Chris
Missing in Action
By mid-May, Jody had disappeared from my campaign. She was hard to reach and slow to respond to emails and texts. Our weekly meetings became infrequent. At one of the last, Jody mentioned she was working with another candidate in San Diego. Later, she said she had agreed to be that candidate’s campaign manager. I assumed she would be doing the work remotely. I was surprised—she wouldn’t even entertain the idea of taking that role for my campaign.
Still, she did one thing that made a big difference in my campaign: she introduced me to Chris.
Chris had been on Jody’s original list of people I needed to meet—useful contacts for my campaign. She was working with Chris on the San Diego campaign and strongly recommended I bring Chris on as a consultant. I knew this would be a good, but expensive, hire. Hiring Chris would be a consequential decision, the kind of decision I had been reluctant to make. I thought it would jump start the campaign.
Campaign consultants operate at a higher level than managers. They start with a cohesive vision and develop messaging and voter outreach strategies. Campaign managers get things done. In practice, the line between them is often blurry. Chris was an attorney who specialized in environmental and real estate development litigation—and also did campaign work. As a teenager, Chris was in a car accident that resulted in paraplegia. Chris' office was 30 miles from Carlsbad, so our only face-to-face meeting happened at a Democratic club event. Today, you’d just say Chris worked remotely.
Chris had worked on State Senate and Assembly races and was well-known and respected in those circles. Also expensive—the largest single cost in my campaign.
Chris drafted a comprehensive campaign plan—far more detailed than anything Jody ever provided. Many of the tasks outlined were never carried out because I didn’t have the people to do them. But Chris was involved in almost every decision I made, suggesting vendors for printing, photography, website design, and yard signs. Chris also reviewed every piece of campaign literature.
Gone
Chris’ most important contribution came after I hit bottom—right after Jody was gone.
In a scramble to keep things afloat, I recruited a volunteer to attend events with me. He was a part-time community college student and, in local party circles, considered “the future of the Party.” I offered him the title of Campaign Manager just to get him to say yes. He agreed, but the arrangement didn’t work. After a string of small but critical failures I just stopped asking him to do things. My frustration boiled over. I wrote a long, angry email to Jody and Chris outlining the dysfunction and chaos in the campaign and highlighting my grievances with Jody. It was the kind of email people tell you to write but never send.
I sent it.
It ended my working relationship with Jody and damaged our friendship. I’ll always regret that. I called her afterward, more than once, trying to reconcile and invite her back into the campaign. She was polite but unmoved. She affirmed her support for my candidacy, but deflected my apologies. In one conversation, she told me she’d developed feelings for Chris and that my email had humiliated her.
That must have hurt.
Chris, in contrast, responded to the email calmly and sympathetically. Chris acknowledged my frustration and offered reassurance: the campaign could be salvaged. One problem at a time. Be patient.
Chris also warned me—gently—about the nature of campaigns. They ask everything from the candidate. And that cost only rises as the election nears.
Good Chris, Bad Chris
Chris had a game: “Good Cop, Bad Cop.” I was never quite sure which version of Chris I’d hear from next. Good Chris was warm, encouraging, and optimistic. Bad Chris—more accurately, Angry Chris—sent blistering emails filled with brutal assessments of my performance. But Chris wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t followed through on canvassing or made enough fundraising calls. I’d heard worse in my adult job. So I took it.
Still, sometimes “Good Chris” seemed disingenuously encouraging, seeking to calm me down after “Bad Chris” had lit me up.
Once, Chris accidentally forwarded an email thread that included his snide remarks about me, including a jab at some old headshots I’d used during a Mira Costa trustee run. It stung. But you learn that being a candidate requires thick skin.
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