Connie Katz in the trenches of a nasty race

by Michael J. Mishak

As Connie Katz strides through the dimly lit corridor of the Germantown YWCA, she exhibits the grace of the ballet dancer she once was. All the more remarkable, she exhibits calm under fire after encountering two John Street supporters who hand her a flier that lists 10 reasons to reject her husband for mayor.

Connie Katz is in Germantown.

It's just a stone's throw from the lavish West Mt. Airy manse she shares with her husband and Republican mayoral challenger Sam, but unlike the well-manicured lawns, many punched with “Katz for Mayor” signs, this is Street territory.

On any other day, Connie would be volunteering at her children's schools or running her synagogue's gift shop, but this is an election year. And after 13 years of watching her husband campaign unsuccessfully for political office, she's decided to enter the trenches of a nasty race for the city's highest seat to ensure he wins.

The would-be-mayor's wife is paying a visit to the YWCA not only to court the black vote in a fiercely Democratic community, but also to recruit volunteers to help turn out the vote on Election Day, two areas her husband failed to address in his bid for mayor three and a half years ago.

In fact, Germantown's Democratic machine slaughtered Katz during the last mayoral campaign.

A Katz victory next month will depend on drawing votes from a significant pool of undecided Democrats, many of who reside in predominantly black communities like Germantown.

Katz has worked hard to develop crossover racial appeal, and his wife Connie's visit to the Germantown YWCA is an attempt to appeal to those in Street's traditional black voter base.

Connie arrives with a campaign staffer. After receiving warm greetings from the event's organizers, both members of the "Women for Katz" coalition, Connie decides to wait with the hope that more interested people will follow. They do, but only by about a visibly skeptical dozen, including a Katz campaign worker and her daughter. While interested, many of those present acknowledge that they have shown up out of respect for the local civic leaders.

Sam Katz is a hard sell in Germantown.

Connie's appearance, one of several in a weeklong Get-Out-The-Vote drive, is intended to change that.

"As a businessman, I like Katz," said one man, a last-minute straggler curious about the Republican candidate's gun-court idea. But the black Germantown native, who lives in Mt. Airy and works in Warminster, paused and then flashed a knowing grin. "But coming from Germantown, I'm leaning towards Street." Translation: the man is voting for race.

Even as Street has been identified as a subject of a federal investigation, a WCAU-TV/SurveyUSA poll shows the incumbent leading Katz by 10 points with blacks voting for the mayor seven to one and whites picking Katz four to one.

The distant thunder of an elephant at the city's gates strikes fear into the hearts of many Philadelphia Democrats, a fear that the Democratic City Committee hopes to grow by linking Katz's name with a second term for George W. Bush.

"Sam doesn't intend to run the city as a national Republican," Connie assures the small group of women. "He has strong ties to the Democratic Party." While her husband's Democratic past is well documented, Connie's effort to distance her husband from an unpopular Republican president in a Democratic stronghold is important. Actually, she said, his Republican affiliation could be an asset in appealing to Harrisburg and Washington for resources.

This year's campaign, which Connie refers to as a "campaign of neighborhoods," is markedly different than 1999's, which ultimately failed because it "allowed the vote to sit at home" and largely ignored the city's diverse communities. Team Katz has 15 neighborhood offices scattered throughout the city, Connie says, and they're considering every vote as crucial.

All the meeting, greeting, politicking and endorsements pale in comparison to an organized GOTV campaign, Connie says. Hoping to gather a 10,000-stong "army" of volunteers by November 4, she hands out sign-up sheets for both "pre-game" election activities like distributing campaign literature and posting signs, and Election Day operations like knocking on doors, poll-watching and handing out pamphlets.

Even in predominantly black neighborhoods like Germantown, the Katz campaign says it's developing a small foothold. "We have a sense that there's a movement for Sam in the African-American community at a grassroots level," says Katz campaign co-chairman Carl Singley, who strolls in late and stands in the room's doorway for support. "We're encouraged everywhere we go," he says.

Singley and the protestors, who refused to be identified, engage in a heated point-counterpoint as Connie wraps up the meeting. She has another event to attend in Mt. Airy. A few attendees sign up for election day duties. Worried faces have turned to smiles as the small crowd disperses.

The skeptics may not be Katz converts, but they just may tell their friends about a short radiant white woman who eased their fears of her Republican husband running the city.

A family affair

Even after 13 years of political ambition, Connie says she prefers Sam Katz the candidate to Sam Katz the businessman. Her husband's positions with both Public Financial Management and Greater Philadelphia First required him to travel frequently. But during campaigns, an exhausted Sam Katz always ends up at his West Mt. Airy home after the grueling 18-hour days, Connie says.

"When Sam runs for office, it means he's home," she says.

Politics are a family affair for the Katzes. The couple's four children have weathered their father's decade-plus drive for political office, largely unaffected and even finding humor along the way. "The kids would be with their dad and they're not shy about being introduced, which is why we've been willing to go from one campaign to the next," Connie says. "We have really good memories of all of them."

But good memories are not enough to quench an insatiable thirst for the city's highest office. And Connie Katz, a tireless optimist, is leading her husband to water.

Although visibly weary at 9 a.m. on a Friday morning after a week's worth of campaign events, Connie exudes a remarkable enthusiasm during an hour-plus interview with the Local at the Katz residence. Awaiting the delivery of new beds, she ascends the kitchen stairs to evaluate space on the second floor. An exercise in studied elegance, everything is in its right place. The day's mail sits in a pile on the kitchen table, across from a copy of the Wall Street Journal. Connie later admits that she deliberately avoids the local daily newspapers, rarely watches television and never tunes in to the political ranting of talk radio pundits. "I'm trying to stay positive," she says. "If you don't have a strong constitution, you really do melt. And I'm not ready to test how strong my constitution is."

But notwithstanding the media coverage and criticism, she cannot control how this campaign, a markedly different and nastier affair than 1999's, has affected her husband, her family and the tone of an election in a racially-charged city.

A supposed Molotov cocktail was thrown into her husband's North Philadelphia campaign headquarters in late August. The phone records of a Katz campaign associate were allegedly stolen and distributed to the media, complete with a cover letter that erroneously attempted to link the candidate with the incident. Connie even asserted that a union-head flashed a gun to the couple in mid-September.

In a guarded, carefully measured response, Connie says that the race is heating up faster than in 1999 because an "entrenched" mayor perceives her husband as a legitimate threat. "During the last campaign, I don't think John saw Sam as much of a threat," she says. "But now [Street] probably feels more threatened having had the role for the last few years. It's something he certainly wants to protect … I would imagine he feels pretty threatened by someone who's campaigning on their own behalf and convincing people they can do better."

Her campaign activities are scattered among a life of volunteerism. The former research assistant and school psychologist, 53, quit work and devoted her life to her children. "I didn't think that I would be able to be a working mother very successfully," she says. The couple waited 10 years to have children, Connie says, and were ready for a change after a decade. "It turned out to be great. Someone had to get off the bandwagon and I was happy to do it. I like being really busy and involved."

She has been her husband's "great cheerleader" for more than three decades. Focused on helping Sam Katz weather the remaining days before November 4, Connie says she doesn't spend any time thinking about being the would-be mayor's wife. "I take one day at a time. I don't really know how to plan for this," she says.

She says she's seen her "smart, compassionate" husband touch people during many campaign stops, surprising them with his sense of humor and abilities as a listener. She has also watched his enthusiasm and confidence grow since his last defeat, attributing the renewed zest to professional experience and growth.

Connie says that her husband's perpetual yet unsuccessful quest for office has inspired their children. "This is about going after your dreams as opposed to sitting back and wallowing in them," she says.

And even though their son Phil, a high-school student in 1999, wrote a letter consoling his father after he lost the election by about 9,000 votes, his parents sent him to school the next morning to teach him another one of life's lessons:

"Life goes on, win or lose."