Dayton's Mayor, A Superdelegate With 'No' of Steel

McLin has presided since 2001 over this struggling, racially mixed city, with a poverty rate of 25 percent and a mortgage foreclosure rate that is one of the highest in Ohio. She drives herself around Dayton, which she calls "Mayberry on steroids," in a Saturn Vue, no retinue of security and advisers, just her. She has been known to answer her own phone at City Hall. She takes tap-dancing lessons on Monday evenings, and never goes anywhere without one of her signature hats, like the red fedora she wore over the weekend.

She did 13 neighborhood walks last year, talking to residents about waste collection, vandalism, potholes, vacant houses. Over the weekend, she was walking door-to-door in a precinct, urging residents to support a ballot initiative to increase funding for a local community college. A woman driving down the street parked her pickup truck and got out to greet McLin. "You cleaning up our neighborhood?" the woman asked as she hugged the mayor. "Not today," replied McLin, "but I'll be back to clean it up. You'll help me."

McLin, 59, is old-school, in that unpretentious way, the kind of mayor who stops on a sidewalk during her door-knocking to gaze at a vintage hot-pink Impala. When she was young, she reflected, looking at cars was fun. "We stood on the corner and sang songs. That was entertainment. We played hopscotch, tag, picked cherries for someone's mama to make pies."

Speaking at an Obama rally before 10,000 people? That wasn't going to thrill this mayor, whose eyeglasses have one round pane and one square pane. "That means Dayton is well rounded and you can get a square deal." Not that McLin doesn't understand her significance, in the scheme of Ohio politics. She is the first female mayor of Dayton, the first black woman elected to the Ohio Senate and also to serve as Senate minority leader. Her late father, C.J. McLin, was a legendary political figure here, serving 22 years as a state legislator.

Sitting for lunch at the Dublin Pub, she ordered a Shirley Temple, complete with cherry. Her legislative aide Bobbi Dillon was there, along with her friend, City Commissioner Nan Whaley. Both are Obama supporters. In fact, all four city commissioners have endorsed Obama, which makes the mayor odd woman out. "I said to the mayor, 'We can make it unanimous,' but I wasn't successful," said Whaley.

Turns out Mayor Adrian M. Fenty was in town to campaign for Obama over the weekend. McLin wanted to greet him, but again, not at an Obama event. So Fenty came to the Dublin Pub, sat and had some hot tea and honey. The two mayors exchanged gifts. She gave him ink pens from the city; he gave her District of Columbia cuff links. "You gave a nice address at the U.S. Conference of Mayors," McLin told Fenty, and he thanked her.

The two mayors talked about education and the foreclosure crisis, but not about politics. When it was time to take photos, McLin asked Fenty if he would mind hiding his button. No problem, said Fenty, who then discovered Whaley was an Obama supporter. So he asked one of his aides to hand him a small green box, another gift. This one was a special rhinestone pin by jewelry designer Ann Hand that spelled out "Obama 2008." Whaley was impressed. "See, mayor, you can have one of these," Whaley chided McLin.

As Fenty was about to depart for the next of several stops, a guy leaving the Dublin shouted, "Obama!"

Fenty smiled. "All right, fired up!" And then he and his entourage left, en route to an area pool hall, then to Springfield, then to Cincinnati.

"I liked him," said Whaley. "That was exciting."

McLin turned to serious politics for a minute. "I really do not want to see this go to the convention," she said of the Obama-Clinton battle. "So I would really like to see this resolved. The Democratic Party -- it's their race to lose, and if this doesn't get nipped in the bud there could be repercussions in the fall for state legislative races, all kinds of races. We need to have smooth sailing in November."

The purpose of the superdelegates, as envisioned when this system was created in 1982, was to moderate the influence of ideological activists and give party leaders more of a leavening role in the nominating process. But no one quite envisioned a campaign like this one, where the superdelegates have been strong-armed and sweet-talked for months.