By David Finkel
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, October 15, 2006
READING, Pa. -- For Bob Casey Jr., it was one of the good days in his campaign to send Sen. Rick Santorum (R-Pa.) into political obscurity. Morning brought word of a new poll showing him with a 12-point lead over Santorum, who is the third most powerful Republican in the Senate, and evening brought an adoring audience to a fundraiser here in a private home, where Casey said with growing confidence, "I really believe this race is about America."
His voice, in contrast to the high-pitched, battle-ready aggressiveness that is in Santorum's, was polite as he criticized his opponent and President Bush, touched upon his Catholic upbringing and discussed his work as a Jesuit volunteer in inner-city Philadelphia. "In the life of a middle-class family, things are not going all that well," he said several weeks ago to the middle-class crowd, and as he went on, his quiet words blended with the cricket chirps coming through the open windows.
When Casey was done talking, the next sounds included scribbling pens and checks being torn out of checkbooks because of what Democrats say this race means: A Casey victory would not only topple one of America's best-known conservatives but would also enhance the Democrats' prospects of winning control of the Senate.
The Democrats need to pick up six seats to take control of the Senate, and Pennsylvania has become one of their best hopes. Emboldened by polls showing widespread discontent with the GOP-controlled Congress, Democrats vow a fundamental reordering of domestic and foreign policy if their party sweeps to victory in the Senate and House on Nov. 7.
In going after a high-ranking Senate Republican, Democrats picked someone well suited for the role: the state treasurer and a member of one of Pennsylvania's best-known political families, who has strong conservative views on social issues, a liberal economic philosophy and opposition to the war in Iraq. Casey is against abortion and gun control, and he agrees with the current federal policy that limits embryonic stem cell research -- all positions that have inoculated him against attacks from the right.
Sen. Charles E. Schumer (N.Y.), the chairman of the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee, was so eager to recruit Casey that he and Gov. Edward G. Rendell (D) forced former state treasurer Barbara Hafer out of the race. That move rankled many liberal Democrats because of Hafer's support of abortion rights, but Schumer viewed Casey as the only candidate who could beat Santorum.
Since formally announcing his candidacy in March 2005, Casey has held a steady lead over Santorum in the polls. Yet even as he appears on the verge of a victory with national implications, many in his state and throughout the country know little about his background. Casey, 46, gives new meaning to political humility, and he discourages attention to his personal life or comparisons to his father, the late Robert P. Casey, a former governor.
"When a good politician walks in the room, even if you don't see him, you know it. The oxygen is sucked out of the room," said David Paul, a financial adviser in the Philadelphia suburbs and a Casey supporter. "When Casey comes in, you really don't know he's there. Whatever people were talking about, they just keep talking."
G. Terry Madonna, a Pennsylvania pollster, said, "If you ask people 'Who is Bob Casey Jr.?' their answer would be 'Well, I think he's a public official whose father was governor.' " Madonna, director of the Center for Politics and Public Affairs at Franklin and Marshall College, added, "They will not have a real specific sense about who he is."
Casey, when asked to talk about himself during a recent interview, replied, "Yeah, gosh, let's talk about public policy for a while."
Casey's father was a dominant figure in Pennsylvania. As a youth, he was a gifted athlete who turned down a tryout with the Philadelphia Phillies to accept a college basketball scholarship. After college and law school, he won his first election, becoming the state's auditor general, and made three unsuccessful bids for governor before finally winning in 1986. His two terms were notable for advances in welfare reform and health care for women and children. He was also a staunch foe of abortion.
The governor was barred from speaking at the 1992 Democratic National Convention in part because of his un-Democrat-like opposition to abortion. He was also the defendant in a U.S. Supreme Court case that year called Planned Parenthood of Southeastern Pennsylvania v. Casey, which challenged Pennsylvania restrictions on abortion and, to the dismay of abortion proponents, led to a redefining of fetal viability.
Casey's eldest son, Bob, followed in his footsteps, graduating from the College of the Holy Cross and obtaining a law degree from Catholic University before entering politics and winning his first of two terms as state auditor general in 1996. Casey ran for governor in 2002 but lost to Rendell in the Democratic primary. In 2004, he ran against a little-known opponent and won the post of state treasurer with 3.3 million votes -- more votes than any other candidate for a statewide office in Pennsylvania history.
Being treasurer, Casey recalled recently, was the perfect reflection of why he got into politics -- not because of personal ambition, he said, but because of his notion of public service. Since his childhood in Scranton, he said, that's what his father and mother emphasized. "I don't remember my parents ever giving us a noblesse oblige speech," he said. Rather, he learned through everyday examples, especially from his father.
As a state official, Casey proved to be a traditional Democrat on most issues, but, like his father, he was an ardent foe of abortion.
So when the party that had kept his father from speaking in 1992 began courting him in late 2004 to run against Santorum, he had a conversation with one of his brothers.
"Isn't this interesting?" is the way that conversation went, Chris Casey said. "Isn't this ironic?"
Casey's sister Margi McGrath commented on why the national party sought out her brother: "It's not because they love him. He's not their tailor-made candidate."
Yet within days of his election as state treasurer, the Democrats were contacting him about running against Santorum.
Santorum, a former House member, first won election to the Senate in 1994 with 1.7 million votes, which was just under 50 percent of the popular vote. He was reelected in 2000 with 2.4 million votes, or 53 percent, and he became a prominent and polarizing conservative figure in the Senate.
Whatever the reason for the courtship, Casey didn't say yes immediately.
"He was agonizing about it," said McGrath.
Casey recounted a conversation with his wife: " 'You've got to think about this,' " he said she told him. "And I said, 'I'm going to think about it, very seriously.' And she said, 'But you've got to really think about this,' and these weren't her words, but basically she was saying, 'You can win this race, you can defeat him, and I'm not sure anyone else can.' And that weighed heavily on me because I knew, to be blunt about it, if I didn't run, he'd probably be reelected. And maybe easily."
For three months, Casey worked the angles, thinking about the implications of winning and of losing and his often-stated desire to become Pennsylvania's governor. He finally agreed, he said, because "you can make a tremendous contribution as a U.S. senator on issues I care about, like health care and like building an economy."
"But also I was influenced by the idea that sometimes you've got to stop what's going on, and you may be the only person that can do that," he said.
By midsummer of this year, Santorum had raised substantially more money than Casey -- $17.2 million to $10.8 million -- much of it going toward advertising that has portrayed Casey as a ladder climber, a candidate with only the vaguest positions, and, in an attempt to convey that he is not the same Casey as his father, "Bobby."
"What you heard from Mr. Casey is what you hear all the time. No specifics," Santorum said when the two debated on "Meet the Press" in early September. Casey, however, who was anything but docile in the debate -- sometimes interrupting Santorum, sometimes correcting him, sometimes mocking him -- was well ahead in the polls at that point.
He has been leading in the polls since spring. The only blip in a steady stream of successes came in a poll a few weeks ago, which showed that unfavorable reactions to him had risen from 13 percent in May to 22 percent in September as Santorum ramped up his attacks. "Santorum, at the moment, is defining Casey better than Casey is defining himself," said Madonna, the pollster.
What the poll also showed, however, is that the race is far less about Casey than about Santorum. Nearly 30 percent of likely Casey voters said they support him mainly because he's not Santorum -- "a pretty high percentage," Madonna said. And as Santorum's unfavorable rating has climbed from 26 percent when Casey entered the race to 37 percent in September, the Casey campaign has seemed content to remain low key, letting Casey be defined less by who he is than by who he is not.
As McGrath said, when asked who her brother is: "He's not a polarizing figure."
Who is he, though?
At a second campaign stop in Reading, this one with union workers at a small hotel, Kathy Quimby watched Casey come in.
"Wasn't his father in politics?" she asked, trying to figure out where she had heard Casey's name.
Quimby, who works at the hotel, watched as the candidate went around the room, shaking hands and speaking in an even voice about what is wrong and right in the country.
Chalk up another vote against Santorum: "He seems like a nice guy," she said.
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