Campaign Lifer Looks for Life Off the Trail

Some guy sidled up to Sarpalius outside a bar, cold-cocked him. Dodson's candidate went through the whole primary with his jaw wired shut. Political writer Molly Ivins "said that was the reason he won."

Toughest job: Finding a candidate who knows how to ask for money.

One time Dodson got a sermonette from a man ready to donate $1,000 to a client's campaign, but when he realized that the candidate found it too distasteful to ask for money, sent $250 instead. The supporter called Dodson and said, "You better straighten your guy out."

Rule is: Candidates must know how to raise big bucks.

He says: "It's a numbers game. The more calls you make; the more money you raise."

Greatest come-from-behind victory: Bishop in 2002. The longtime college provost and political neophyte was in Westhampton, N.Y. "When I got there August 8," he says. "Tim was 25 points down."

The big guy from Texas showed up in the Hamptons, remember, wielding a sword. "Doug instantly took hold of the campaign," Bishop says. "I'm not going to suggest it was a love-fest." Dodson can be tough, he adds. And blunt.

During the campaign, his opponent ran a media spot questioning Bishop's commitment to women's issues. The ad backfired, Dodson says. The faux pas allowed Bishop to take the moral high ground, and he won by some 2,700 votes out of 170,000 cast.

Says Dodson: "It was a race that was on nobody's radar. I know what it feels like to be a hero for a week. I was the smartest guy in D.C." The triumph was especially noteworthy because it was one of three in 2002 in which a Democrat unseated an incumbent Republican.

Dodson says he follows James Carville's advice not to work for a racist or a crook. "Other than that," Dodson says, "any Democrat is better than any Republican."

His path into politics: After a couple of less-than-serious attempts at college, Dodson riffled through a whole deck of jobs. He loaded beer trucks, toted drywall. "Nothing teaches you the values of a college education better than carrying sheetrock in the middle of a 110-degree heat wave in Midland, Texas," he says.

Still he didn't finish college. He signed on with Sarpalius for $137 a week and never looked back. Dodson's wife, Shyrlee Fox, who says she's "around the same age as Doug," is staying in Texas. They've been married for six years, but hardly ever see each other. She's got a good job there with Homeland Security.

"I'm his biggest fan," she says. She sends him beef jerky. She came to Washington for New Year's. They sat on the air mattress, watched a whole season of "24" on DVD.

One of the nicest things anybody ever said about her husband, Fox says: "If I was ever going to point a political gun at someone, I would want Doug Dodson pulling the trigger."

This might indicate someone soon is going to be running -- and needing Dodson. But he believes he's in Washington to stay. Others aren't too sure. "He might get bored," Fox says.

For now, he says he's happy as a mudpuppy. He's gotten an education: in real-life political science for more than two decades. And he knows a thing or two about political campaigns.

Rule is, he says, "got to be able to pack in 48 hours and get out."

Hence the air mattress.