Editor's note: This is the third in a three-part series about the race for governor in Wisconsin. On Tuesday we featured Tom Barrett and on Wednesday we featured Mark Neumann.
Republican Scott Walker was a fan of brown-bag lunches long before they became the focal point of his campaign for state governor.
But on the weekends, Walker skips the two ham-and-cheese sandwiches that he downs most every other day.
"Agriculture," he says, eating an ear of corn from the Wisconsin State Fair. "Last year, I had it dipped in butter. That was so good ... but like shooting butter into my veins."
It's Aug. 7, the first Saturday of the State Fair. The midway is packed with people, and there's a sizeable group of supporters who have offered to walk the fair with Walker. Most wear some form of "Walker for Governor" attire as they make their way from the Republican booth inside the Expo Center out to the heat of the fairgrounds.
"It looks like we have some Scott Walker fans in the house," says a female vendor at the Gourmet Cheese Mill booth, her observation carried to the crowd through the microphone on her headset.
"Is that Scott Walker?" a cell phone vendor asks his co-worker two booths away. "Boo. Isn't he the guy that wants to raise taxes?"
One of Walker's aides hears the comment but ignores it. The aide seems more concerned over the fact that I'm jotting it down.
Since Walker announced his bid for governor in April 2009, his campaign has managed its message well. And apparently it doesn't want anything to get in the way of that. Walker was the only gubernatorial candidate to deny The Capital Times' request to ride with the candidate on the campaign trail. "Reporters aren't allowed to ride with Scott," a spokesperson said.
After all, Walker has been leading in the polls for months. A conservative Republican, Walker arguably has the most to lose by giving the public a closer peek inside the day-to-day operations of his campaign. This is his second stab at the job - he bowed out in 2006 to give Mark Green a stronger shot at Gov. Jim Doyle - and Walker campaigns with confidence and energy, at times talking like the race is already in the bag.
As to how he'll defeat homebuilder and developer Mark Neumann in the primary and then Milwaukee Mayor Tom Barrett in November, the 42-year-old says all it takes is "MOM" to win.
"Not my mom, although she does help out," Walker says at the fair. "But message, organization and money."
The campaign, he says, has a powerful message and great organization. On a recent Saturday, supporters in all 72 counties together made 70,000 calls and knocked on 10,000 doors, he notes. As for the final "M," 71 percent of his donations are for $50 or less, a sign he has a strong grass-roots base.
It's clear that the phone calls, door-to-door visits and natural press that comes with being Milwaukee County executive make Walker recognizable in crowds. Of course we haven't ventured outside of Milwaukee County yet, so it's somewhat to be expected.
The one time he leaves the county this weekend is to attend a tea party rally in Washington County. Located just north of Milwaukee County, Washington County is among the most conservative in the state.
When Walker and his wife, Tonette, arrive, he is immediately recognized and asked to pose for a picture. The recognition and requests for photos or his autograph continue as he walks down a hill toward a stage with a large American flag waving above it.
"Politicians are going to screw you," says "Joe the Plumber" Wurzelbacher as U.S. Senate candidate Ron Johnson and Walker wait to take the stage.
It's not what most would consider the best speech to follow, especially if you happen to be a politician, but the hundreds of people in the crowd don't seem to remember Joe the Plumber's warning when Walker is introduced to a standing ovation.
Walker's speech is short and sweet, covering familiar "brown-bag" territory: Don't spend more than you have; smaller government is better government; and people create jobs, not the government.
"Help is on the way," he tells the crowd. "God bless you for stepping up and fighting. Let's get 'er done."
The melody to "Yankee Doodle" streams from the outdoor sound system as Walker exits the stage.
On the trek back uphill toward Walker's car, Don Feld of Cedarburg is one of about a dozen people to again stop to request a photo with the county executive.
"I think he is dead-on," says Feld of Walker's message. He then gives him a sideways compliment by adding: "Anybody would look good after Doyle."
Another man grabs Walker to get a picture.
"My son won't believe this," he says, and uses his phone to snap a picture of his wife and Walker. "I'm voting for you, man," the guy says. "Don't let us down."
"God bless you," Walker tells him as he continues back to his car.
Around 3 p.m., Walker heads to Miller Park.
The Tavern League of Wisconsin, a powerful lobbying force, is having a tailgating party. Walker has been asked to attend.
"It would be sacrilegious not to have a beer at this event," he tells me as he double-fists a beer and a brat. "Most of these people are small-business owners. They need our support."
He says he prefers to drink from a bottle, rather than a plastic cup, as it is easier to keep track of how much he consumes. "You can't top off a bottle," he says.
Eating and drinking rather close to the stage, Walker is suddenly grabbed by the lead singer of the Schram Band and begins to sing Sammy Hagar's "Mas Tequila."
"He was a good sport. A lot of people freeze up," says Steve Schram when he recognizes Walker the next day at the State Fair, where Walker is again campaigning.
It seems Schram not only approves of Walker's vocal chords, but the job he's doing with the county.
"We appreciate his ability to make the tough cuts and keep the budget in check," he says. "Plus we like the county dog parks ... use them all the time."
As one singer is walking away, another heads toward him.
This time, the request isn't to sing rock, but "The Star-Spangled Banner."
Standing next to the band inside a beer and food tent, Walker belts it out with gusto in a goofy, George W. Bush sort of way. You almost feel embarrassed for him, then realize he is completely at ease. His aides appreciate his humor and capture the moment on their smartphones.
"It was better than Hillary Clinton," he tells me when he walks away from the band, referring to Clinton's flat rendition of the anthem that was caught on tape while she was campaigning in Iowa during her 2008 presidential bid.
Unlike Barrett, Walker seldom walks up to people to introduce himself. In part, it's because they seem to come at him.
"You get used to sensing when somebody is coming at you," he says after an intoxicated woman grabs his arm and begins to shout "no free ride," as a reason she is a fan. A Walker volunteer then places a "Scott Walker for Governor" sticker on each of her biceps.
"You can't let it get to your head," Walker continues. "You have to remember it's not you, but what you do."
The crowd is more subdued at Walker's next brown-bag lunch at LaMacchia Enterprises in Milwaukee County. For a travel company, security is tight. Walker's staffers aren't allowed to set up in the upstairs conference room until they get official clearance. Walker himself has already been escorted in for a brief meeting with management and his staff grows increasingly anxious that the room won't be ready when Walker arrives.
By the time the staff gets in, the room already is filling up. Two large banners are quickly erected, each resembling a 6-foot-tall brown lunch bag with "Brown Bag Guide to Government" written on one, and a three-point outline of his campaign on the other.
Walker begins the session by giving the audience a feel for his family and his upbringing.
Walker and his wife, Tonette, have two teenage boys and live in Wauwatosa. He was raised in the small town of Delavan, about an hour southwest of Milwaukee. His father was a minister.
"I guess that makes me the son of a preacher man. Sounds like that should be a record or something," says Walker, prompting some laughs from the audience.
He says the most enduring influence in his life was his grandmother, who was widowed in 1974 and lived independently until she recently passed away in her 90s.
She paid her own bills, cooked her own food, and attended her grandchildren's baseball and football games, Walker says. And she was very frugal.
Walker tells the crowd that he and his brother often laugh at how she would take them to eat at McDonald's with "so many coupons, I swear they paid us to eat there."
Driving a Saturn with more than 100,000 miles on it and carrying a brown-bag lunch to work every day, he says he is very much like her.
"It's my brown-bag common sense," Walker says. "Don't spend more than you have. My grandmother would have loved that."
He adds the hardest thing for politicians to hear is that people create jobs, not the government.
"Right now, sadly, in our State Capitol, I think we have an environment that is making it more difficult for people to create jobs," he says. "I think we have to change that."
If elected, he says he would drop government spending by eliminating the 4,000 government jobs that are currently unfilled. In addition, he would create a bipartisan committee tasked with finding $300 million each year to cut from the budget. His ideas would generate 250,000 jobs in his first term, he says.
"Come Nov. 2, we, the people of Wisconsin, can stand up and claim our rightful place in history," he says. "We the people can once again put the government back on track on the side of the people. We the people can make Wisconsin a place we can believe in again. We are ready to lead. Come Nov. 2, help is on the way."
When the brown-bag lunch is over, some employees take a brown bag to go. To be clear, the brown bag doesn't come packed with two ham-and-cheese sandwiches on wheat. Just a message.
