[StBernard] Geek Appeal

[Westley Annis]

Geek Appeal
Bobby Jindal drives a Taurus and listens to the Beatles, but his
Internet-driven campaign for governor has kept him in the lead and made him
an icon among Gen X-ers.

By Jeremy Alford 

Only one dolla'! Com' on down, now! See the twooooo-headed rattlesnake!" The
carnival worker barks at people passing by whether they look or not. When
eye contact is made, he points with both hands to a gruesome painting
hanging over his booth of a snake with four eyes and a set of necks --
caught in Itasca, Texas, the sign promises. There's also a yellow tortoise.
"Com' on folks, jus' step right up! An albino turtle! Right in d'ere! You
gotta see it!" With no takers, the carny steps back in the makeshift booth,
leans his head on a fist and stares at a booth selling deep-fried Twinkies
for a few minutes before making another pitch. It's an immaculate May
afternoon in Gonzales, home of the annual Jambalaya Festival, with an array
of bands, one serious cook-off and two-headed reptiles. A light breeze
carries the smell of onions and sausage cooking in cast-iron pots, and the
sound of a fiddle floats over from the main stage. Just beyond the snake
booth, a huge stir of excitement is attracting curiosity. "That's Bobby
Jindal," says a camouflage-clad man, making his way over to the Metairie
congressman. He hands a Coors Light can to his wife and wipes a wet palm
against his pants. After a quick handshake with Jindal, a volunteer gives
the man a push card outlining the candidate's bid for governor. He sticks it
in his back pocket and walks away smiling. Others follow, but some only want
a sticker. Pretty soon there's a crowd gathered around Jindal and, at one
point, it overshadows the line for jambalaya. When folks from south
Louisiana attend a fair or festival, they expect to see a politician or two.
It's a form of retail politics Jindal has mastered. There normally would be
hordes of politicos working the Jambalaya Festival, especially in this
election year, but Team Jindal is the only campaign in the field this
Saturday morning. "That's the way we do it," says the state's top
Republican. "I wake up every morning as if I'm 10 points behind. No one is
going to outwork us." Jindal, 36, has been leading in every reputable poll
for more than a year now but still campaigns like an underdog and says he
sleeps just a few hours each night. One of the more recent telephone
surveys, conducted earlier this month by the Baton Rouge-based Southern
Media and Opinion Research, had Jindal clocking in at 63 percent in a
four-person field. His closest competitor was state Sen. Walter Boasso, a
recently converted Democrat from St. Bernard Parish, polling at 14 percent.
Public Service Commissioner Foster Campbell of Bossier Parish, another
Democrat, recorded 4 percent, while New Orleans businessman John Georges,
the other Republican in the race -- for now -- came in at 1 percent. Rumors
are rampant that Georges may switch to Democrat or Independent. The
undecided vote was 17 percent, and even when the field included New Orleans
Mayor Ray Nagin, a Democrat who's still being coy about his plans, the
figures don't change much. But Jindal knows as well as anyone that leads can
be blown. When he ran for governor in 2003, he led the 17-candidate open
primary, capturing 33 percent of the vote. He appeared atop several polls in
the ensuing weeks but eventually finished four points behind Democrat
Kathleen Blanco, who chose not to run for re-election after her post-Katrina
performance sent her numbers permanently southward. These days, Jindal has
kind words for his former adversary. "You know, I really think she has
gotten a bad rap," Jindal says. "Gov. Blanco feels like someone I've known
my entire life. She's very approachable and likeable, like a grandmother."
Of course, when Blanco was still in the race, Jindal used the bully pulpit
of his congressional seat to lambast her administration. The juxtaposition
of his youthful drive with her dowdy inertia is one of the reasons he is
enjoying the enviable position of front-runner. Moreover, he has been at the
epicenter of a campaign that geared up when Blanco took office in January
2004 and hasn't halted since. The Jindal network includes literally
thousands of volunteers, an Internet presence with an audience unparalleled
in Louisiana politics and a seemingly endless supply of willing donors. The
voting blocs that traditionally thrive in places like New Orleans have yet
to be tested in a real way post-Katrina, but Jindal's network is girding for
battle. His campaign is so tightly organized that one could easily foresee
it morphing into something more than a one-time political run. It could
become a movement. At the core of this movement, if that's what it is, lies
a generational shift that has anointed Jindal as its leader. Oddly enough,
Jindal doesn't exactly fit into the Pearl Jam demographic that his campaign
has so skillfully wooed with launches on YouTube, promises of "revolutionary
reform" and video-editing contests. He may look like the runt of the
gubernatorial litter, but Bobby Jindal has aged beyond his years. This time
around, Team Jindal is managed by a set of tight-fisted handlers; the
candidate isn't the easygoing 32-year-old who granted all-access passes to
the media in 2003. Today, it's all business. The new Bobby Jindal has been
packaged, mass-marketed and slapped on a bumper sticker -- literally. At the
Mello Joy CafE in Lafayette, Jindal is at least 30 minutes late, but no one
seems to mind. To help pass the time and market their candidate, a group of
young volunteers -- all on the Jindal campaign payroll and who seem to be in
their 20s or early 30s -- sets up a table at the front entrance for
supporters to pick up yard signs and choose from a wide selection of bumper
stickers. Various stickers target farmers, veterans or sportsmen, while
others have the themes and colors of Louisiana colleges and sports teams.
LSU, UL-Lafayette and the New Orleans Saints asked Jindal to stop using
their marks the same week as the Acadiana leg of his statewide bus tour. He
granted their requests -- after supplies ran out. Still, the stickers remain
a prime example of Jindal's cross-marketing. In contrast to the varied
bumper stickers, Jindal's Internet campaign targets one group above all
others: the 26-to-46 crowd. He has zeroed in on them better than any
Louisiana politician before him, says Ann A. Fishman, president of the New
Orleans-based Generational Targeted Marketing Corp. He has more than 500
digital friends on his MySpace page and another group on Facebook, a similar
social networking site. There's also a horde of pictures online at Flickr
and eight videos on YouTube, all edited with punchy music and quick cuts.
The Web sites are connected to Jindal's campaign page, which likewise hosts
a blog, RSS feeds and online donations. Georges is the only other candidate
with such a formidable Web presence, but he was months behind Jindal in
getting it online. Jindal's youthful zeal plays to the demographic as well,
right alongside his impassioned calls for reform. Earlier this summer, a
conservative Web site started selling red T-shirts with Jindal's face
superimposed over the head of Che Guevara, everybody's favorite South
American Marxist. Much of this may seem quirky, but none of it is new --
just new to Louisiana. Similar movements helped elect Hollywood actor Arnold
Schwarzenegger governor of California and pro-wrestler Jesse Ventura the
head of Minnesota. The younger generation is a swing vote that has only
recently garnered respect (and attention). "There are going to be more
people from Generation X voting in federal and state elections this year and
next than ever before, especially as more Baby Boomers move or retire," says
Fishman, a registered independent. "People who are watching this are smart
to do so." Jindal has an undeniable charm that pulls people in. He can talk
endlessly about his children and family, which is when staffers who've heard
the same story countless times check their handhelds for email or fidget
with their bags. Nonetheless, Jindal always has an anecdote on deck, and his
stories are usually humorous. "My kids like to watch The Sound of Music on
the way to school, but I never get to hear what happens at the end because
the ride is so short," he says. He's also extremely careful, even calculated
-- a trait that surfaces during even the most mundane activities, like
taking medicine. Jindal, who has a background in biology, medicine and
public policy, never follows the directions on prescription medicines. "I
always just take half the dose," he says. "I'm very cautious." While many in
Jindal's generation relate easily to him, the connection is not always
reciprocal. His personal reading interests have been confined lately to the
life of John Henry Newman, a 19th century religious leader who converted to
Roman Catholicism and was later made a cardinal. It's just a bit of light
reading for Jindal, who graduated from Baton Rouge High at 16. His musical
taste gravitates toward the classic rock era, or anything by the Beatles,
but you won't find him tooling around with an iPod playing Sgt. Pepper's
Lonely Hearts Club Band. Jindal's Ford Taurus (yeah, he drives a Taurus)
doesn't even have a CD player -- technology that has been on the market
since the early 1980s. "I guess I'm the kind of guy who waits until the
prices drop," he says with a laugh. He shies away from questions about how
he plans to voice the concerns of his generation. He says the lack of other
viable candidates his age in the race is because of "everyone having a
different calling," and he refuses to accept any sort of generational label
-- a calling card of Gen X-ers, Fishman notes. "This campaign is not a
function of age," Jindal says. "I guess I just don't look at this election
in those terms." Fishman adds that some in Jindal's generation may embrace
change just for the sake of it, and he certainly presents loads of
opportunities. If elected, he would become the youngest governor in America,
barring an unforeseen candidate in another part of the country, and the only
governor of Indian descent. "But this is not about race," Fishman says.
"That part of the electorate is largely colorblind. It's about age and
something they can relate to. They will get passionate, and they will be
voting this time around." Surrounded by plasma televisions, a marble floor
and overstuffed leather chairs, Jindal is soaring down Interstate 10 in his
massive tour bus, a red, white and blue monstrosity that says more about his
money ($6.3 million in the bank, with no personal loans) than his message.
He's reliving the 2003 election for governor for a reporter, calling it his
"greatest professional loss." The candidate has been doing this for weeks
now, jumping from one small town to another, many without cell phone
service, but all packed with people eager to meet the state's top
Republican. The bus eventually comes to a halt in Church Point, the rural
town known for its Mardi Gras courirs. Jindal gives nearly the same speech
he did in Lafayette, waging a "war on corruption" and promising "new
leadership," but he also throws in a few lines about gun control for good
measure. The crowd, topped off with cowboy hats and anchored by boots made
of ostrich, gator and leather, eats it up. As he finishes his speech,
someone in the back of the room cranks up Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the
U.S.A." on a small radio, and Jindal works the crowd. State Rep. Mickey
Guillory, a Democrat from Eunice who is supporting Jindal, moves to the
empty side of the Church Point Bank Annex Building and dishes on the latest
poll numbers that place Jindal comfortably in the lead. Like everyone else,
he knows the long road Jindal has traveled -- literally and figuratively --
to get here. "He has been running since the last governor's election," he
says. "What do you expect?" The branding of Bobby Jindal started in 1996
when former Gov. Mike Foster plucked his Republican protŽgŽ out of virtual
obscurity -- Jindal was contemplating a career in law or medicine -- and
appointed him secretary of the Louisiana Department of Health and Hospitals.
Foster had heard good things about Jindal from members of Louisiana's
congressional delegation who had reviewed a Medicaid proposal written by the
young prodigy. He was only 24. Two years later, which is the average amount
of time Jindal has spent in various positions since entering public life,
members of Congress appointed him executive director of the National
Bipartisan Commission on the Future of Medicare. A year after that, in 1999,
Foster lured Jindal back to Louisiana and made him president of the
University of Louisiana System. Word of Jindal's work traveled through
top-tier political circles again, this time reaching the White House. In
2001, President Bush tapped Jindal to be assistant secretary for planning
and evaluation of Health and Human Services. Critics say Jindal never stayed
in one place long enough to make a lasting impression, but the wunderkind
label stuck and his stock continued to rise. His honors degree from Brown
University and his Rhodes Scholar credentials from Oxford University didn't
hurt, but Jindal still needed help selling himself as a politician in his
own right. He was young, aggressive, seemingly honest and smart -- all
qualities voters say they want but rarely find in Louisiana. "I don't look
at it as luck," Jindal says of his meteoric rise. "I was given opportunities
by Gov. Foster and other people, but it was up to me to make something of
them." In 2003, Jindal left his two-year-old presidential appointment to run
for governor. In the months after his loss to Blanco, bumper stickers
sprouted on vehicles declaring, "Don't Blame Me, I Voted For Jindal."
Die-hard GOP donors weren't shy about who they wanted to back in 2007.
Conservative bloggers also multiplied like rabbits and pined for a
Jindal-Blanco rematch. A do-over seemed inevitable. Accidentally or not,
Jindal waged a constant campaign -- a relatively new concept in Louisiana
but not on the national scene. It's a simple concept that's difficult to
implement gracefully -- a synchronized campaign that never stops, even after
a loss. After Blanco defeated him in 2003, Jindal refused to rule out
running again for governor and almost immediately launched a winning bid for
Congress the following year, pulling up his Baton Rouge roots to run from
his wife Supriya's family home base in Kenner. Winning a congressional seat
in the state's largest media market -- part of which also taps into the
Baton Rouge market -- only fed the constant campaign. Rather than waiting in
the wings for his rematch with Blanco, he would have a platform and a record
on which to run. Although his re-election to Congress in 2006 was a sure
thing, Jindal aggressively raised money leading up to his first post-Katrina
campaign. He was one of the top fund-raisers in his freshman class, raising
$2.2 million during the last election cycle. Despite facing only token
opposition, Jindal spent an astounding $2.8 million and left only $99,000 in
the bank. Most of the money went into a massive media buy that aired
commercials in several key communities, many of which were outside his First
Congressional District. Jindal says he was taking the race seriously, but
the truth is federal campaign law bars him from using any money in his
congressional war chest to run for a state office. Because he couldn't take
it with him, Jindal went on a spending spree. It worked. He got 88 percent
of the vote in the primary against three opponents, and his campaign ads
stamped the Jindal brand on voters' minds in the state's two largest media
markets. While the network that has been built around the Jindal brand is
impressive, strategy can only take a candidate so far. That's why Jindal has
zeroed in on the issue of ethics reform. At another campaign stop -- the
Louisiana State Museum in Baton Rouge -- the candidate is 30 minutes late
again, and this time people do care. It's raining and hot and the crowd
gathered at the museum consists mostly of reporters and political hitmen
waiting to hear the candidate's big announcement. Melissa Sellers, Jindal's
press secretary and a Texas native, mingles with reporters to pass the time,
letting them know that her candidate will pass out a six-page booklet with
31 ethics proposals that he plans to push in a special session in January if
elected. "We should have a debriefing conference where Bobby asks y'all
questions about his plan," she says with a laugh before disappearing. Soon
after, she's wiping down the entrance of the museum's pavilion with a rubber
mop, preparing for Jindal's arrival and ensuring he won't have a Gerald Ford
moment. After the caravan travels down Fourth Street, Jindal is escorted
under an umbrella from his vehicle while his campaign manager Timmy Teepell
trails behind. Jindal walks right to the microphone and gets to business.
There are four camera crews, two photojournalists, four print reporters and
a radio correspondent in attendance, all waiting to hear about Jindal's
central campaign plank. Jindal says he wants to require legislators and
statewide elected officials to disclose their income, but not their tax
returns. He also wants to stop lawmakers from becoming lobbyists, stiffen
ethics penalties and implement other reforms that have been tried in the
past. It's a familiar refrain, and Jindal knows it. But he promises that a
mandate from the voters, via a victory on election night, will convince the
Legislature to act differently this time. It's an old adage from Louisiana
political consulting: When you don't have anything else to talk about -- or
don't want to talk about anything else -- talk about ethics and corruption.
But Jindal is deadly serious about his core issue; Louisiana's poor national
rankings have to end somewhere, he says. "This isn't campaign rhetoric. No
longer can we accept being the butt of jokes around the country. Those jokes
aren't funny anymore." Operatives from the Louisiana Democratic Party stayed
in the shadows during the press conference, but roamed among the reporters
at its conclusion and handed out "Bobby Jindal's Real Record on Ethics and
Corruption." The one-page handout detailed five votes in which Jindal's
position could be interpreted as hypocritical. There are two votes in
particular where he supported killing ethics investigations related to
convicted lobbyist Jack Abramoff. The Jindal campaign immediately fired off
a response, arguing the votes were "ill-disguised partisan maneuvers" by the
Democratic leadership that separated liberals from conservatives. Most of
the bills also contained riders that changed the impact of the legislation,
his campaign insists. While he suggests he was towing the proper,
conservative party line on those votes, Jindal sheds GOP loyalty when
addressing claims that he's nothing more than a water carrier for President
George W. Bush. The Boasso campaign has spent hundreds of thousands of
dollars on television ads linking Jindal and Bush and depicting them as
joined at the hip. Jindal doesn't answer the question of whether he would
welcome a visit from Bush during the campaign, but he does offer a litany of
examples where he broke with the White House: he would vote to override
Bush's threatened veto of a water bill that contains millions for Louisiana;
he voted in favor of the Democrat-heavy Farm Bill; he endorsed the populist
minimum-wage hike; and he rejected a Bush-backed trade bill early in his
congressional career. "I'm happy to agree with my party when they're right,"
Jindal says. "But party doesn't come first." Still, Jindal has supported
billions in funding for the war in Iraq and has also been known to vote
against his own measures to stay in step with the GOP. In June, he attached
an amendment to an Interior Appropriations bill offering an extra $2.5
million for the Gulf of Mexico Program, which was short on money for
research. The following day, Jindal joined the Republican House delegation
in voting against the bill that contained his amendment. "I was pleased to
get the attention for the issue and the funding, but I couldn't support the
overall bill because of its pork-barrel spending," Jindal explains. He'll
have to tell voters why his amendment was substantive but everybody else's
was pork. Jindal has plenty of bills and votes to verify his work in
Congress, but his constant campaign may have taken a toll on his
effectiveness on the Hill. Rankings by Congress.org, supposedly a
nonpartisan system, ranked Jindal No. 432 among the House's 439 members. The
campaign countered in a written release that the rankings "do not take into
account the bills a member passes and therefore is a flawed comprehensive
interpretation of effectiveness. Additionally, they said their 2007 rankings
were based in part on 'running for higher office' and the 'member's minority
party status.'" Earlier this month, Jindal missed 22 House votes while he
was in Louisiana campaigning, including votes on defense spending and energy
legislation. According to Congress' Web site, Jindal has a 95 percent voting
record, which his campaign noted in addressing the missed votes. As for
Jindal's plans for health care, education and economic development, those
will be released in coming weeks, Sellers says. Meanwhile, Jindal's
opponents have plenty of issues on which to focus. Along for the ride -- and
interested in everything at the Jambalaya Festival but their father's
politics -- are Jindal's three children, Selia Elizabeth, Shaan Robert and
Slade Ryan, all of whom are knee-high or shorter. As Jindal chats with
voters in Gonzales, his son pulls on his pants leg looking for attention.
Between the handshaking, Jindal gives it up, attempting to spend as much
time at the fair with his children as he does with potential supporters. It
isn't easy. If you want to get to know the real Bobby Jindal, this is a good
place to start: He worries about his children being exposed to political
life. "We chose the lifestyle we have, but we really want to give our
children a normal upbringing," he says. And this is where Jindal's stringent
faith in a Catholic God comes into play. He lashes out at those who support
removing prayer from schools, altering the Pledge of Allegiance and keeping
the Christian-based Boy Scouts off U.S. military bases for their training
exercises. "I'm more worried about my children being exposed to Paris
Hilton," he says. During one 25-minute interview at the State Museum, Jindal
mentions God no less than eight times. "This is God giving us another
chance," he says, referring to the campaign's promise for a fresh start.
According to the D.C. newspaper The Hill, Jindal was seen on Ash Wednesday
last year at St. Peter's Catholic Church spending a "great deal of time on
his BlackBerry during service and prayer, both reading e-mails and sending
e-mails." Jindal responded through his spokesman: "The Congressman was on
his BlackBerry to staff asking that meetings be pushed back because the
service was running long. He didn't want to leave." Having been raised Hindu
and later converting to Catholicism as a teenager, Jindal has always had a
healthy curiosity about religion -- and there's a long paper trail, ranging
from college essays to published freelance works, that reveal a young man
coming of age and exploring different philosophies. Today, Jindal says he
still keeps a spiritual journal but doesn't have as much time to write in
it. His early writings contain one of the crown jewels of his opponents'
research: The notorious 1994 article in the New Oxford Review in which
Jindal reports on an exorcism he experienced firsthand. (Emails sent to the
publisher and editor of the Review requesting interviews about the story
were not returned.) "The crucifix had a calming effect on Susan, and her
sister was soon brave enough to bring a Bible to her face," Jindal writes.
"At first, Susan responded to biblical passages with curses and profanities.
Mixed in with her vile attacks were short and desperate pleas for help."
While he wrote vividly that he believed "a demon" would attack him if he
began praying, Jindal says today that he wasn't an active participant in the
exorcism. "I just reported what I saw," he says. Not surprisingly, the
Louisiana Democratic Party tried to take advantage of Jindal's curiosity
about faith and his own spiritual evolution, most of which took place during
his college years. The party spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on a
now-infamous 30-second TV commercial that has gleaned attention from
national media outlets, even though it was aired exclusively in north
Louisiana. It accuses Jindal of labeling Protestants "scandalous, depraved,
selfish and heretical." By any interpretation, the spot twists Jindal's
words from another 1996 Review article. The attacks, however, seem to have
backfired on the party, with clergymen and Democrats decrying the ads and
calling for the resignation of party leadership. Dodging public debates also
has sparked criticism of Jindal, and his various no-shows are an extension
of just how scripted and guarded the campaign has become. Sellers says that
Jindal is just "busy bringing his message of a fresh start to the state" and
declined further comment. Jindal knows he is the target of everyone else in
the race; that comes with the territory of being the frontrunner. Even his
sole Republican challenger, Georges, never misses an opportunity to take a
shot. The same thing happened in 2003 when Blanco's machine chipped away at
the wiz kid veneer with a set of last-minute attack ads, which went
unanswered. This time around, Jindal's campaign is issuing rapid responses
-- through email -- addressing most if not all attacks. Jindal says he's
willing to take the lumps and will find a way to work with the Legislature
to pass the state's first and only comprehensive ethics reform package, but
the Louisiana House and Senate have befuddled other highly educated
governors before him. And that is the ultimate question: Can Bobby Jindal
lead? Of course he can, Jindal says, although his opponents tag him as
untested. That tag comes in part from the fact that Jindal is still in his
mid-30s, which makes this race -- despite Jindal's protestations to the
contrary -- very much "a function of age." While Jindal maintains he doesn't
"look at this election in those terms," it's quite possible that a great
many of his followers do look at the race through the prism of age --
particularly those who, like him, are young and tired of not being taken
seriously. Contact Jeremy Alford at jeremy at jeremyalford.com.