Joe Lieberman

The rain starts to fall just as the gold SUV carrying Sen. Joe Lieberman rolls up to the curb at Ingersoll Avenue and 26th Street. But not to worry -- an aide is at the ready with an open umbrella. The supporters are dry and stationed inside and all is going according to plan this recent Sunday as the Connecticut Democrat arrives to open his presidential campaign headquarters here.

If only he weren’t so many months late.

Lieberman’s leading rivals for his party’s nomination launched their Iowa storefronts long ago and have been hard at work in this state, where the all-important caucuses that officially start the race are just seven months away.

But Lieberman lost precious time in deference to Al Gore, the man who gave him national prominence by tabbing him as his running mate in 2000. Promising not to get into the ’04 contest unless Gore got out, Lieberman kept his word. That effectively sidelined him until just before Christmas, when Gore announced he would not run.

“Maybe what I didn’t really appreciate was the impact the time delay would have on my fund-raising,” Lieberman said aboard a private jet between stops in Iowa. “But there was no way I could rationalize a run against him -- I would have felt hypocritical.”

Some analysts expected Lieberman to burst onto the scene with a head of steam, tapping into still-simmering anger from an election many Democrats thought was stolen. Instead, he was perceived as late and lagging, an underperformer before he’d even begun.

His initial fund-raising was disappointing. The support that was expected to flow from the nation’s Jewish community has yet to materialize -- some find his politics too conservative and are disinclined to endorse him purely on shared faith.

But what this 61-year-old, three-term senator has going for him is a long record of centrist politics, personal integrity and the residue of goodwill generated by his strong performance in the 2000 campaign. Even some GOP analysts say all that would make Lieberman a formidable match for President Bush -- if only he could win the Democratic nomination.

“It would be difficult to marginalize Joe Lieberman as a liberal,” one Republican strategist conceded. “His support for the Iraq war means he won’t be a whipping boy on national security. He would focus his campaign on the soft point for Bush -- the economy.”

The question is whether this self-described “different kind of Democrat” can emerge from a nominating process that tends to be dominated by the party’s more liberal voters, especially in its early stages.

“Logic would suggest that Democrats nominate Lieberman, but he doesn’t evoke a lot of passion,” said Charlie Cook, a nonpartisan political analyst in Washington. “I don’t sense the Democratic Party has hit rock bottom to the point where they say, ‘I love Candidate X, but I’m going to get behind Joe Lieberman because he can beat Bush.’ ”

However, in the little town of Mount Pleasant, Iowa, in a barn filled with antique tractors, Karen Parker says that electability is Lieberman’s major asset. A 48-year-old elementary school media specialist, she drove more than an hour from Iowa City to spend her Sunday at a meet-the-candidates picnic.

“I like his message,” Parker said, even though she opposed the Iraq war and is less than thrilled that Lieberman favors an experimental school voucher program. “Anyone perceived as too far to the left is not going to beat Bush. And the ultimate goal is to get Bush out of the White House.”

If the U.S. electorate is holding roughly around the ideological 50-yard line, so is Lieberman.

Other Democratic candidates supported the war, but he was unswerving. He helped write homeland security legislation and has chastised Hollywood for peddling sex and violence. He condemns Bush’s environmental policy and denounces his tax cuts as irresponsible. He is a consistent defender of civil liberties. His reputation for probity is unquestioned, bolstered by his famous rebuke of President Clinton during the Monica S. Lewinsky imbroglio.

He projects moderation and evenhandedness, the political equivalent of comfort food. People seem drawn to that, particularly in a place such as Iowa, where voters are willing to travel great distances for a backyard barbecue in Cedar Rapids or a coffee klatch in Des Moines to chat up a would-be president.

It is the sort of intimate setting where Lieberman shines. He comes across as fatherly, good-natured and droll, a devoutly religious man who seems centered at the core.

The early days of a presidential campaign are less a string of soaring speeches than one long meet-and-greet reception, and he relates as easily to total strangers as to old friends. (With an extended hand, he approaches a retired farmer who happens to be wearing a patch from a rival candidate. “That’s a temporary situation!” Lieberman says with a jabbing finger, and the farmer cracks up.)

Although that affability has won him some friends in Iowa, it probably will not win him the caucuses, where even his advisors concede that Rep. Richard A. Gephardt of Missouri is the strong favorite.

Lieberman plans to invest relatively little on the opening matches in Iowa and New Hampshire, then come on strong in the third round of voting on Feb. 3. He hopes to win at least two of that day’s major prizes -- South Carolina and Arizona. It is a risky strategy; no recent candidate has expended such minimal effort in the two early contests and won the nomination.

But Lieberman has built a life on longshots. The son of a liquor store owner from Stamford, Conn., he attended public schools, then went on to Yale in the early 1960s, when the university still put a cap on the number of Jewish students it accepted.

After several years in state politics, he lost a bid for Congress and watched his first marriage dissolve, a failure he believes was brought on by the demands of his political life.

Not long after, he met his second wife, Hadassah, the daughter of Holocaust survivors. She warmed to the role of savvy political partner and proved an adept campaigner in her own right.

Refocused, Lieberman set his sights on the U.S. Senate in 1988, taking on a popular liberal Republican, Lowell P. Weicker Jr. Lieberman beat him in the biggest upset of 1988, a victory he alludes to often as he campaigns in Iowa, where the odds look every bit as steep.

“I am no stranger to running races people say are going to be hard to win,” Lieberman said.

He moves around the state focusing his fire on Bush. “One-third of America’s cities and states are laying off police and firefighters. That’s about as dumb as laying off soldiers in the middle of a war,” he told a group gathered near a modest buffet of cheese puffs and canned sodas at the newly opened Des Moines headquarters.

Later, he said: “This is the most consequential election in a long time for our country because of how far right the Bush administration has taken America and how much its programs have failed miserably to heal the economy.”

If nominated, Lieberman would be the first Jew in history to run for president on a major party ticket. He is Orthodox, keeps kosher and observes the Sabbath even when it’s inconvenient.

In Washington, he has walked several miles on occasion from his Georgetown home to the Capitol for Saturday Senate business; he says he would make similar accommodations as president.

His devout faith has proved a boost and an obstacle to his campaign; at a candidate debate in South Carolina last month, Lieberman missed a Saturday of politicking with party activists. But when the debate began at 9 p.m., he was focused and rested from a day of prayer and introspection. His rivals seemed spent, and analysts agreed that Lieberman came off better than the rest.

The last time around, his faith and moral compass served to help a Democratic ticket struggling to distance itself from the sins of Clinton. But how he will play this time is uncertain.

“He’s Jewish, and in the Midwest, that matters. This is the Bible Belt -- a lot of people have not been exposed to Judaism and it scares them,” said Pat Watson, owner of a hotel in Mount Pleasant and an active Republican.

But many analysts agree that in general, people of faith respect other people of faith, even if their beliefs are not the same.

What seems to be carrying Lieberman through the early obstacles is one deep and abiding conviction regarding Bush: “I can beat him.”

On his night table is a talisman of sorts, a book given to him by Sen. Arlen Specter, a Pennsylvania Republican and one of Lieberman’s many friends across the aisle. It is “The Wanting of Levine,” a fictional account of the first Jewish candidate for president.

“I must admit I’m about halfway through, but I couldn’t control myself. I looked at the end,” Lieberman said, smiling. “He wins.”

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(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX)

Joe Lieberman

Born: Feb. 24, 1942, in Stamford, Conn.

Parents: Henry Lieberman, liquor store owner, and Marcia Lieberman, homemaker.

Education: Yale, B.A., 1964; L.L.B, 1967.

Spouse: Hadassah Lieberman.

Children: Matthew, 35, and Rebecca, 33 (from Joe Lieberman’s previous marriage); Ethan, 27 (from Hadassah Lieberman’s previous marriage); and Hana, 15.

Residences: New Haven, Conn., and Washington, D.C.

Current job: U.S. senator.

Previous jobs: Attorney general of Connecticut; state senator; lawyer.

Military service: None.

Source: Los Angeles Times

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About this series

This is the fifth installment in a weekly series profiling the candidates for the 2004 Democratic presidential nomination. For the Q&A;, the candidates are responding in writing to an identical set of questions, and their responses have been edited for space.