On an unusually balmy March evening in Washington DC, a crowd of polished Beltway types—consultants, advocates, lobbyists, and the usual politicos—listen attentively to former Louisiana Governor Buddy Roemer at a salon on money in politics at a historic row house. Roemer, (in the South it's pronounced "roma") dives right into his speech, his distinct Shreveport accent and Methodist preacher rhythm echo in the room. "Washington isn't broken"—brief, effective pause—"it's bought!" The slight, white-haired 68-year-old drops phrases like "Goldman-friggin'-Sachs" with fire-and-brimstone inflections. The crowd listens politely. "It's not the White House I want," Roemer roars in his final crescendo. "I want a free America!"
You could be forgiven for having missed it, but Roemer has been running for president. A Harvard-educated four-term congressman, one-term governor, and successful banker, he campaigned for more than a year. In a field light on Southern Republicans (Newt Gingrich was born in Pennsylvania and Rick Perry, well…), he once might have looked like a contender. But not in the eyes of Republican tastemakers. Roemer was not invited to a single one of the 20 primary debates, a fact he repeats with unmitigated animosity. Which is why, after 20-plus years as a Republican convert (he started his career as a Democrat), he quit the party in February.
His third-party run was based on a signature issue: not accepting any campaign contributions exceeding $100. In a political system awash in money, it's a compelling concept, but then again, why $100? Why not $500? Why not the federally mandated maximum of $2,500 per donor, still peanuts compared to the million-dollar checks being written by superwealthy super-PAC donors? When you press him on this, Roemer defaults to folksy. "I hope people see past my farm"—a sly reference to his family's 2,000-acre plantation—"into my heart and see what the future ought to be—a president who's free to lead.
After 17 months of a wonderful campaign, the lack of ballot access in all 50 states makes the quest impossible for now.
I want to thank my family, particularly my wife Scarlett, and my three children Caroline, Chas, and Dakota. I’d also like to thank my three sisters, Margaret, Melinda, Melanie, and my brother Danny for all of their efforts.
I could not have done this without the guidance and brilliance of my campaign manager, Carlos Sierra of El Paso, and without the new media expertise of Jill Sherman and Morgan Martinez, the volunteer efforts of Joshua Chavers, the start-up assistance of a great leader, Skardon Baker of Los Angeles, the courage of my New England director, Jim Knowlton of Worchester, and the scheduling patience of William Pierce of Rhode Island.
A special thank you to Bill Klotz of Louisiana who never faltered— not once. My kitchen cabinet included Taunton Melville of Louisiana, Len Sanderson of DC, Larry Lessig of Massachusetts, Dennis Stine of Louisiana, Brian Silver of California, and Mark McKinnon of Texas.
You could be forgiven for having missed it, but Roemer has been running for president. A Harvard-educated four-term congressman, one-term governor, and successful banker, he campaigned for more than a year. In a field light on Southern Republicans (Newt Gingrich was born in Pennsylvania and Rick Perry, well…), he once might have looked like a contender. But not in the eyes of Republican tastemakers. Roemer was not invited to a single one of the 20 primary debates, a fact he repeats with unmitigated animosity. Which is why, after 20-plus years as a Republican convert (he started his career as a Democrat), he quit the party in February.
His third-party run was based on a signature issue: not accepting any campaign contributions exceeding $100. In a political system awash in money, it's a compelling concept, but then again, why $100? Why not $500? Why not the federally mandated maximum of $2,500 per donor, still peanuts compared to the million-dollar checks being written by superwealthy super-PAC donors? When you press him on this, Roemer defaults to folksy. "I hope people see past my farm"—a sly reference to his family's 2,000-acre plantation—"into my heart and see what the future ought to be—a president who's free to lead.
After 17 months of a wonderful campaign, the lack of ballot access in all 50 states makes the quest impossible for now.
I want to thank my family, particularly my wife Scarlett, and my three children Caroline, Chas, and Dakota. I’d also like to thank my three sisters, Margaret, Melinda, Melanie, and my brother Danny for all of their efforts.
I could not have done this without the guidance and brilliance of my campaign manager, Carlos Sierra of El Paso, and without the new media expertise of Jill Sherman and Morgan Martinez, the volunteer efforts of Joshua Chavers, the start-up assistance of a great leader, Skardon Baker of Los Angeles, the courage of my New England director, Jim Knowlton of Worchester, and the scheduling patience of William Pierce of Rhode Island.
A special thank you to Bill Klotz of Louisiana who never faltered— not once. My kitchen cabinet included Taunton Melville of Louisiana, Len Sanderson of DC, Larry Lessig of Massachusetts, Dennis Stine of Louisiana, Brian Silver of California, and Mark McKinnon of Texas.
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