Franken's campaign recipe: lot of policy, dash of humor

DULUTH, MINN. – U.S. Sen. Al Franken spoke without notes in an unkempt DFL headquarters here, evoking time-tested Democratic themes of universal preschool, robust mental health funding, closing the nation's wage gap and, as he often does on the campaign trail, invoking former U.S. Sen. Paul Wellstone's quote, "We all do better, when we all do better."

Then he switched gears, noting that people often ask him some version of this question: "Is being a senator as much fun as working on 'Saturday Night Live'?" Franken paused dramatically: "And the answer is of course, no. Are you kidding me?"

But, he added, "It's the best job I've ever had."

Now Franken is locked in a nationally important political fight to keep that job, a race that could help determine which party controls the Senate. His opponent is Republican businessman Mike McFadden, a political newcomer who is casting Franken as a too-reliable rubber stamp for President Obama and someone who is disconnected from Minnesota voters.

Franken is defending himself with the same head-down, workmanlike approach that has characterized his time in office.

Winning his first term in 2008 by the narrowest margin in modern U.S. Senate history after a brutally combative race, the former satirist has spent five years playing it safe. His standard event is heavy on policy, in front of a crowd that generally loves him, with a humorous punchline to chase.

On Capitol Hill, the 63-year-old Franken has burrowed unobtrusively into the depths of the Senate, resolute on blending in. Once famed for bombastic and biting sarcasm, Franken has eschewed the spotlight, avoiding divisive bedfellows and the national media.

He has instead tacked his name on safe policy planks, voted reliably Democratic, and quietly championed liberal causes, inspiring national donors to stock a war chest of cash for his re-election campaign.

Vin Weber, a D.C. lobbyist and former Minnesota Republican congressman, said Franken's liberal record could be his weak spot.

"Partisanship is not in vogue right now. Voters are looking at some evidence of independence," said Weber, who, despite helping McFadden, calls Franken a personal friend. To the extent that Franken is vulnerable, Weber said, "that is his vulnerability."

Like many incumbents with a lead in the polls and comfortable job approval ratings, Franken has spent much of the election season pushing away any meaningful engagement with McFadden. Their first one-on-one debate won't take place until Wednesday, when they will square off in Duluth. Two more debates are scheduled for the final two weeks before Election Day.

Franken arrived in Washington in July 2009, delayed seven months by recounts and legal challenges to his narrow win.

Once there, he was eager to shed his celebrity skin and the abrasive humor that helped catapult him onto bestseller lists with books like "Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot." He plunged into his committee assignments: Judiciary, Health and Education, Energy, and Indian Affairs.

The first law he passed established a pilot program to pair disabled veterans with service dogs. He proposed more mental health funding in schools, wrote the energy portion of the farm bill and successfully tucked a measure in the Affordable Care Act that capped administrative and marketing expenditures by health insurers. He spoke out on corporate mergers, privacy rights and began pushing a pet topic that has since captured national attention — net neutrality, which deals with keeping the Internet operating at the same speed for different users.

But Franken also has had to master a new style of communicating.

Where some politicians easily toss off one or two poignant sentences about a topic, Franken often speaks in discursive paragraphs that occasionally lack any sort of artful conclusion. Often they are delivered with a pinched smirk, as if he is tapping the mental brakes to avoid the snark that marked his earlier life. Like his fictional persona of Stuart Smalley, Franken's affinity for engulfing his listeners in policy details sometimes comes across as if he's trying to prove to critics that he is, indeed, smart enough.

At the gathering here in northern Minnesota last month, it took him more than two minutes to explain his health insurance reform measure, which he counts among his proudest achievements.

Asked how he would tackle a second term, Franken cast an ambitiously wide net: "This K-12 part is so crucial and why reauthorization of [No Child Left Behind] or some education bill needs to be done where, I think there is some overlap in agreement. There are obviously very different theories about education and about testing and about assessments and all that stuff, but, man," he said, pausing for breath. "And this all ties into, when I talk about STEM, another thing I really want to work on is energy and renewable energy and energy research. ... Look at natural gas, the natural gas revolution wouldn't have happened without research from the Department of Energy. I feel like we're in a Sputnik moment."

Franken took an unconventional path to political life. Born in New York City and raised in St. Louis Park, he became one of the first writers on "Saturday Night Live" and went on to be a comedian, entertainer and best-selling author. When the Iraq war broke out, he used his radio show to speak out against it and for troops and veterans. He traveled to Iraq with the USO to entertain troops.

Then, after 30 years in New York City, Franken returned to Minnesota in 2005, creating the Midwest Values political action committee to raise cash for DFLers. When he announced his Senate candidacy, he first had to persuade doubters in his party that despite past edgy statements and behavior, he was ready to take on Republican U.S. Sen. Norm Coleman.

"Let me say this. I'm not a perfect person, and I'm not going to pretend to have all the answers," Franken told DFLers at their endorsing convention in the spring of 2008. "But I will tell the truth."

He would go on to beat Coleman by 312 votes out of almost 2.9 million cast.

As a freshman senator, Franken aggressively avoided much of what makes the nation's capital tick — cocktail parties, self-promotion and the media.

He's opened up a little more in his re-election effort but keeps his outsized personality collared. He rarely uses his platform to talk about anything truly divisive, including the current debate on how involved the United States should be in countering Islamic extremists.

"I think he has done better on the safer issues," said Jack Nelson-Pallmeyer, a University of St. Thomas professor who ran against Franken in the 2008 primary. "What I would hope for in the future is that he addresses some of the big issues on the table. ... The militarization of U.S. foreign policy and continued support for wars and war-making is counterproductive ... I don't see Franken able to stand up to that."

In his campaigning, Franken seldom strays into a venue where he might be challenged on his views. He's held no town halls, and his interactions with people are limited. His advisers point out he was at the Minnesota State Fair almost every day. But the line to see Franken snaked around the booth, and fairgoers found themselves quickly hustled to a rapid-fire handshake, a quick photo with the senator and a parting souvenir — a "Franken fan'' consisting of a picture of Franken's head on a stick.

That brand of retail politics isn't Franken's strength anyway. He can be reserved when talking one on one with voters, careful not to ask too many questions. At a recent breakfast in his Capitol Hill office for Minnesotans in town, he went around shaking hands.

"I'm Susan and I'm from Edina," said one woman, sitting on a crowded couch.

"I've heard of that," he said, flatly, before moving to the next person.

Franken's close friend Norm Ornstein, a political scientist and scholar at the American Enterprise Institute, put it this way: "He's been a celebrity for a long time and he doesn't need it. His goals are much more policy-oriented."

For all Franken's awkwardness one on one, his richest political asset may be a self-deprecating and effortless grace he's shown in speeches. At former Minnesota congressman Jim Oberstar's funeral, Franken's description of the longtime House veteran had the entire church — especially Oberstar's immediate family in the front row — at once laughing aloud and wiping their eyes.

"Jim sometimes had a tendency to go on too long, but it was because he believed everyone was as curious about the world as he was," Franken said, in a similar speech on the Senate floor that same day. With a comic's timing he waited a beat, then added, "And he was almost always wrong about that."

At this year's DFL state convention, an ebullient Franken accepted his endorsement by acclamation this time, telling the roaring crowd: "I'm going to make you another promise. I'm going to win again in November. And this time I'll even tell you the margin: By more than last time."

On the Hill, Franken has shown an aptitude for unapologetic cross-examination in hearings and for cutting through spin — skills undoubtedly picked up from years of taking calls on live radio.

At a recent hearing on net neutrality, he grew impatient with the argument that the Internet would be "overregulated" if rules were enacted to ensure against traffic slowdowns.

"I think there is a fundamental misunderstanding here," Franken said, his arms clasped on the committee table. "Net neutrality is not about regulating the Internet. Net neutrality is about preserving the Internet as it is. Innovation hasn't just happened while net neutrality has been in place. It's happened because net neutrality has been in place."

The audience in the packed chamber was rapt. Marvin Ammori, a D.C. lawyer who represents technology companies advocating for net neutrality, whispered, "Al Franken is the net neutrality hero," before filing out of the hearing room.

Franken dislikes labels and says he has learned, from his days as a liberal flamer on Air America to nights on Capitol Hill voting on raising the debt ceiling, that the arc of governing is more complicated than he'd thought.

"There are some issues where I find myself agreeing with Rand Paul," he said, referring to the libertarian Republican from Kentucky.

On Aug. 15, Franken posted a Facebook statement on the shooting of Michael Brown, an unarmed black man, by a white police officer in Ferguson, Mo., saying that "Michael's family and the people of Ferguson deserve more than our condolences. They deserve answers. They deserve justice. And, as they exercise their right to assemble and protest, they deserve far better than the excessive use of force that has only intensified the frustration and anger."

But publicly, Franken said nothing. Nine days later, with Ferguson still at the top of the news and Congress in recess, he launched a statewide workforce development tour. Even tiny northern Minnesota newspapers and television stations didn't bother coming out — something Franken admitted bothered him.

The decision about where and how to make a timely statement about a national story underscores Franken's deftness in crafting two distinct personas — one a reformed baby boomer funnyman, outspoken on the liberal ideas of the day, the other a professorial wonk who can dish on recipes for wild rice porridge, solutions to the Asian carp problem and the virtues of Alexandria Technical Community College.

Asked why he put his statement about Ferguson on Facebook where a national audience would see it but people in, say, Bemidji might not, Franken flared.

"If you give a quote about Ferguson, then that's the only thing that comes out of the day. I'm trying to focus on what I'm doing here," Franken said. "You'll step on your own story."

Allison Sherry • 202-383-6120