THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, September 28, 1994 TAG: 9409280035
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: REALPOLITIK: Occasional dispatches on the offbeat side of Virginia's
1994 U.S. Senate race.
SOURCE: BY KERRY DOUGHERTY, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 106 lines
FOR ONE frightening moment last week, it seemed the North campaign had borrowed Chuck Robb's advance man.
After a smooth day of campaigning through Southside Virginia, a North rally was scheduled for Danville's Dan Daniel Memorial Park. But when we arrived, a hand-lettered sign said the event had been moved to Auctioneer's Park, across the Dan River.
Once in the park, which is nestled near the city's abandoned tobacco warehouses, we found a surprisingly paltry crowd of about 300 supporters. For conservative Danville, where the Confederate flag is a treasured symbol, North's rally seemed headed south.
The anemic crowd suggested shades of Chuck Robb, whose out-of-sync campaign is known for sending the incumbent senator into empty buildings and deserted restaurants.
Where was everybody?
``It's Wednesday night,'' explained Reid Taylor, a Pittsylvania High School teacher and Danville resident. ``It's church night. Danville is the city of churches.''
Sure enough, Danville is proud of its nickname, and the Chamber of Commerce boasts that there are 150 sanctuaries in the town of 53,056 people.
On Wednesdays, church parking lots are packed. Some churches have worship services; others have Bible study. More have church suppers.
``The first thing anyone told me when I moved to Danville was never to plan anything for Church Night,'' said Bob Chenery, a retired Navy pilot who moved from Virginia Beach four years ago and who had showed up at the rally.
The crowd, though not large, was enthusiastic. When North asked for their prayers (as he does at every speech), he was interrupted.
``I'm asking you for your prayers,'' said North. ``I've been told by professional politicians that you can't get elected talking about prayer.''
``You can in Danville,'' hollered Mary Ann Kingery, a staunch North supporter who jumped into her car after the rally and headed to church.
It was a folksy night. The Tight-squeeze Philharmonic Band provided music, its silver-haired members dressed identically in black slacks and red vests, the stage electrified by their canary yellow snare drums.
After North's speech, they broke into a rousing rendition of ``God Bless America,'' which had the New York reporters who were following North looking bewildered. Apparently, this was the reporters' first foray into Danville.
North then headed to a nearby Baptist Church, where several hundred people were attending services. They were waiting for him. Praying for him. But they weren't about to miss church night for him.
The Danville stop provided lots of news, particularly when North defended the display of the Confederate flag.
But the thing we remembered most about Ollie North's trip to Danville last week was the stunning announcement that he didn't want to sign bumper stickers anymore.
This from the man who signs more items than Cal Ripken Jr.
This from the candidate who carries a gross of Sharpie pens so he can sign T-shirts, note cards, campaign posters and, yes, bumper stickers.
Apparently someone in the North campaign realized that when supporters have autographed bumper stickers, they aren't going to put them on their cars.
``Those things on either end of your car are called bumpers,'' North scolded his supporters. ``We want you to put the bumper stickers on them.''
North also warned the faithful against putting their autographed yard signs away for posterity.
``Don't put them in the closet and save them for history,'' he warned. ``Because we are making history with this election, make no mistake. Put 'em in your yards.''
For the record, the North campaign reckons it has distributed several hundred thousand blue and white bumper stickers.
North's press aide, John Atkinson, boasts that he's seen only one Robb bumper sticker since the beginning of the campaign.
``And that,'' Atkinson said, ``was on a car from Maryland.''
Crowd size is a relative matter. If Marshall Coleman drew 300 supporters, he'd be proclaiming that the tide had turned. As it is, Coleman was campaigning in Portsmouth and Norfolk on Friday and the crowds (if you can call them that) were mostly couples.
But Coleman, who's been in public life for several decades, found a few familiar faces.
At Waterside, Coleman plopped down on a park bench to shoot the breeze with Annette Long of Virginia Beach, who's a nurse at Sentara Norfolk General Hospital and a former Coleman campaign worker.
Did they discuss old times, the Senate race, what to do about the federal deficit?
Nope. They discussed the most recent episode of ``E.R.,'' which they both had watched.
In Portsmouth, a woman spied him and came running.
``Marshall Coleman, I've always wanted to meet you,'' gushed Vivian Brown of Virginia Beach. ``I had your old locker at Waynesboro High School.''
Brown, who graduated from Waynesboro in 1977, years after Coleman, said the Senate candidate had written his name inside the locker with a big fat Magic Marker.
At Portside, a television cameraman from WTKR Channel 3 decided he'd had enough of Coleman when a man marched up to him. The guy had a fishing rod in one hand and in the other a leash leading to a Rottweiler with jaws the size of a steam shovel.
``I'm outta here,'' the cameraman said, turning off his camera, backing away and keeping one eye on the dog.
Coleman stroked the dog on the head. After all, this is the man who's stepped between Oliver North and Chuck Robb.
He's seen bigger, meaner dogs than this.
KEYWORDS: U.S. SENATE RACE CAMPAIGN CANDIDATE by CNB