Growing Pains in Clark's Campaign

Wesley Clark looked like an experienced politician recently when he stopped in El Dorado, Ark., a small but powerful oil town with lots of green to give to someone gunning for the White House. He talked about the issues facing America and even quipped about the 2000 Florida voting nightmare.

"George W. Bush will need brothers in 49 other states to take this election," he said.

The crowd went ballistic with applause and even a few "Amens." Some said he was a Harry Truman for the 21st century, a fiscal populist who won the crowd with common sense and straight talk. Clark shook hands, kissed babies, and listened intently to people's problems, especially veterans who spewed a litany of complaints about healthcare. Clark clearly connected with the crowd and so did his wife, Gert. Enthusiastic, Clark seems to look at the campaign trail as a way to make thousands of new friends.

With rah-rah cheers and sign waving, Clark looked ready for prime time to the 500 people who showed up at the festival to hear him speak. What the voters in the audience didn't realize was that the Clark campaign, the workings behind the scene, was anything but ready to play politics with the big boys.

Within a few days of that appearance, the Clark campaign faced soap opera style hijinks as Donnie Fowler, campaign manager and former field director for Gore 2000, left amid turmoil brewing in a campaign that has never found its footing. In political circles, the Fowler story bubbled amid spin that this was just a slight bump in a new campaign and gossip that the problems were much deeper than a campaign manager packing his bags and saying adios.

The problem, say some, is the power of Mark Fabiani and Ron Klain, two former Gore 2000 gurus, who often see Clark's campaign from afar in Washington. The pair has suggested Clark open headquarters in Washington, signaling to some that Fabiani and Klain do not want to relocate to Little Rock or give up their client base, which could become a conflict as the campaign rolls along.

But other aspects bubble in a campaign that started with a draft movement and grassroots volunteers and flipped dramatically when Clark announced to the realm of experienced politics. Even before then rifts brewed between two draft movements, both begging for Clark's attention. Now, draft workers are unhappy and jealous. Some thought they would have bigger campaign roles. Others thought they would net large salaries or travel to glamorous campaign stops. That hasn't happened, and it won't. This is real-time politics, not the "West Wing."

Volunteers complain that they don't receive materials or call-backs. Clark's media operation still appears unfocused with more than five spokesmen jockeying for their name in the papers and their mugs on TV screens. Campaign workers want to spew their own personal spin even if it means ignoring the cardinal rule of politics -- stay on message and out of the headlines.

Political geeks who live for such fireworks point to one critical component missing thus far in the Clark campaign -- a political director who can ensure Clark's name shows up on ballots in key states without missing deadlines. Some states require complicated petition signatures, such as a number of signatures from certain counties within states along with high filing fees. Other states require just a filing fee and some simple forms. As one Democratic political consultant said, "You can have a great candidate who the people love, but if his name isn't on the ballot, people can't vote for him."

With such internal chaos, it's easy to forget Clark is a former general turned candidate. Since his three weeks on the trail, Clark has seized politics with Superman strength. He has wooed Hollywood, courting the likes of Steven Spielberg and Clintonites such as Arkansan Mary Steenbergen and her husband Ted Danson.