Robert Shrum sealed his reputation as a lyrical speechwriter 22 years ago, when he drafted the words with which Sen. Edward M. Kennedy relinquished his presidential aspirations: "For all those whose cares have been our concern, the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die."
Since then, Shrum has made his name and fortune with no-holds-barred efforts to win races for Democrats. A political idealist for hire, he has sculpted the campaign themes and honed the images of candidates whose politics he wishes to advance - George McGovern, Richard A. Gephardt, Al Gore, among others.
This fall, the media consultant is working behind the scenes for gubernatorial candidate Kathleen Kennedy Townsend, crafting speeches and television advertisements, targeting audiences for those ads and refining her public image.
When Townsend promised in recent weeks that "your fight is my fight" - her words echoed classic Shrum rhetoric. When she began challenging her Republican opponent on affirmative action and minimum wage, that, too, was classic Shrum.
For this, he has earned respect on both sides of the political aisle. "Shrum's at the top of the league," says Scott Reed, who was campaign manager for Republican Bob Dole's 1996 presidential run.
Sometimes he draws fire, however. Shrum has been accused of flooding the airwaves with his clients' ads to drive up his fees - $3.5 million in the 1998 California Democratic gubernatorial primary alone, according to a Washington Post analysis.
And, just as Shrum, 59, is considered by admirers to give the purest voice to the ideals of his party, critics say he also gives Democrats their surest bite. Four years ago, Campaigns & Elections, a nonpartisan publication, declared Shrum's handiwork in the Maryland governor's race that year's most "brutally effective" political advertising.
Those allied with Townsend's opponent, Robert L. Ehrlich Jr., say Shrum uses his skills dishonestly. "He's a character assassin," says Paul Schurick, the campaign spokesman for Ehrlich. "That's how he sells himself. He does it brilliantly."
Ehrlich campaign officials are so certain that Shrum will try to smear him that they are seeking pre-emptively to disarm the media consultant with TV spots chastising Townsend for distorting Ehrlich's record in her commercials, and by repeatedly raising the issue of race - in an effort to neutralize the topic.
Not wishing to draw attention from his candidate, Shrum declined to be interviewed for this article, but his face and biting wit have long been known in the tight political circles of Washington. For him, an enjoyable evening is being surrounded by close friends, good food, fine wine and unceasing argument over politics and policy.
Born in June 1943, Shrum moved as a boy with his family from Connellsville, Pa., to Culver City, Calif., where his father was a tool-and-dye worker for the Hughes Corp. As an undergraduate at Georgetown University, Shrum excelled at debating; while attending Harvard Law School, he taught rhetoric and speech across the Charles River at Boston College.
Instead of practicing law, he joined Maine Sen. Edmund Muskie's campaign in 1972 and switched to the Democratic nominee, South Dakota Sen. George McGovern, after the Muskie campaign imploded.
Brief time with Carter
In 1976, he signed on as a speechwriter for a centrist Southern governor named Jimmy Carter. The job lasted 10 days.
"I don't believe that you stand for anything other than yourself," Shrum wrote to Carter. The 32-year-old aide's resignation made front-page news as Shrum castigated the Georgia politician for his ambition and unwillingness to cut defense spending.
He found a more natural home with Kennedy, the brother-in-law of McGovern's running mate, Sargent Shriver, and a truer reflection of Shrum's own liberal and populist values.
Shrum is considered unusually adept at an array of political tasks by friends and foes alike. Need a graceful speech? If you're a Democrat, call Shrum. Trying to develop a campaign theme? Want to shape your ad campaign? Bone up on debate techniques? Call Shrum.
In a hotel room in the summer of 1980, the consultant played the role of President Carter to ready Ted Kennedy for the standard convention ritual of primary foes clasping hands in unity. (Despite the coaching, Kennedy bounded about the podium, eluding Carter's grasp on national television.)
Over six weeks this summer and fall, Shrum acted as a reporter grilling Townsend, Kennedy's niece, during repeated two-hour sessions held between campaign stops at his Wisconsin Avenue offices or the Baltimore law offices of an undisclosed Townsend supporter.
In a typical session, Townsend stood at a lectern, while a Democratic state lawmaker (whose identity campaign aides will not disclose) pretended to be Ehrlich. Aides, including campaign spokesmen Michael Morrill and Peter Hamm, sat around a conference table making observations and snacking on potato chips and soft drinks.
Shrum and Ann Lewis, a former aide to Maryland Sen. Barbara A. Mikulski and then-President Bill Clinton, took the roles of reporters, peppering Townsend with likely questions. According to Lewis and Hamm, the rehearsal trained Townsend to turn politicized questions into opportunities to promote policy proposals.
The practice paid off: Towsend gained new political life from the NAACP-sponsored debate by displaying unexpected passion and command.
As Republican Scott Reed notes, the Townsend campaign also released its economic blueprint that morning. It was masterful timing.
"She had a front-page story," says Reed, "even if she had screwed up in the debate. That showed she had smart people running her campaign."
Campaign tailor
In preparing for any race, Shrum teases out each candidate's distinctive flavor in an interview of sorts, preferably over a pricey meal: Why do you want the office, he asks a new client. Why should voters pick you? What would you do if you won?
Shrum then tailors the campaign to the candidate's characteristics. "He doesn't tell you to be someone else," says Mikulski, a frequent Shrum client. "He doesn't want you to go get a tummy tuck or to say something you don't believe in."
Shrum played off the senator's small stature and reputation for battling for her constituents. And he capitalized on her quick, blunt wit.
While filming a 1986 campaign spot at Baltimore's Cross Street Market, he kept the cameras rolling after she'd finished reading the script. Mikulski's commercials included her memorable reply to a constituent who remarked that she'd lost weight: "I've been counting my calories, counting my blessings, and counting my votes."
Mikulski, who won the 1986 Senate primary handily against Rep. Michael D. Barnes and Gov. Harry R. Hughes, says, "Shrum takes some of these characteristics and turns them into assets."
Where the action is
"Bob wants to be in the middle of the action," says Mark Fabiani, a Shrum protege. Formerly a Clinton aide and communications director for the Gore campaign in 2000, Fabiani often clashed with his mentor as Shrum pushed the vice president to adopt a harder line against corporate interests.
That's a recurring thread to Shrum's rhetoric.
Earlier this year, Shrum, pollster Stan Greenberg and strategist James Carville circulated a memo arguing that Democrats had an opportunity to make political hay over loss of trust in corporate America. A similar refrain can be heard in Townsend's relatively new cry: "My fight is your fight." Ann Lewis, the Townsend adviser, says she and Shrum have encouraged such a direct appeal to voters.
The media consultant also has found success with far blunter pitches. In 1986, he created distinctive biographical ads for three-term Sen. Alan Cranston of California using black-and-white Ansel Adams photographs. Michael Barone, the editor of the Almanac of American Politics, still recalls them as "poetic."
But Shrum decided the ads weren't enough - that the only way to ensure victory was to make voters dislike Cranston's opponent, moderate Republican congressman Ed Zschau. Negative ads started right after the primary and never let up. Cranston won narrowly.
Subject of regret
Even Democrats are not safe from Shrum's drive to win. In 1990, on behalf of a Texas Democrat seeking his party's nomination for governor, Shrum produced ads questioning whether state treasurer Ann W. Richards, a recovering alcoholic, had also used cocaine. He later said he regretted the spots.
Four summers ago, Marylanders had a chance to observe Shrum's sharp edge, when Gov. Parris N. Glendening faltered in his re-election bid. Townsend approached Mikulski, who had once again hired Shrum for her own re-election bid, asking whether her ticket could hire him, too. Both Democrats and Republicans credit Shrum's grainy black-and-white ads for helping to turn the tide against Republican Ellen R. Sauerbrey.
In the 1998 commercial, as the television camera lingered on a street mural depicting an outline of the African continent, a narrator told viewers that, in Annapolis, Sauerbrey had voted against major civil rights and hate crimes legislation.
But the bills had little to do with race: one of the key votes cited by the ad centered on gay rights, and the legislation lost in the Democratic-controlled General Assembly.
Glendening won comfortably, with overwhelming support from black voters.
"The spot against Sauerbrey was unfair," says Ron Faucheux, the editor of Campaigns & Elections. "It may have been technically accurate - it may have been properly documented, but given how it was presented, it was unfair."
Shrum operates, Lewis acknowledges, "in the gray area where there are no defined rules. The attention span keeps shortening. You're trying to deliver your message as simply and clearly as possible. Nuance gets squeezed out."
Shrum's candidates, however, tend to sail in.