Dornan: A Master of Direct Mail : Fund Raising: The Garden Grove Republican collected nearly $1.4 million in 21 months with a sophisticated approach.

Every three weeks, Rep. Robert K. Dornan posts a long letter to 25,000 of his conservative soulmates, many of them elderly and most hundreds of miles removed from his Orange County congressional district.

One letter begins with a folksy anecdote about the birth of a grandchild, another with a strident call to arms over the latest liberal assault on traditional values. All the letters end the same way--with an urgent appeal for money.

“There are so many battles yet to be fought,” Dornan writes. “The liberals are licking their chops.”

If anyone is salivating, it should be Dornan. In the 21-month period ending Sept. 30, the Garden Grove Republican raised nearly $1.4 million, largely in contributions of $25 and $35, with one of the most sophisticated direct-mail money machines ever seen on Capitol Hill. In the 1988 election cycle, Dornan raised more money--$1.7 million--than anyone else in the House. Nearly two-thirds of his contributions come from outside California.

Like Sen. Jesse Helms (R-N.C.) on the right and Rep. Stephen J. Solarz (D-N.Y.) on the left, Dornan is one of a handful of lawmakers who has gone national, teaming up with direct-mail professionals to parlay his causes, rhetoric and media savvy into bankable assets.

It is not a game everyone can play. “I think Dornan has distinguished himself by virtue of extremism,” said Hal Malchow, whose Washington-based Malchow & Co. raises money for a host of prominent Democrats. “The people who tend to respond to direct mail tend to be those who are the most conservative and the most liberal of the party donors.”

Dornan and his supporters say his direct-mail operation frees him from the influence of special interests, particularly the big-spending political action committees that pay the bills in most House campaigns.

Some see danger signs: Dornan’s money machine tends to dissuade potential challengers from taking on the conservative firebrand. It raises questions about his ability to adequately represent hometown interests as he courts a national constituency. It also requires the services of professional direct-mail operatives, some of whom have drawn criticism for exploiting elderly contributors with emotional and unrelenting appeals for cash.

For Dornan, the biggest drawback is the crushing expense of raising money through the mail.

Dornan spends little on actual campaigning. He has not faced a tough race since he first won his Orange County seat in 1984. This year, his Democratic opponent withdrew before the primary, although her name remains on the ballot. The lion’s share of the contributions Dornan receives is used to keep his fund-raising machine humming.

Between Jan. 1, 1989, and Sept. 30, 1990, Dornan’s two active campaign committees spent $945,215--68% of the contributions they received--on direct-mail solicitations. That makes Dornan far and away the heaviest spender on direct mail in the House of Representatives. As of Sept. 30, he had only $209,600 in the bank.

“It shocks some people . . . the cost,” says Robin Dornan, a professional fund-raiser whose Orange County consulting firm works on her father’s campaign account. “But it does give a little guy in Des Moines, Iowa, a chance to send money and become part of the big picture.”

A former fund-raiser for the Heritage Foundation, Robin Dornan has acted as her father’s chief fund-raising consultant and campaign manager in recent years. Since Jan. 1, 1989, Dornan’s two active campaign committees have paid Robin Dornan’s consulting firm a total of $50,512 in fees and expenses. Another daughter, Terry Dornan, was paid $14,407 during the same period for answering contributors’ mail.

Because of the price of postage, printing and professional consultants, direct-mail fund raising is “a continuous Catch-22 situation,” said USC Prof. Herbert E. Alexander, director of Citizens Research Foundation, which studies campaign finance issues. “The more money you need, the more you have to invest in order to raise it.”

Nevertheless, Dornan said, direct mail is his choice for reasons that are personal and professional. For one thing, he said, it suits his personality.

Telephoning potential “heavy-hitter” donors to ask for large contributions is “just so uncomfortable for me,” said the 57-year-old congressman, who is generally considered one of the more gregarious members of the House.

“You’re asking someone to give you a big chunk of change . . . and hope that they’re not going to call you . . . and yell at you: ‘Gee, I helped you and now you’re going the opposite way,’ ” he said.

Dornan has more pragmatic reasons to use the mails to raise money. Political action committees, which last year contributed more than $2.6 million to California congressmen, have not been overly generous to the Orange County conservative in recent years. Another plus is that the specter of a well-oiled direct-mail machine can be used to derail potential challengers.

“I think we scared off (Ron) Kovic,” said Robin Dornan, referring to the disabled Vietnam veteran and anti-war activist whose life was the subject of the 1989 film, “Born on the Fourth of July.” Early this year, Kovic publicly flirted with a run against Dornan, but he backed out.

Finally, a sophisticated direct-mail operation, with lists of tens of thousands of proven conservative supporters across the state and nation, becomes a source of power and influence in itself.

“If you’re on a (congressional) committee and you need some help, it’s nice to know that you can send a letter to 10,000 or 20,000 people who would generate several thousand handwritten postcards . . . to their congressmen,” said David A. Kunko, chairman and co-owner of Response Dynamics Inc., which serves as Dornan’s fund-raiser. “We haven’t done that with Dornan yet . . . (but) it’s there.”

Regardless of the side benefits, Dornan argues that financing a campaign with contributions from an army of small givers is inherently more democratic than relying on a cadre of wealthy fat cats willing to pay $1,000 a plate for a chicken dinner and personal access to a candidate.

Many political analysts agree that successful national direct-mail operations can afford lawmakers unusual independence. Others have misgivings.

“We are finding that for incumbent members of Congress, their financial base is getting more and more separated from their constituency base, and that is potentially very worrisome,” said Fred Wertheimer, president of Common Cause.

In all likelihood, Dornan would never have made it to Congress without direct mail. In 1976, when he was contemplating a run in Los Angeles County’s former 27th congressional district, Dornan knew he had to raise money quickly if he hoped to win a tough primary fight.

He flew to Washington to meet the godfather of conservative direct mail, Richard A. Viguerie. At first, Viguerie turned him down, but Dornan brought him around.

Dornan won the primary and was elected three times in the 27th District, before reapportionment in 1982 eliminated most of its Republican strongholds. Out of office for two years, Dornan moved to Orange County and was again elected to the House in 1984. The occasionally stormy relationship with Viguerie ended last year when the Dornan camp concluded that Viguerie’s operation cost too much money.

Today, the Dornan fund-raising effort revolves around two poles: the red, white and blue home in southern Orange County, where Robin Dornan uses a computer to edit her father’s letters, and the modern, black and white monolith in suburban Vienna, Va., where Response Dynamics oversees list building, printing, mailing and telemarketing.

Slick and sophisticated, RDI and its five wholly owned subsidiaries represent the new wave of direct-mail and telemarketing houses.

One of the RDI companies, Best Lists Inc., has stored the names of nearly 4 million proven givers, available for rent, catalogued in lists with names such as RDI Conservative Book Buyers and Active Defense Donors.

“I cannot only tell you where they live,” said RDI President Ronald A. Kanfer, “but I can tell you . . . how many kids they have, when their birthdays are, what (issues) they give on.”

Because of the relentless cross-pollination of donor lists, it is not unusual for givers to be overwhelmed with requests for more and more money. Just ask Donald Benington, 69, a retired shoe factory worker from Norwich, N.Y., whose 91-year-old mother, Esther, was a Dornan contributor until she went into the hospital in July. In April alone, she gave Dornan three checks totaling $140.

“Some days there’s about 25 letters asking her for money,” Donald Benington said.

Ruth N. Heaton, a 78-year-old widow who lives on a farm in Iowa, thinks the world of Dornan, and has given him $570 so far this year. She has never met the congressman face to face, but she speaks of him in a way that most people might speak of a close friend.

“I’ve known him for quite a while,” she said. “I’ve corresponded with him. I hear him on WMT in Cedar Rapids. . . . He’s a very smart man, I know that.

“I don’t know anything about the money part of it,” she said. “I do know he is a very hard worker in his job, but I don’t think he’s getting a lot of money.”