Occasionally, the low turnout leads to the off-script moments campaigns hate. "Has anyone here served in the Army?" Nader asked the Canton audience while discussing Iraq. Not a single hand went up; the teenagers recruited for the event sat there whispering. In New Hampshire, a local crank wearing an old-fashioned military getup barged into Nader's Concord press conference and proceeded to fire a loud volley of questions at the candidate.

Soon thereafter, a lunchtime volunteer meeting at a Thai restaurant down the street yielded just 10 people -- including Nader, a campaign aide, a Democratic candidate for New Hampshire's second congressional district named Roy Morrison, a Washington Post reporter and myself. Aaron Rizzio, Nader's ballot-petition coordinator in New Hampshire, gamely broke the news to Nader that all the volunteers who had shown up were, in fact, gathered around the table. "This is the group," explained Rizzio. "It's a weekday, people are working." Nader took this stoically, and a short discussion of logistics ensued. With only 3,000 signatures needed by August, New Hampshire is a relatively easy state for ballot access.

Presently, the meeting wrapped up and one of the volunteers asked Nader to autograph a book. While major-party candidates are typically asked to sign their hokey ghostwritten autobiographies, in this case the volunteer produced his copy of "The Bathroom Book," a weighty tome from the 1960s consumer-advocacy time capsule warning of things like dangerous toilets.

For all these visible quirks, the Nader campaign in many ways resembles politics as usual. Nader's most underrated skill as a politician is his ability to use catchy sound bites relentlessly -- like his stock response when asked if his supporters are throwing away their votes: "You only waste your vote when you vote for someone you don't believe in." Nader also bats away thorny questions like a pro. One voter in Connecticut asked Nader about news reports that wealthy Bush donors are also giving Nader campaign contributions, in the belief it will help Bush get elected. "I don't know where you're getting that we're taking Republican money," Nader retorted sharply. "I haven't seen any, by the way."

Actually, the Dallas Morning News reported in March that about 10 percent of donations of more than $250 to Nader's campaign come from individuals with a history of contributing to the GOP. These donors remain coy about their motives. Nader chooses not to address the question head-on and instead typically cites a Center for Public Integrity study that says only 3 percent of his total contributions are from Republicans. It is curious that Nader, whose professed aim is to win the election, would advertise his minimal support from a large voting bloc -- especially while claiming Republicans are ever more likely to support his 2004 campaign. Further questions about the nature of Republican funding for Nader seem likely to arise; already Arizona Democrats have claimed a GOP consultant is bankrolling the candidate's petition drive in Arizona.

In short, the Nader campaign, like any other, contains its own inconsistencies. Nader complains the Democrats offer little beyond a critique of the Republicans, but much of his campaign consists of, well, a critique of the major parties. Nader says he wants to "raise the tone" of the campaign, yet he merrily compares Al Gore to "petrified wood." Nader also insists this is only his second presidential campaign. In 1996 and 1992, he says, "I just agreed to let the Greens put me on the ballot."

Recent Stories