Over and Out: Primary Losers
September 12th, 2008
Tuesday was a good night for several candidates, but not for others. City Hall checked in with some of the losers--Martin Connor, Kendall Stewart, Simcha Felder, Kevin Powell and Paul Newell--for dispatches from the parties.
Railing Against Squadron Until the End, Connor Concedes Loss Most Supporters Saw Coming
When Brooklyn Borough President Marty Markowitz pulled up in his SUV, the puff in his cheeks and the water in his eyes as he shook hands said it all.
Martin Connor’s campaign picked a noisy bar on the edge of Alphabet City convenient to the different parts of the district for the primary night party. But no one thought to check if the televisions inside got New York 1. So while some supporters sat inside drinking, State Sens. Jeff Klein and Diane Savino and Democratic Senate strategist Doug Forand paced up and down the block, checking Blackberries, sending text messages, making phone calls, smoking cigarettes.
They got some results for the Connor race, amid all the other news coming in from elsewhere around the city and state, though nothing conclusive.
But Markowitz knew. Then they all knew.
Inside, over the music, a group of people sang happy birthday. Outside, apart from the cheers coming out of the sports bar across the street, the procession of politicians grew more and more somber.
Anyone who has been to a shiva would recognize the scene.
Though there were some discarded flyers on the sidewalk up the street from both campaigns and a Daniel Squadron sign stapled around a lamppost a block away, most of the people walking down Houston Street had no idea who the politicians were, or what was upsetting them.
One took a guess.
“Palin’s just a distraction,” one man said, turning around as he walked. “Don’t worry, we’re going to win.”
Connor’s staff began to appear. Some grumbled about Connor’s campaign—complaints about how lightly he approached the challenge at first, how terrible the campaign operation was. Though they never would have admitted it an hour or two before, some in the crowd began to say they knew this was coming for weeks.
Connor materialized up the block with his wife. He never called Squadron to concede, but from the hugs he gave Markowitz and State Sen. Tom Duane, he left little question that he knew the race was done.
He called everyone into the bar. Finally, the banging overhead music was turned off, and the bar cleared of people not associated with the campaign.
“I guess I’m supposed to say something,” Connor said. “As part of my philosophy, I didn’t prepare for this.” He thanked all his supporters, painting himself as the underdog in the race who never got a fair break, and did little to reach out to or congratulate Squadron.
The speech, which began quietly, reached a crescendo as Connor gathered emotion. Thanking Public Advocate Betsy Gotbaum and Comptroller Bill Thompson, he jabbed his finger in the air and yelled, thanking “the top two Democrats in New York City,” a reference to Mayor Michael Bloomberg’s (Ind.) endorsement of Squadron. “The reality of this election is that it was tough, a lot of money was spent on the other side, the campaigning started nearly a year ago and I kept doing my job in Albany,” Connor continued. “The fact of the matter is, whoever thought they could take on Mike Bloomberg and Chuck Schumer and only lose by eight and a half percent? No one else ever did that. Not one of them at a time.”
The pool game at the back of the bar continued as Connor blamed the results on a changing district.
“As I walked through those projects, walked through Chinatown, and people came up and hugged me and knew me, I thought, ‘These are the people I’ve served for 30 years,’” he said. “Didn’t get the same reception from the gentry who moved in three or four years ago. They have a different way of seeing the world.”
He thanked especially his wife Christine, with whom he campaigned the day before at the St. George subway station. A few days earlier, he said, she had noted that she had never known him as anything but a state senator—their first conversation was at the St. George subway station 30 years ago, where she had joined him to campaign in his special election campaign.
Later, with a line of people in tears waiting to wish him well, he dismissed the idea that he would run again.
“That’s really hard to imagine,” he said. “Why would I do that? I haven’t had a day of vacation in years.”
—Edward-Isaac Dovere
Next to Dessert Case, Newell Explains Failing to Give Silver Just Desserts
At a restaurant in Little Italy with pictures of Frank Sinatra and Robert De Niro hanging on the walls, the somewhat out-of-place-looking Paul Newell announced to an eclectic group of supporters late Tuesday night that he failed in his long-shot bid to take down Albany fixture Assembly Speaker Sheldon Silver.
After several pleasantries about how his campaign won a moral victory of sorts by making Silver face a primary challenger for the first time in 20 years in the state’s 64th district, Newell thanked campaign manager Evan Hutchinson at Vincent’s Restaurant on Mott Street.
“He took me from a campaign literally run from under my bed to being endorsed by the New York Times,” Newell said as he stood next to the circulating dessert case.
Until May, when he moved into a rented office, Newell did in fact run his campaign from a desk underneath his loft bed in a crowded Chinatown apartment he shared with three roommates. Since then, he gained the endorsement of the Times, Daily News and the Post. But in the end, they earned him just 23 percent of the vote. Luke Henry, the third challenger, got just 9 percent.
Newell acknowledged his father for making the first donation to his campaign. Roger Newell and his wife gave the maximum contribution of $3,800 each.
“I thought he was crazy when he told me what he wanted to do,” Roger Newell said, before standing up to lead a rendition of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” in his son’s honor.
—Matt Townsend
Stewart Bows Out, Unbowed by Loss
“I have a lot of baggage, brothers and sisters,” City Council Member Kendall Stewart said shortly after taking the microphone to address the 40 people sitting quietly at his Café Omar, the restaurant he owns in Flatbush.
The St. Vincent native and former podiatrist received a paltry 13 percent of the votes for State Senate, compared to the incumbent Kevin Parker’s 47 percent and fellow Council Member Simcha Felder’s 41 percent.
“I am not going to tell you I am happy,” Stewart said. “But I am not ashamed. We ran a clean campaign.”
There were things his opposition did that he could not even tell the audience, he said, and then proceeded to list a few, including that his opposition had been accusing him of taking city money to build a mansion in the Caribbean.
“I wish that was true,” Stewart said.
Stewart got outspent 10-1 and 5-1, respectively. He said he did not receive more contributions because of negative publicity—a reference to the indictment and arrest of two of his former aides for embezzling funds from a nonprofit program that was supposed to tutor public school children.
“Why the long faces?” said Mike Roberts, Stewart’s campaign manager, as he moved through the dejected crowd. “You win some and you lose some.”
The restaurant was one-fifth full with supporters, the majority with thick Caribbean accents, wearing white T-shirts with a picture of a stern-looking Stewart at a lectern in front of an American flag.
While Parker had the support of the Democratic establishment and Felder received a strong endorsement from Mayor Michael Bloomberg, Stewart received virtually no endorsements, as the swirl of controversy hung like a weight around his neck for the campaign.
Stewart pledged to keep working on behalf of the community in the time he has left in the City Council, but didn’t address what he would do after that time.
“It’s not a political defeat. It’s the beginning of an understanding,” said Robert Joseph, Jr., a friend who grew up with Stewart. “In the ocean of oceans that New York City is, one man from a small island made his mark.”
Stewart finished his remarks, defiant until the end.
“Just remember,” he said, “I’m not sad.”
—Joshua Cinelli
Vowing to Run Again, Powell Calls Campaign a Testament to Power of Youth
The air inside Fort Greene’s Five Spot Soul Food Restaurant smelled of macaroni and cheese and fried chicken. A handful of supporters of Congressional candidate Kevin Powell milled around, chatting nervously and drinking brightly colored cocktails from tall, thin glasses. Every so often, they would squint up at the television, trying to read the primary results scrolling across the bottom of the screen.
“Have you spoken to anyone who has a sense of which way it’s going to go?” a woman in a Powell T-shirt said into her phone.
Under the glow of red and orange frosted lights, supporters of the Real World star turned hip-hop journalist debated their candidate’s chances of unseating 13-term incumbent Rep. Edolphus Towns. Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition” began wailing on the sound system as the tension in the restaurant mounted.
“There’s been a lot of change,” the woman on the phone said. “There are different kinds of people in the neighborhood, and those kind of people vote for Kevin.”
Sitting at the bar, Cobble Hill resident Steve Abel spoke about volunteering to hand out literature at polling stations in Bed-Stuy earlier in the day. He liked Powell’s authenticity, he said, but realized there was a slim chance for victory.
“Sometimes it takes a couple times before you get all the elements right,” he said sagely.
At 9:43, the results had Towns at 59 percent and Powell at 40.
“Damn that’s close!” someone shouted from the end of the bar.
At 9:46, Towns was up by 30 points. Phones lit up across the restaurant as distressed faces fell into hands and smiles turned to frowns.
At 10:17, NY1 called the race for Towns. The Fugees’ “Killing Me Softly” playing in the restaurant seemed to accentuate the defeat.
Powell’s entourage began to arrive, exchanging hugs and defiant handshakes with the supporters in the restaurant. One young man in a dark suit and bow tie, when asked how he was doing, summed up the general mood.
“Chillin’, man,” he said, smiling. “Disappointed, but—eh, shit happens.”
About 30 minutes later, Powell arrived to warm applause. His speech was bold and unfettered, never betraying any disappointment. This is not a defeat, he said, echoing concession speeches across the city that night.
“This is a victory, because we got to the finish line,” he said.
His speech touched on the need to transcend racism, in both the white and black communities, about how incumbents need to be shaken out of their stupors every now and then, about how young people are poised to change the nation in November.
Powell cast himself and his supporters as a David in the fight against Goliath and compared his campaign to the campaigns of Robert F. Kennedy, Shirley Chisholm and Barack Obama.
“There’s no way I’m ever gonna shut my mouth,” he said. “That’s why I’m running for Congress again in 2010.”
—Andrew J. Hawkins
Felder Jokes About Loss, Looks Seriously at Future Campaigns
Hopes ran high at 9:30 p.m. as volunteers from the Simcha Felder campaign streamed into the Palace Grill on Avenue J in Midwood. Picking from a spread of fried chicken, onion rings, egg rolls, sushi and salad, bleary-eyed workers in yellow Felder T-shirts told of the promising response they had received on the streets of the 21st Senatorial district.
“A lot of people were very welcoming and accepted what we had to say,” said Patricia Clark, a field captain for one of Felder’s street teams.
Bruce Rudolph, a poll watcher for the campaign, reported encouraging numbers from his polling place: roughly 200 for Felder, 40 for incumbent State Sen. Kevin Parker and single digits for fellow challenger Council Member Kendall Stewart.
By 10:30 p.m., though, the sound of clicking Blackberrys reached critical mass and the news of Parker’s decisive victory spread throughout the room.
While long faces and several tears marked the news of Felder’s defeat, the one cheerful presence in the room was that of the candidate himself. As Felder arrived, he shook nearly every hand between the door and the podium, smiling and joking with distraught volunteers.
In a short concession speech, characteristically punctuated with several jokes, Felder thanked God along with a slew of campaign workers.
“You went out to do the work despite the fact that you knew me, which is a great accomplishment,” Felder joked.
At one point in the speech, his cell phone rang. “I think that’s Senator Parker calling to concede. I can’t talk to him right now,” he said.
Felder, who is up against term limits next year and had mulled a bid for comptroller, indicated he would be running for another elected office soon, warning staffers not to steal the furniture from campaign headquarters. But he would not say which office it would be.
Several campaign volunteers speculated that Brooklyn Borough President would be a good fit for Felder, due to the diverse turnout that the campaign generated, as well as the fundraising advantages that come with the office.
When the subject of term limits was raised, Felder declined to comment specifically, but welcomed the debate.
“It should be something that the mayor and the Council look into together,” Felder said.
—David Giambusso
Railing Against Squadron Until the End, Connor Concedes Loss Most Supporters Saw Coming
When Brooklyn Borough President Marty Markowitz pulled up in his SUV, the puff in his cheeks and the water in his eyes as he shook hands said it all.
Martin Connor’s campaign picked a noisy bar on the edge of Alphabet City convenient to the different parts of the district for the primary night party. But no one thought to check if the televisions inside got New York 1. So while some supporters sat inside drinking, State Sens. Jeff Klein and Diane Savino and Democratic Senate strategist Doug Forand paced up and down the block, checking Blackberries, sending text messages, making phone calls, smoking cigarettes.
They got some results for the Connor race, amid all the other news coming in from elsewhere around the city and state, though nothing conclusive.
But Markowitz knew. Then they all knew.
Inside, over the music, a group of people sang happy birthday. Outside, apart from the cheers coming out of the sports bar across the street, the procession of politicians grew more and more somber.
Anyone who has been to a shiva would recognize the scene.
Though there were some discarded flyers on the sidewalk up the street from both campaigns and a Daniel Squadron sign stapled around a lamppost a block away, most of the people walking down Houston Street had no idea who the politicians were, or what was upsetting them.
One took a guess.
“Palin’s just a distraction,” one man said, turning around as he walked. “Don’t worry, we’re going to win.”
Connor’s staff began to appear. Some grumbled about Connor’s campaign—complaints about how lightly he approached the challenge at first, how terrible the campaign operation was. Though they never would have admitted it an hour or two before, some in the crowd began to say they knew this was coming for weeks.
Connor materialized up the block with his wife. He never called Squadron to concede, but from the hugs he gave Markowitz and State Sen. Tom Duane, he left little question that he knew the race was done.
He called everyone into the bar. Finally, the banging overhead music was turned off, and the bar cleared of people not associated with the campaign.
“I guess I’m supposed to say something,” Connor said. “As part of my philosophy, I didn’t prepare for this.” He thanked all his supporters, painting himself as the underdog in the race who never got a fair break, and did little to reach out to or congratulate Squadron.
The speech, which began quietly, reached a crescendo as Connor gathered emotion. Thanking Public Advocate Betsy Gotbaum and Comptroller Bill Thompson, he jabbed his finger in the air and yelled, thanking “the top two Democrats in New York City,” a reference to Mayor Michael Bloomberg’s (Ind.) endorsement of Squadron. “The reality of this election is that it was tough, a lot of money was spent on the other side, the campaigning started nearly a year ago and I kept doing my job in Albany,” Connor continued. “The fact of the matter is, whoever thought they could take on Mike Bloomberg and Chuck Schumer and only lose by eight and a half percent? No one else ever did that. Not one of them at a time.”
The pool game at the back of the bar continued as Connor blamed the results on a changing district.
“As I walked through those projects, walked through Chinatown, and people came up and hugged me and knew me, I thought, ‘These are the people I’ve served for 30 years,’” he said. “Didn’t get the same reception from the gentry who moved in three or four years ago. They have a different way of seeing the world.”
He thanked especially his wife Christine, with whom he campaigned the day before at the St. George subway station. A few days earlier, he said, she had noted that she had never known him as anything but a state senator—their first conversation was at the St. George subway station 30 years ago, where she had joined him to campaign in his special election campaign.
Later, with a line of people in tears waiting to wish him well, he dismissed the idea that he would run again.
“That’s really hard to imagine,” he said. “Why would I do that? I haven’t had a day of vacation in years.”
—Edward-Isaac Dovere
Next to Dessert Case, Newell Explains Failing to Give Silver Just Desserts
At a restaurant in Little Italy with pictures of Frank Sinatra and Robert De Niro hanging on the walls, the somewhat out-of-place-looking Paul Newell announced to an eclectic group of supporters late Tuesday night that he failed in his long-shot bid to take down Albany fixture Assembly Speaker Sheldon Silver.
After several pleasantries about how his campaign won a moral victory of sorts by making Silver face a primary challenger for the first time in 20 years in the state’s 64th district, Newell thanked campaign manager Evan Hutchinson at Vincent’s Restaurant on Mott Street.
“He took me from a campaign literally run from under my bed to being endorsed by the New York Times,” Newell said as he stood next to the circulating dessert case.
Until May, when he moved into a rented office, Newell did in fact run his campaign from a desk underneath his loft bed in a crowded Chinatown apartment he shared with three roommates. Since then, he gained the endorsement of the Times, Daily News and the Post. But in the end, they earned him just 23 percent of the vote. Luke Henry, the third challenger, got just 9 percent.
Newell acknowledged his father for making the first donation to his campaign. Roger Newell and his wife gave the maximum contribution of $3,800 each.
“I thought he was crazy when he told me what he wanted to do,” Roger Newell said, before standing up to lead a rendition of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” in his son’s honor.
—Matt Townsend
Stewart Bows Out, Unbowed by Loss
“I have a lot of baggage, brothers and sisters,” City Council Member Kendall Stewart said shortly after taking the microphone to address the 40 people sitting quietly at his Café Omar, the restaurant he owns in Flatbush.
The St. Vincent native and former podiatrist received a paltry 13 percent of the votes for State Senate, compared to the incumbent Kevin Parker’s 47 percent and fellow Council Member Simcha Felder’s 41 percent.
“I am not going to tell you I am happy,” Stewart said. “But I am not ashamed. We ran a clean campaign.”
There were things his opposition did that he could not even tell the audience, he said, and then proceeded to list a few, including that his opposition had been accusing him of taking city money to build a mansion in the Caribbean.
“I wish that was true,” Stewart said.
Stewart got outspent 10-1 and 5-1, respectively. He said he did not receive more contributions because of negative publicity—a reference to the indictment and arrest of two of his former aides for embezzling funds from a nonprofit program that was supposed to tutor public school children.
“Why the long faces?” said Mike Roberts, Stewart’s campaign manager, as he moved through the dejected crowd. “You win some and you lose some.”
The restaurant was one-fifth full with supporters, the majority with thick Caribbean accents, wearing white T-shirts with a picture of a stern-looking Stewart at a lectern in front of an American flag.
While Parker had the support of the Democratic establishment and Felder received a strong endorsement from Mayor Michael Bloomberg, Stewart received virtually no endorsements, as the swirl of controversy hung like a weight around his neck for the campaign.
Stewart pledged to keep working on behalf of the community in the time he has left in the City Council, but didn’t address what he would do after that time.
“It’s not a political defeat. It’s the beginning of an understanding,” said Robert Joseph, Jr., a friend who grew up with Stewart. “In the ocean of oceans that New York City is, one man from a small island made his mark.”
Stewart finished his remarks, defiant until the end.
“Just remember,” he said, “I’m not sad.”
—Joshua Cinelli
Vowing to Run Again, Powell Calls Campaign a Testament to Power of Youth
The air inside Fort Greene’s Five Spot Soul Food Restaurant smelled of macaroni and cheese and fried chicken. A handful of supporters of Congressional candidate Kevin Powell milled around, chatting nervously and drinking brightly colored cocktails from tall, thin glasses. Every so often, they would squint up at the television, trying to read the primary results scrolling across the bottom of the screen.
“Have you spoken to anyone who has a sense of which way it’s going to go?” a woman in a Powell T-shirt said into her phone.
Under the glow of red and orange frosted lights, supporters of the Real World star turned hip-hop journalist debated their candidate’s chances of unseating 13-term incumbent Rep. Edolphus Towns. Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition” began wailing on the sound system as the tension in the restaurant mounted.
“There’s been a lot of change,” the woman on the phone said. “There are different kinds of people in the neighborhood, and those kind of people vote for Kevin.”
Sitting at the bar, Cobble Hill resident Steve Abel spoke about volunteering to hand out literature at polling stations in Bed-Stuy earlier in the day. He liked Powell’s authenticity, he said, but realized there was a slim chance for victory.
“Sometimes it takes a couple times before you get all the elements right,” he said sagely.
At 9:43, the results had Towns at 59 percent and Powell at 40.
“Damn that’s close!” someone shouted from the end of the bar.
At 9:46, Towns was up by 30 points. Phones lit up across the restaurant as distressed faces fell into hands and smiles turned to frowns.
At 10:17, NY1 called the race for Towns. The Fugees’ “Killing Me Softly” playing in the restaurant seemed to accentuate the defeat.
Powell’s entourage began to arrive, exchanging hugs and defiant handshakes with the supporters in the restaurant. One young man in a dark suit and bow tie, when asked how he was doing, summed up the general mood.
“Chillin’, man,” he said, smiling. “Disappointed, but—eh, shit happens.”
About 30 minutes later, Powell arrived to warm applause. His speech was bold and unfettered, never betraying any disappointment. This is not a defeat, he said, echoing concession speeches across the city that night.
“This is a victory, because we got to the finish line,” he said.
His speech touched on the need to transcend racism, in both the white and black communities, about how incumbents need to be shaken out of their stupors every now and then, about how young people are poised to change the nation in November.
Powell cast himself and his supporters as a David in the fight against Goliath and compared his campaign to the campaigns of Robert F. Kennedy, Shirley Chisholm and Barack Obama.
“There’s no way I’m ever gonna shut my mouth,” he said. “That’s why I’m running for Congress again in 2010.”
—Andrew J. Hawkins
Felder Jokes About Loss, Looks Seriously at Future Campaigns
Hopes ran high at 9:30 p.m. as volunteers from the Simcha Felder campaign streamed into the Palace Grill on Avenue J in Midwood. Picking from a spread of fried chicken, onion rings, egg rolls, sushi and salad, bleary-eyed workers in yellow Felder T-shirts told of the promising response they had received on the streets of the 21st Senatorial district.
“A lot of people were very welcoming and accepted what we had to say,” said Patricia Clark, a field captain for one of Felder’s street teams.
Bruce Rudolph, a poll watcher for the campaign, reported encouraging numbers from his polling place: roughly 200 for Felder, 40 for incumbent State Sen. Kevin Parker and single digits for fellow challenger Council Member Kendall Stewart.
By 10:30 p.m., though, the sound of clicking Blackberrys reached critical mass and the news of Parker’s decisive victory spread throughout the room.
While long faces and several tears marked the news of Felder’s defeat, the one cheerful presence in the room was that of the candidate himself. As Felder arrived, he shook nearly every hand between the door and the podium, smiling and joking with distraught volunteers.
In a short concession speech, characteristically punctuated with several jokes, Felder thanked God along with a slew of campaign workers.
“You went out to do the work despite the fact that you knew me, which is a great accomplishment,” Felder joked.
At one point in the speech, his cell phone rang. “I think that’s Senator Parker calling to concede. I can’t talk to him right now,” he said.
Felder, who is up against term limits next year and had mulled a bid for comptroller, indicated he would be running for another elected office soon, warning staffers not to steal the furniture from campaign headquarters. But he would not say which office it would be.
Several campaign volunteers speculated that Brooklyn Borough President would be a good fit for Felder, due to the diverse turnout that the campaign generated, as well as the fundraising advantages that come with the office.
When the subject of term limits was raised, Felder declined to comment specifically, but welcomed the debate.
“It should be something that the mayor and the Council look into together,” Felder said.
—David Giambusso
