Mark Clayton, the Democratic nominee for the U.S. Senate in Tennessee,… (Erik Schelzig/Associated…)
WHITES CREEK, Tenn. — The Democratic nominee for the U.S. Senate in Tennessee has no campaign headquarters, a fundraising drive stuck at $278 and one yard sign. Not one type of yard sign. One sign.
And with the election just days away, he has not actually put that sign in a yard. Instead, it resides inside candidate Mark Clayton’s pickup. “VOTE FOR,” the sign says. The rest is hidden by the seats.
“Jesus did not have a campaign staff. And he had the most successful campaign in human history,” Clayton said recently, when asked if all this adds up to a winning run against incumbent Sen. Bob Corker (R). Jesus “didn’t even have pictures or a Web site.”
This may be America’s worst candidate.
Clayton, 36, is a part-time flooring installer, an indulger in conspiracy theories — and for Democrats here, the living personification of rock bottom. In a state that produced Democratic icons including Andrew Jackson and both Al Gores, the party has fallen so far that it can’t even run a good loser.
Instead, it has this guy. In Tennessee, Clayton’s unlikely run is providing an absurdist coda to a long Democratic disaster. Something like falling down a flight of stairs onto a whoopee cushion.
“It’s pretty sad. I mean, when your nomination is not worth having, that’s embarrassing,” said Will T. Cheek, a Nashville investor who has been a member of the state Democratic Party’s executive committee since 1970. “That would appear to be where we are.”
Every election, of course, is crowded with losers: the sacrificial lambs, the one-issue zealots, the novelty name-changers (Thomas Jefferson, of Kansas, is running for Congress. Santa Claus, of Nevada, is running for president).
But Clayton stands out. Nobody who has the opportunity he has — a major-party nomination for the Senate in a nail-biter election in which every Senate race has outsize importance — has so little chance of taking advantage of it.
In Wyoming, Democratic challenger Tim Chesnut is a long shot; his actual slogan is “Chesnut is the best nut for Senate.” But he at least has his party behind him. In Washington, Republican challenger Michael Baumgartner recently told a reporter to “go [expletive] yourself.” But he at least has raised nearly $1 million.
In Tennessee, Clayton’s policy ideas set him apart from many other Democrats: He is unusual in opposing abortion rights and same-sex marriage, but he’s downright exceptional in saying that the Transportation Security Administration “mandates [transsexuals] and homosexuals grabbing children in their stranger-danger zones.”
He has been a volunteer for Public Advocate of the United States, a Falls Church-based organization that was branded a hate group by the Southern Poverty Law Center for its anti-gay rhetoric.
During Clayton’s failed Senate run in 2008, his Web site suggested that the U.S. government might be replaced with a “North American Union” and that Google was working against him at the behest of the Chinese government.
But his ideas about campaigning itself might be even more unorthodox. Almost everything other candidates do, Clayton said, is wrong.
“There’s other people who have gone out and put signs all over, and gone and talked to people,” he said on the phone. “And they get less votes. They go down.”
He explained that “a lot of people don’t have time to take off work and [from paying] their bills to go and stage a campaign rally to make it look like something’s happening. . . . That’s the news media’s problem” if there aren’t rallies to cover, he said.
“If there are people out here who don’t understand that there’s a different way of doing things, then that’s their problem. We won the primary.”
The son of an activist who lobbied Congress on behalf of Christian schools, Clayton does little campaigning in the physical world. He focuses on his Facebook page (382 “likes”) and Web site.
When a reporter asked about upcoming rallies or public events, Clayton declined to name any. One evening last week, a visit to an address listed for his campaign led to Clayton’s 92-year-old farmhouse outside Nashville.
The one sign was in the truck. The truck was in the driveway. The candidate was coming out to get his mail. Was he confident that he would beat Corker?
“Of course,” Clayton said. He is a youthful-looking Army Reserve veteran and was wearing a plaid flannel shirt and slightly long sideburns. How could he be so sure he’d win?
Clayton turned and walked away. “I don’t know why you’re here,” he said, having reached the porch. “I don’t come to your house.”
A party’s fall
The last time Corker ran for Senate, in 2006, Tennessee Democrats nominated Harold Ford Jr., a centrist congressman and the son of a congressman. Ford came within three percentage points of becoming the first black man elected to the Senate from the South since Reconstruction.
After that, things fell apart.