Kinky's Texas campaign turns (almost) serious

Kerrville, Texas — Nearly a year ago, Kinky Friedman, eccentric free-thinker, mystery novelist and singer, stood before the Alamo and introduced himself as a independent candidate for governor.

Why? Because, he said, he needed the closet space.

LARRY KOLVOORD/Cox News Service (enlarge photo) Singer-novelist-jokester Kinky Friedman is running for governor; he has a chance to win.

The crack and his candidacy were well-crafted jokes in the same mold as the name of his '70s country-western band, the Texas Jewboys.

But in the months since, opinion on the war in Iraq has soured, hurricanes Katrina and Rita have dumped their evacuees on Texas, the state's funding system for education has imploded and its border with Mexico has erupted into an issue in keeping with its 1,200-mile length.

Suddenly, the cowboy-hatted humorist, known for his chain-smoked cigars and biting one-liners, has become something more than a punch line. A Zogby poll last month clocked Friedman's support at 21 percent, nearly matching the Democrats in a matchup led at a lackluster 42 percent by Gov. Rick Perry, a Republican who hasn't seen his approval rating top 50 percent since last winter. Other polls that included only the major party candidates show the preference for an unnamed "other" at similar levels.

Friedman speaks, seriously, of raising $1 million by spring and $6 million by June.

In 2006, he wants to be what pro wrestler Jesse Ventura was in 1998 for Minnesota and movie star Arnold Schwarzenegger was in 2003 for California: a populist celebrity who snags the governor's office by tapping voter frustration with both Democrats and Republicans.

"The system is riddled with little FEMA directors," Friedman says.

He's developed an eclectic platform that, among other things, condemns the state's pending referendum on gay marriage as a Republican Party effort to use God to beef up its mailing lists. Gays, he says again and again, "have the right to be just as miserable as the rest of us."

But Friedman also supports school prayer, and is in dead earnest when it comes to border issues, bureaucracy and institutional corruption.

"I think we've jumped the joke card already," says Friedman, 61.

Celebrities have misfired

In a further sign of his seriousness, he's hired Ventura's campaign manager, Dean Barkley, and Ventura's ad man, Bill Hillsman. This month, Friedman became the first candidate in the '06 race to launch a round of TV commercials.

Hillsman recycled an idea from his Ventura years: a 30-second spot based on a Kinky Friedman action figure. "I can't screw things up any worse than they already are," the Kinky doll says.

A faux reporter asks him if he can bring Republicans and Democrats together. After some thought, the doll replies, "I'm running for governor, not God."

There's enough disarray in Texas politics to make a wildcat effort tempting. Perry faces an intraparty challenge for re-election. Democrats are torn between two candidates, with a third in the wings.

But observers say that odds are stacked against Friedman.

Among them is Steven Schier, a political scientist at Minnesota's Carleton College who has developed an expertise in independent campaigns. He said the drooping fortunes of Schwarzenegger, the nation's most recent out-of-the-ordinary governor, bodes poorly for Friedman. Schier also notes that Ventura decided not to run for re-election.

"Lightning probably won't strike again," Schier said. "Jesse's undistinguished tenure as governor in Minnesota, coupled with Arnold's troubles in California, make it unlikely that celebrity candidates will ever have the inviting luster of novelty that they had a few years ago."

Not one to mince words

To get on the ballot, Friedman will have to collect the signatures of more than 45,000 voters who don't plan to cast a Democratic or Republican ballot in the state's March primary.

"Save yourself for Kinky," is the campaign's slogan, along with, "My governor is a Jewish cowboy."

Moreover, the $6 million that Friedman speaks of raising is a pittance in Texas, where $100 million was spent in the 2002 governor's race.

But the largest hurdle may be the fact that while Texas is famous for many things, a cutting sense of humor isn't one of them. Consider this Friedman riff on Iraq and his anti-war buddy Willie Nelson:

"So we're arguing on the bus, and he's smoking a joint the size of a large kosher salami.

"Finally I got really frustrated with him, and I said, 'Look, Willie, this guy is a tyrannical bully and we've got to take him out.' And Willie says, 'No, he's our president, and we've got to stand by him.' "

The candidate makes no apologies. "I obviously wasn't put together by a committee. That's the problem we have with our current governor. He makes a fine candidate but a lousy governor," Friedman said.

A strange, storied career

Richard "Kinky" Friedman was born in Chicago to well-educated parents who bought 400 acres in Texas in 1952.

The rest of his life reads as if made for a book jacket: He attended the University of Texas and joined the Peace Corps, serving in Malaysia.

When he came back, he joined the exploding music scene in Austin. Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys were paragons of political incorrectness. If Friedman missed offending any group, it wasn't for lack of trying.

The group may have taken its best shot with "They Ain't Makin' Jews Like Jesus Anymore."

More than likely, Friedman failed to broaden his female fan base with another tune: "Get Your Biscuits in the Oven & Your Buns in the Bed."

In the 1980s, Friedman shifted to literature, writing a string of mystery novels that featured himself as the detective.

"I think the tie that binds is the search for the truth. My heroes have been Mark Twain and Will Rogers, who were humorists who sailed as close to the truth as they could without sinking the ship," Friedman said. "Of course, as we say in Texas, 'If you tell the truth, have one foot in the stirrup.' I do."

Friedman has taken up residence in his parents' old cabin. A set of longhorns hangs above a working fireplace. On this particular December day, Friedman wears his black cowboy hat, a black fringed vest over a black sweatshirt, and deep blue jeans.

The furniture is Spartan, and absent any female touch. His explanation of his bachelorhood could come right out of one of his novels.

"For the first third of my life I was too young. The next part of my life I was too stoned. Now I'm too old," Friedman says. "There was a girl, once, who died in a car crash about 25 years ago. Kissed a windshield at about 95 miles an hour in her Ferrari. So I vowed then that I would not get married."

Not the typical politician's answer, but that's his point.

Friedman has three issues: Education, the border, and something he calls "de-wussification."

He wants the Texas drinking age lowered to 18, an idea clearly aimed at young people. "If you're old enough to die in Iraq, you're old enough to drink," Friedman says. He doesn't address the millions of dollars in federal highway funds that Texas would lose as a result.

A call for bribery

The humorist is surprisingly conversant in education, perhaps because his mother was a teacher. He's concerned with the effects of President Bush's "no child left behind" program and its emphasis on testing.

"The kids don't know where the Civil War took place. They think it took place in Europe, because they've been taught to a test. If it's not on the test, they don't know it," Friedman says. "The special ed kids are now screwed. No one wants them in their classes. Health and mental retardation has been utterly gutted at the hands of this governor."

Texas' long border with Mexico may be his richest target: Many voters don't think either party is sincere in efforts to control the situation.

Friedman describes what he calls "the five generals program." Give five Mexican generals responsibility for certain portions of the Texas-Mexican border. Each receives $1 million, placed in escrow.

"Every time we catch an illegal coming through his section, we withdraw $5,000. It's cowboy logic, but it's common sense, too," Friedman says.

Staff writer W. Gardner Selby of the Austin American-Statesman contributed to this article.