Entering the Horserace
Published in Crit
Spring, 2008
There was something quite peculiar about a small boat sailing down the street. The large truck hauling it growled every time the engine fought to tow its large cargo after being stopped in the slow and meandering route. From the vessel, glimmering beads and stickers were thrown in a fury that was punctuated by the occasional t-shirt. At the helm, a young man stood waving as he and the trinkets were the center of attention, while none thought anything of a boat coursing down the boulevard.
On the side of the boat was a large banner in the colors of the Cajun flag that read “Stephen Ortego for State Representative.”
It was a few months prior to this parade that I was told that Stephen was running for office. It was in studio— around the hour in which fact and fiction are blurred and sleep is one’s sole priority. He came into the room and on his way through he stopped at my desk. The detour was quick and nonchalantly he said, “Guess what, I’m running for office.” He ended with a slight laugh, as if he wasn’t sure whether I took him seriously or not. I looked at him, blinked and dismissed him.
“How could Stephen be serious?” I thought to myself, as he would only be months out of architecture school when the election took place—especially in a state where transparency in government was as clear as a thick Louisiana morning fog.
The informal announcement of his candidacy was certainly no small ordeal. He had borrowed a small boat normally used for research in the oil business. This was the 39th District of Louisiana—the heart of Cajun country where French is often found alongside English and the Creole tongue. Along with sugar, oil reigns among the biggest industries in town so one shouldn’t find it too strange that an oil boat-cum-Mardi Gras float is rolling down the street. At this time of year, every strange occurrence usually had a Carnival related explanation.
This was post-Katrina, post-Rita, Louisiana. The sitting incumbent had reached the end of her term and things were not well in the region. The economy was in decline and poverty was high. A third in the region were considered illiterate. Worse, the effect of the 2005 hurricanes accelerated a troubling loss of wetlands—a vital source of oil and gas, an important ecosystem and the barrier for strong storms to the state. Running against Ortego were City Councilman Bobby Badon, Raymond “La La” Lalonde, a former State Representative, and former mayor and businessman Tommy Angelle. While Ortego had heart, he was clearly the underdog.
Being both a newcomer to politics as well as half the age of the other candidates, Ortego had unique problems. Often, it took much more energy to raise the same dollars for the Ortego campaign. At one point, a political consultant from Washington began aiding the Ortego campaign and started by literally changing how he looked in public.
In studio, one could see aspects of these changes—his campaign “self” trying to reconcile itself with him trying to be, look, and like his collegiate self; he was living a double life. His haircut slowly became more conservative, more mature, while his face showed the signs of an exhausting campaign. His clothes, however, were youthful with modern cuts unlike the navy blue blazers and red ties from the campaign trail.
The truth was just as contradictory; people both trusted and distrusted Ortego for his youth. While inexperienced, he represented the generation that was leaving the region as part of a larger brain drain and yet, he wanted to change that from within.
“It was time for a change and they didn’t represent that.”
During the campaign, the public and news agencies began thinking of Ortego as the architect candidate—not as a matter of license or practice but as a designation for a positive campaigner; he was one who wanted constructive change and one whose ideas were from the outside rather than from established political relationships. It gave him credibility and professionalism. In some way, his work toward a Master of Architecture set him apart and the media grasped onto that notion. They credentialed him with the romantic image of being an architect, as the builder and planner, without him ever asking for the designation.
His campaign was uniquely fresh in context. His Blueprint, a branded political platform, focused on developing a sustainable future with investment toward the economic and social engines of the region. To further his campaign, advisers sent photographers with him to ethanol refineries and sugar fields with hard hat in hand. It was an image that was wanted in the post-hurricane Louisiana; it was an image that was easily sold. “People in Louisiana treat politics like a sport,” Ortego told me. “It’s a horse race and people want to put money on the lead horse.”
Money came in waves, with each wave bigger than the last, following the growth of momentum. More than the television ads or street signs, the campaign was growing by word of mouth. Just one month before the election, the campaign held a fund raiser that brought Zachary Richard, the famed Cajun/Zydeco. It was a grassroots event and yet, it brought a full-house, running the gamut of local Louisiana politicos. “My consultant walked in with his wife,” Ortego recalled jokingly, “and everyone thought he was (New Orleans mayor) Ray Nagin because there were so many people active in the politics of the state. Everyone thought he had to be the mayor. “
The event had done its job. So close to the election, it was successful at giving the campaign its final push to the end. “The atmosphere was pumped up after my speech. It was easy after I had told my story, my motivation. It was what we needed.”
It seemed that energy was high on Election Day with volunteers scattered on every curb and corner including the incumbent Clara Baudion waving signs and cheering passersby to vote. The election seemed close and the energy was tense. It was known that there would be a close race for second and the Ortego camp needed at least second to make it into a runoff race.
As the polls closed, scouts for each candidate were located at the precincts, ready to phone the posted results to awaiting ears at the various campaign headquarters. For the Ortego campaign, the workers and family waited indoors around a phone while guests and friends celebrated and rejoiced to a party on the lawn. While a small projector and improvised screen kept attendees clued to the night’s goings-on, the small crew huddled around a phone waited anxiously.
Then the phone rang.
Moments before, a volunteer armed with a flashlight and mobile phone read the first results to the headquarters. From down the street, the results from the largest polling place favored Ortego. Optimism and hope filled the room and the moment was high. Ortego recalled “the person recording the results at the campaign headquarters had a breakdown and couldn’t type or write the results down. Someone else had to take over while he freaked out in the corner.”
But as the night wore on, the margin shrank and Stephen loss his lead. In fact, he was running a close third. While there was a slight chance he could edge second by the close of the night, he was not able to gain enough votes over the other candidates. The elation turned to solemn. People were quiet.
The mood outside in the party was different. Media outlets from around the region were waiting for reports from the Secretary of State’s office in Baton Rouge. The polls were showing that Ortego was still ahead, yet the tone inside the house was different. It was more somber, quiet.
“As people walked out, people were nearly congratulating me when I knew I had lost.”
But as the night drew to a close, the numbers from the capital began to reflect those from the precincts. The news agencies began revising their predictions and the mood at the Ortego camp began to turn downward. Indeed the race was over. In the end, Ortego missed a runoff by just 2%. A few hundred votes decided his fate. Elsewhere in the district, cheers erupted in the Badon and Lalonde events.
Yet, many had wished the underdog had won. “Every day I run into people who wanted me to win and I tell them we’ll see what happens in a couple of years.” Looking back, the campaign was as successful as it could have been. In reflecting upon the election, Ortego thought, “When you do a race like that, you think of 1001 things you should have done differently. One little thing could have changed everything but it’s in the past and you look toward the next race.”
His grassroots election made waves. Now, months after the race, Ortego returned to a normal life as he works to complete his IDP hours in a fairly traditional manner of practice. But occasionally his phone rings and, in a State where closed-door politics thrives to find the next back room dealer, Louisianan politicos continue to pursue him—a young man from a small town who decided to run and challenged the establishment.