By Linton Weeks
Washington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, January 17, 2007; C01
The sword is what Rep. Timothy Bishop remembers about the day Doug Dodson showed up to run his first-ever campaign, in 2002. It was late summer. Dodson drove up to the New York Democrat's headquarters in the Hamptons. He stepped out of his Ford pickup truck wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, carrying a medieval blade.
For 20 years Dodson has lived on the road, racing from race to race, brandishing his swords. Through more than two dozen campaigns, he drank, he smoked, he swapped tales of the trail -- in the flashy fashion of flamboyant Southern political strategists James Carville, Paul Begala, Hamilton Jordan and Lee Atwater. At 48, diehard Democrat Dodson was big, brash, blunt and bold -- and older than most in the game.
"He was fearless," says Bishop, who was running uphill. "Protective of me.
"And a piece of work."
Swords became his trademark. Over the years he bought a half-dozen different kinds from a truck stop in Joplin, Mo. "First time I'd walk into a new office," he says, "I'd hang the sword right on the wall." A reminder to everyone that politics is war.
Now it's peacetime for Dodson. He's settling down. Hanging up spurs; sheathing his swords. After the 2006 cycle, he took a PR job with Joe Slade White & Co. in Washington. He's leaving that tribe of nomads -- the political operatives who roam this nation, going from campaign to campaign -- and setting down roots in a town teeming with the consultancy. He's got that new apartment -- and a 50-inch Samsung flat-panel. "Always promised myself that when I finally settled down, I'd buy a serious TV," he says.
On a recent morning, Dodson is sitting cross-legged on his bed -- a red industrial-strength air mattress -- in his newfound, sparsely furnished Cleveland Park apartment. The TV looms nearby. He's a big, voluble guy, thick white hair and mustache, in an XXL Dallas Cowboys jersey. A pack of Marlboros sits alongside his Treo 650, both within easy reach. His laugh -- and voice -- are full of smoke and Maker's Mark and Coca-Cola.
The unabashed Dodson says he was a man at risk -- of becoming the "world's oldest campaign manager." This last time around he ran Brad Henry's successful gubernatorial race in Oklahoma. Before that, it was the bids of state senators David Cain in Texas and Ilan Plawker in New Jersey, Connecticut congressman Jim Maloney and a bunch of others.
Record as campaign manager: 10 wins, 4 losses. "I have not lost a race since 1997," he says.
Andrew Whalen, a veteran of many campaigns, including the recent Heath Shuler victory in North Carolina, says he's known a lot of campaign junkies over the years -- folks who forsake home, hearth and hammock for a thankless existence in the political trenches. Of all the politicos he has met, Dodson is the most memorable. "Doug's a little bit louder than other people," Whalen says. "He's definitely more brash. He's not afraid to be Doug. Other people always have an eye on moving up. Not Doug."
Dodson has preferred to run campaigns, not report to some other poobah. Explains Dodson, "I wanted one war that was mine and mine alone."
Unpacking in his apartment, Dodson recalls some greatest hits. From a plastic box he pulls a campaign brochure of Rep. William Sarpalius (D-Tex.), the first candidate he worked for. "I'd been on the campaign for about a week in 1988," he says, "when Bill got his jaw broken."
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.
