
There were a few similar quotes, but the bulk of the presentation was graphs and charts that said nothing.
We couldn’t figure out how to use it. With just three weeks left, we had no time to mount a campaign message around vague bar charts and euphemistic language.
It was a lost opportunity
The Battle for Volunteers
One of the first things Nicky did on her own was try to recruit Cody’s volunteers to also distribute our campaign handouts—something she was already doing herself.
Cody’s campaign had agreed with the county Democratic Party to carry the official Democratic doorhangers, in exchange for access to the county’s walk lists. They included my name and those of other endorsed Democrats. Those same walk lists cost me hundreds of dollars.
In practice, many of Cody’s volunteers ditched the official materials and distributed only Cody's handouts. Dee and the Democratic Party's canvassing team turned a blind eye to the practice. Nicky complained to the county party, but they weren’t interested.
She found two of Cody’s volunteers who showed some interest in helping us. In the end, neither followed through.
By then, campaign season was in full swing. Most experienced volunteers had already committed to other candidates—presidential, local, and everything in between. No one stops recruiting volunteers. And Nicky decided we couldn’t either. At one point, we even made a flyer advertising a “temporary election-job opportunity” to canvass for our campaign.
More seriously, Nicky organized three weekend canvassing events in October. We posted them to Facebook and showed up ready to go. The same four people attended each one: a high school student from out of town earning class credit, a neighbor who later hosted a meet-and-greet, Nicky, and me.
On those Saturdays, Carlsbad neighborhoods were thick with campaign volunteers and candidates at all levels—each trying to hit their own aspirational door-knocking targets. Voters were understandably tired of it.
Nicky also arranged two “meet and greet for coffee” events hosted by women we’d met through DEMCCO. I met five or six voters at each—most already familiar with the Measure A fight, most likely Cody supporters. But they listened, and many expressed willingness to support me too—once they understood doing so wouldn’t hurt Cody.
Nicky even set up a meet-and-greet hosted by a Democrat who was supporting Wally. That woman had sent me a donation after hearing me speak at another Democratic club meeting.
As much as I dreaded it, I canvassed enthusiastically every weekend—and some weekday afternoons—in September.
Echoes of Dissent
There were persistent rumors of an exodus of people from Cody's campaign, including some in leadership roles. There were no public statements. But Cody had recently hired a professional campaign manager, someone from outside the NCEC orbit. That move, I later learned, had replaced the team who had come from NCEC's Measure A fight to help Cody run her campaign. But there were other signs too, like by the disappearance of some well-known campaign workers from the campaign pop-ups. They appeared at various places and times around Carlsbad.
There were a few women in Cody’s circle who did support me—but quietly. Dee’s view that a vote for me was a vote against Cody still held sway.
One woman, a very active poster on Cody’s Facebook group, emailed me privately to say she liked what I was doing. She asked if I’d be willing to participate in joint campaign events. I said I was.
But I doubted it would ever happen—unless the idea came from Cody herself.
Throughout the campaign, I continued to receive vague suggestions that Cody and I should work together from women decidedly in Cody's camp.
Nicky followed up as best she could, but nothing ever came of them.
Photos
I decided to hire Rene’s photographer to take headshots and “action” shots of me interacting with the public. Rene had shown me a mailer from one of her past campaigns: photos of her smiling at front doors with grateful constituents. That wasn’t going to happen here. We had time for one hurried session—the only one I could afford.
The action shots ended up being of me loitering around City Hall and a city park. They were good photographs and flattered me. Chris’s photographer once joked that in my previous campaign pictures for MiraCosta College, I looked like a middle-aged aerospace executive. These were an upgrade.
In the end, I used only three of them.
The first was me in my Nordstrom campaign suit, standing outside the City Council Chambers. The sign on the door at least confirmed which door it was. The second was in my casual red tie and rolled-up sleeves, sitting alone at a picnic table in a city park. Somewhere in the blurry background: a few children.
A close friend made a profane comment about that photo—me, alone in a park, smiling, with blurry children in the distance. I used it anyway. The blurry children were the only “public” in any of the photos.
Junk Mail
The casual park photo was used in several handouts. It was colorful and stood out. The Council Chambers picture made it onto two of the mass mailings we’d budgeted for. These weren’t the glossy 8½" by 11" heavyweight mailers favored by well-funded campaigns. Ours were the affordable 6" by 4" postcard variety—small, modest, and, according to Rene, “worthless” until she saw how much money we could afford to send.
By then, we’d honed our messaging. The “No Bullying” theme had evolved into specific promises: to “treat city staff with respect” and to “support our hardworking city employees.” We also recycled some of the more polished rhetoric from the Measure A fight—though none of the mailers mentioned Measure A.
In a final act of rookie-level incompetence, I forgot to include my own address on the mailing list. I never saw the finished postcards. I had approved the proofs, of course—but still, it was a disappointment. I was sent a copy of the post office receipt, if that counts.
And despite objections from everyone involved, I paid to appear on a vaguely described nonpartisan California Taxpayer Association slate mailer. Rene called it a complete waste of money. Chris was still annoyed I’d missed the deadline for a more legitimate slate mailer from a real law enforcement group.
Signs, Signs, Everywhere are Signs
We ordered 500 yard signs. I’m pretty sure I had close to 400 left over.
I placed signs all over Carlsbad and gave them away at every opportunity. Candidates are allowed to post signs in designated public rights-of-way, and I genuinely enjoyed picking the most strategic locations.
Placing them at those locations? That part wasn’t fun at all.
I did the best I could. That’s all I’m willing to say.
From the bottom of the Well
At the very end, I had a small amount of money left over, and Rene told me I should hire a robocall service she knew about. I asked if she had ever used it herself, but she never quite answered. I asked if she’d be the voice on the call, but she assured me my own voice would be far, far more persuasive.
I can’t believe I agreed.
I recorded my message anyway and even though I thought I sounded like I was speaking from the bottom of a well, I sent it to the service.
The only feedback I ever got from any of my campaign materials came much later, at a public event, when someone said:
“You’re the guy who did the robocalls, aren’t you?”
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