Mary Pat Clarke, always a study of perpetual motion, is in more of a hurry than ever. Late for the next stop on her overbooked schedule, she grabs a notebook, throws on her coat and sprints for the stairs past a huge map of Baltimore.
A glance at the map in her new campaign office shows why the City Council president is in such a rush. Tiny colored pins are stuck in place for each church or community she has visited. There are only a handful so far, the first in what promises to be a long and uphill effort to catapult herself to the post she covets -- mayor of Baltimore.
Mrs. Clarke is waging her risky campaign in the same personalized, grass-roots style that made her a household name during two terms on the council and her seven years as its president. She's out in the neighborhoods, racing from one meeting to the next, trying to build on her reputation for resolving complaints about city services.
Today, as Mrs. Clarke celebrates the start of her campaign with an open house at her headquarters at 2511 N. Charles St., she already has a professional consultant, a fund-raising firm and a -- 2,700-member volunteer organization.
In trying to become Baltimore's first female mayor, however, she must take on Kurt L. Schmoke, the city's first popularly elected black mayor.
To many, it seems a daunting undertaking. She has almost no money. Her independence and ambition have earned her the enmity of much of the city's political establishment. Moreover, she's running against Mayor Schmoke, who enjoys the advantages of incumbency, a sizable campaign treasury and close ties to Annapolis and the White House.
Several months ago, Mrs. Clarke acknowledged that "the odds look terrible" in taking on Mr. Schmoke in September's Democratic primary. Her frank assessment came before a boon to the mayor's political fortunes with the city's designation as a federal empowerment zone worth $100 million in grants.
But these days, Mrs. Clarke is no longer conceding any odds. "I'm running for the future," she said. "It's time to move on. I live here, and I'm not going to stand by and watch us drift away without fighting back."
Uses Curran fund-raiser
She's brought on Cheryl Benton, a political consultant who directed state Attorney General J. Joseph Curran's tough fight against a Republican challenger. She also has lined up the fund-raising firm Mr. Curran used and says she is "sincere in my efforts to be mayor."
Her challenge is to translate dissatisfaction with Baltimore -- beset by the stubborn urban problems of poverty, crime and the migration of the middle class to the suburbs -- into votes.
She has to convince enough of the city's 282,000 registered Democrats that she can offer better solutions than Mayor Schmoke. And she will have to be specific because Mr. Schmoke can defend his record with initiatives ranging from the Convention Center expansion to his highly regarded revitalization of the Sandtown-Winchester and East Baltimore communities.
Even more difficult will be mustering enough appeal to cut across racial lines, according to political observers and government professors.
A white liberal and populist, Mrs. Clarke, 53, rose in government by forming coalitions with black candidates and traditionally has fared well in predominantly African-American neighborhoods.
This time, as she challenges the city's preeminent black leader, Mrs. Clarke is likely to split the very coalitions she once helped create.
"She's never run against Kurt Schmoke," said Patricia Florestano, a professor of government and public administration the University of Baltimore.
"I think she's fighting an uphill battle," Ms. Florestano said. "Unless this were a mayor who was widely criticized, which would get some people to switch, I think her chances of knocking him off are slim."
Third District Councilman Wilbur E. "Bill" Cunningham, a frequent critic of Mrs. Clarke, said, "I thought from the beginning that she XTC had very little chance of winning. The truth of the matter is the administration is doing a better job. I think the empowerment zone is evidence of that."
Others who have come to admire Mrs. Clarke's tireless work in the neighborhoods and her often impetuous enthusiasm disagree. Mary Tomlinson, a 30-year resident of Reservoir Hill, said, "It's not a racial thing, it's who can do the better job. I don't think people are going to be looking at the mayor's nice smile anymore."
Mrs. Clarke has yet to reveal her strategy for renewing the renaissance she says has come to a halt. So far, she appears to be running mostly on the force of her personality, although she talks about a "Grow Baltimore" campaign. Asked for specifics, ,, she said she wants to encourage more families to renovate vacant homes, renegotiate the controversial school privatization contract and strengthen basic city services.
"You have to create a safe, clean environment in order to create investment. That's what the neighborhoods want, that's what the business community wants," she said.
Her campaign, announced in September 1993 just before the mayor decided not to run for governor, has created some soul-searching in the city.
State Del. Kenneth C. Montague Jr., who ran her 1987 race for council president, is among those who don't want to choose sides.
"It will be an intensely personal campaign," he said. "Both have approaches to government that are similar, their priorities are the same, so basically in terms of trying to differentiate themselves, it will be more a matter of style than substance."
In the council, her mayoral ambition has exacerbated strains. Some say she's pushing Mr. Schmoke to be more visible in his efforts, but others complain she tries to upstage him.
In the communities, some speak with admiration of Mrs. Clarke, but others disparage her efforts as blatant opportunism.
At Lexington Terrace, where she and the mayor rivaled each other to spend a night in January 1993, residents have tacked up a big sign in the recreation center: Re-Elect Kurt Schmoke in '95.
At his barbershop on West Fayette Street, Lenny Clay said Mrs. Clarke once had a chance, but his straw polls of customers show that she's lost support since the empowerment zone announcement.
Schmoke gears up
With her exhaustive style of campaigning, Mr. Schmoke and his supporters aren't taking Mrs. Clarke's ambitions lightly.
"Anyone who has been elected citywide has to be taken seriously, and therefore we do," said Larry S. Gibson, the mayor's chief political strategist. "Both have records, so we will proudly run on Mayor Schmoke's record, and to the extent necessary, indicate the deficiencies in our opponent's record."
Mayor Schmoke said he's quietly holding private fund-raisers and looking for campaign headquarters. He has raised more than $2 million since 1991 and has $251,225 on hand. In contrast, Mrs. Clarke, who never has attracted big money, has less than $2,000 on hand. Her last two fund-raisers, not included in that sum, drew small crowds.
For his part, the mayor said, "I don't expect this to heat up until after the [state government's] legislative session."
But in contesting the mayor's bid for a third term, Mrs. Clarke has no time to spare. For the past 16 months, she's been organizing her campaign and trying to cultivate the support of the city's police, fire and teachers unions. She's also begun to work the business community.
At the same time, the former teacher and mother of four grown children is doing what she likes best -- going out to community events, relating to the people.
Last Wednesday, after a full day at City Hall that began well before 8 a.m., she headed out for a typically exhausting night of meetings.
At Leith Walk Elementary School, she stopped to talk to parents worried by a holdup at the adjacent recreation center. Next she ** raced off to Highlandtown to give a proclamation to a police officer being honored by the local Rotary Club. Her third stop was in Rosemont, where she listened for more than an hour and a half as four ministers and several dozen residents listed problems with the neighborhood schools, traffic and drug dealing at the bus stop.
Everywhere she went, people came up to shake her hand, to give her a hug and to tell her a problem. At City Hall, where she frequently clashes with administrators and council members, she comes across at times as uncompromising, even shrill. But in her travels across the city, she doesn't have to look far to find common ground.
At the Rosemont meeting, as her aide tried to suppress a yawn and people filtered out of the church basement, she stayed to jot down a few last notes.
In her car, she sank back in the seat for a moment to reflect. But only for a moment. It was well past 10 p.m., but she was debating whether to stop back at the campaign headquarters. It was almost too early to call it quits for the night.