The millionaire you might like

Corzine laughs. His beard has been the subject of countless snipes and "constructive" suggestions. "I guess it's an old wives' tale that bearded politicians don't win elections," he says; people have suggested that "I'd be well served to face the voters clean shaven." But he's had the beard for 21 years, and it ain't coming off. "That would have been a real indication of me doing what was politic instead of conveying who I really was."

Indeed, Corzine's reluctance to play the game according to the rules has made him an easy target for all sorts of arrows. Though he's clearly quite sharp, his less-than-stellar forensic skills have left him open to charges that his participation in "only" four debates with Florio is because he's scared -- though Florio himself only participated in two primary debates in his 1989 gubernatorial run, and only three with Whitman for the 1993 general election. There was a stink about Corzine hiring private investigators, though some allied with the multimillionaire hint about much worse dirty tricks from Florio's seedier buddies.

TV cameramen complain that he doesn't want to fake hand-shakes for the sake of B-roll; a bad joke he made about an Italian-American and "cement shoes" was held for six months by the Florio campaign and then unleashed on the media, who lapped it up. Corzine apologized immediately; Sen. Bob Torricelli, D-N.J., the power-mad starlet-dating chairman of the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee, immediately stood up for his buddy, the non-bigoted multimillionaire whose campaign the DSCC won't have to help fund. Not to mention one without Florio's tax baggage.

Rep. Bill Pascrell, one of the few Jersey Democrats in Washington endorsing Florio, told the Philadelphia Inquirer that the rush to endorse Corzine was "an embarrassment to our party. When the only reason you're at the point you are is because you have swelled the coffers of some Democratic leaders, that's wrong. If Jon Corzine had one-twentieth of the resources he has, we wouldn't even be talking about him right now."

Corzine doesn't entirely dispute the importance of his wallet, but he shrugs off the larger point. "I can't say that they don't consider" his wealth, he says. "But, on the other hand, if they thought I was a bum candidate, they wouldn't support me. They're not looking to lose the seat; we're within striking distance of winning back the Senate."

Corzine occasionally mentions Lautenberg and Bradley -- also political newcomers with successful careers elsewhere before they became Garden State icons. And he does share with them, particularly with Bradley, a real anti-politics kind of appeal. Combined with the fact that none of his agenda would benefit him -- as opposed to Bush or flat-tax-addict Steve Forbes -- as well as all of the many contradictions inherent in campaign finance reform goals, it seems pretty clear that for Democrats, Jon Corzine should be an immensely attractive candidate. That is, once they stop hating him for being financially beautiful.

Tracking polls have the two neck-and-neck right now; Corzine maybe has a single-point edge. No one is sure what voter turnout will mean -- if it rains, will "bought-off" Democrats not bother? Will Dems who still hold a grudge against Florio come out and pull the lever with their middle fingers?

And what if after all that -- and $35 million -- Corzine loses?

"I'll be very frustrated," he says. "The only reason I'm doing this is to get things done. I would rather have given that [money] to someone else. I'll be very frustrated with my execution ... And I'll sulk for a day or two. Or maybe a week or two." But it won't last, he says. After all, "Life has been very good to me."

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