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"All of it was two simple things: Ron Kirk and Carol Reed," wrote Dallas Observer columnist Laura Miller, who would go on to become Kirk's arch nemesis at this paper and later when she was elected to the city council. "The candidate and his manager—two personable, bright people with bigger-than-life personalities who came together in an incredibly unlikely coupling (a black Democrat and a white Republican strategist?) to knock Dallas on its keister."
Since the 1996 mayor's race, Kirk and Reed might as well have formed their own political party. She first helped him barely pass the arena referendum in 1997, giving tax breaks to developers building what was to become the American Airlines Center and Victory Park. Then just a few months after the arena vote, Reed directed another winning campaign when she helped Kirk squeak the original bond package for the Trinity River project past a skeptical electorate. Reed also worked on Kirk's one losing effort, his 2002 campaign for U.S. Senate.In high school Reed, born Carol Trumbauer, was a cheerleader in Thousand Oaks, California, a mountainous suburb just north of Los Angeles. The football team paid more attention to her than to their passing, blocking and tackling drills. You could hardly blame them. She wore tiny skirts and tight black sweaters and had a trim figure that came from playing sports with her younger brothers. Her medium-length blond hair framed an All-American smile.
The young cheerleader dated a few boys on the team here and there and was friends with many others. There were nights in which it seemed as though half the guys jammed into her Volkswagen Beetle. With Reed behind the wheel, they'd speed down the Southern California freeways blasting the latest Beach Boys song.
Reed had only decent grades in high school, choosing to focus her energy on being popular. On the nights when the prom committee stayed late to decorate the gym, she'd be the last to leave. "Lady, how far do you think you're going to get on personality?" her dad would ask her, and he made sure she learned debating and public speaking in high school.
After graduation, Reed attended California Lutheran in the same town where she grew up. College bored her, though, and she soon dropped out.
Reed needed a job, so she lied about her age to work in the claims department at Blue Cross Blue Shield. She loathed her dull, rote position, but the rest of her life made up for her daytime drudgery.
The recent college dropout lucked into a Santa Monica Boulevard apartment. Here she was with her own place in Southern California in the late 1960s. Everyone around her was talking about peace and love while smoking pot as the Mamas and the Papas played in the background. Reed avoided drugs—at least that's how she remembers it—but she wasn't knitting alone in her poolside room every night. Instead, she went dancing with Hollywood stuntmen, her blond hair swinging over her face as she lived a Disney version of '60s Southern California.
A beach girl at heart, Reed loved the West Coast and would still be there today had she never dropped by a bar one evening in Santa Monica. There she met Gerald Reed, a 32-year-old man who made an instant impression on the 19-year-old woman.
"He was tall, he was good-looking and he was Texan," Reed remembers.
Three months later, they eloped and moved to the Lone Star State.
When the fun-hearted Reed arrived in Tyler with her new husband, you would have never guessed she'd go on to become the consultant of choice for the Dallas establishment. Just a few months removed from her party days as a California dream girl, Reed tried joining the local Junior League but quit after only six months. While her husband worked for IBM, Reed played homemaker in a tony neighborhood of bank presidents and oilmen.
Then, not long after Reed turned 20, she gave birth to her first child. Months later she was pregnant again.
"Nothing else to do there," she quips.
Well, there is that. But Reed would soon learn that you can also get screwed in politics. One of the most successful campaign consultants in Texas slipped into the business by accident in 1968 after her husband agreed to become a county chairman for Republican gubernatorial candidate Paul Eggars. One day when her husband was away on business, an Eggars aide dropped off scripts for radio ads and asked her to make sure they made it on air. The aide didn't leave her any cash, so Reed used her grocery money to pay for the radio spots. After they aired, she sent copies of her receipts to the Eggars campaign.
"I'm sure everyone started to crack up," she says.
After it became apparent no one was going to pay Reed back, she asked her amused neighbors for advice. "Well, I guess you're in the fund-raising business," one gentleman said. Her East Texas neighbors at that time were Democrats, but Reed scrounged up enough money to recoup her money.