By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Eric Nicholson
Tom Leppert likes to snack on bran muffins and Grape-Nuts. He listens to contemporary Christian music. Punctual and disciplined, he schedules breakfast meetings for 6 in the morning. He doesn't swear and is irritated by those who do.
"I've been with him since August," says Willis Johnson, his campaign consultant. "I've never heard him use any profanity."
What the hell?
On Saturday, Tom Leppert was elected mayor of Dallas, trouncing three-term city council member Ed Oakley. Just a month earlier, Oakley finished a strong second behind Leppert, cruising into the runoff with hope and confidence. But after a series of missteps, including a series of nasty and misleading campaign ads, Oakley's campaign began to disintegrate like a wayward comet whizzing toward Earth. In contrast, Leppert's political machine, ably directed by Carol Reed, was a paragon of corporate efficiency. Disciplined, polite and well-funded, Tom Leppert's campaign was a mirror image of the man himself.
But if Leppert initially seemed to be the demure and docile creation of Roger Staubach and the Dallas Citizens Council—the pro-business group that has been pulling strings in local politics for decades—he emerged as someone a lot more interesting as the campaign wore on. For all the support that Leppert had among the powerful and wealthy in North Dallas, he ultimately proved his mettle in churches, nursing homes and storefronts in the long-blighted neighborhoods south of the Trinity. Whether it was accepting an invitation to visit a homeless shelter that his supposedly progressive opponent scorned or just walking through an Oak Cliff neighborhood after its challenges were explored in a mayoral debate, Leppert showed a sense of curiosity and open-mindedness that few would have ever expected from someone fronted by Staubach.
"His interest in homelessness, low-income housing, affordable housing, economic development—was very genuine and very sincere and pretty well-informed," says Larry James, the president and CEO of Central Dallas Ministries. "It was clear to me that he had done his homework."
When the campaign began, Leppert couldn't stop talking about how he was the former CEO of Turner Construction, a company "several times the size of the city of Dallas." Often appearing aloof and uncomfortable at early mayoral forums, Leppert's view of campaigning was to read aloud from his résumé.
"I moved a $4 billion business to Dallas," he said in his standard rapid cadence. "I look forward to sitting across the desk from any business leader in the world and saying, 'Not only do I think you should move your business to Dallas, I've been in your shoes and here's what I did.'"
But as the campaign wore on, Leppert talked a little less about himself and a little more about his platform. His were the standard priorities of education, crime and economic development, particularly in the southern sector. Although he eschewed details or proposals or tough choices—OK, that's a lot of things—Leppert related well to people in the audience. Using anecdotes as effectively as the most seasoned politician, Leppert often talked about a pharmacist in Oak Cliff who kept on getting robbed but couldn't get the police to respond. But don't just feel sorry for him, Leppert would say. Think about all the elderly residents in the neighborhood who won't have anywhere to go to fill their prescriptions.
He didn't just luck upon stories like that. Leppert was everywhere in southern Dallas. Don Hill, who finished one spot out of the runoff in last month's general election, explained to reporters that he endorsed Leppert over Oakley, his longtime political ally, in part because he kept on seeing Leppert in his neighborhood. While some of the establishment candidates of yore treated Oak Cliff and Fair Park like exotic outposts, often relying on stand-ins south of the Trinity to make their case, Leppert did this bizarre thing. He talked to voters one on one.
"Not one day passed where Tom didn't do something in the southern sector," Johnson says. "Whether it was a forum or a visit to a South Dallas nursing room or a tour of Joppa or walking Council District 5, whether it was meeting with the black chamber or black contractors or pastors, the guy just blanketed the area."
It didn't hurt that Leppert ran a focused campaign, never wavering from his intent to refrain from personal attack ads. Aides say he never lost his cool even when Oakley's overmatched campaign team ran a series of TV spots baldly distorting Leppert's record at Turner Construction. (The Dallas Morning News would call the ads nasty and inaccurate.) Rather than run a blistering counterattack, which would be par for the course in a big-city mayor's race, Carol Reed had Leppert appear in a folksy TV spot where the casually dressed candidate gently brushed off Oakley's false claims and then noted that negative ads were not what Dallas needs. Leppert came out looking like the bigger man, while Oakley's campaign took a battering in the press, much to the delight of Reed.
"I used to wake up in the morning and wonder, how stupid do they think I am and how stupid do they think people are?" Reed says. "You cannot sustain something that's not true."