"Race for No. 2 spot run in obscurity." The Baltimore Sun, 3 November 1994.

The Baltimore Sun November 3, 1994, Thursday,

November 3, 1994, Thursday, FINAL EDITION

SECTION: TELEGRAPH (NEWS), Pg. 1A

LENGTH: 1298 words

HEADLINE: Race for No. 2 spot run in obscurity
CAMPAIGN 1994--THE RACE FOR GOVERNOR

BYLINE: Thomas W. Waldron, Sun Staff Writer

BODY:

Bobby Kennedy's daughter has arrived to campaign, but the Over 55 Club at the Locust Point Recreation Center would rather sing.

As Kathleen Kennedy Townsend, the Democratic candidate for lieutenant governor, cools her heels, about 70 seniors sing through "In The Good Old Sum- mertime," "A Bicycle Built for Two" and "Shine On, Harvest Moon."

When Mrs. Townsend finally begins speaking, many in the group wandered off to lunch.

She rushes through a short speech, concluding: "I hope that all of you on Nov. 8 will vote and vote for the Democrats."

It's hard to know how many votes she picked up. But it's a typical stop in the meat-and-potatoes campaigns of Mrs. Townsend and her Republican counterpart, Paul H. Rappaport. Stumping with little hoopla for an office with no official responsibilities, the lieutenant governor candidates are footnotes to the bitter battle between their ticket mates, Democrat Parris N. Glendening and Republican Ellen R. Sauerbrey.

"They are generally irrelevant, as always," says Blair Lee IV, a political commentator in Montgomery County and himself the son of a former lieutenant governor. "They've never been a big factor in the past, and they're certainly not a factor this year."

Working out of the limelight, Mrs. Townsend and Mr. Rappaport have practiced the valuable chore of retail politics -- taking their ticket's message to countless schools, senior centers and community groups.

Both have worked mostly to shore up support in areas where their tickets are already strong -- Mrs. Townsend in Baltimore and the Washington suburbs; Mr. Rappaport concentrating on rural and suburban areas.

Mr. Rappaport did make an unusual detour yesterday to shake hands with state employees in Baltimore, while Mrs. Townsend went door-to-door in the heavily Democratic Pikesville area.

Although Mr. Rappaport called for a debate, Mrs. Townsend never made time for one, and the candidates have no plans to meet between now and Tuesday's election.

Mr. Rappaport had no intention of returning to public life in 1987 when he was eased out of his job as Howard County police chief by newly elected County Executive Elizabeth Bobo.

His eight-year tenure in Howard County was marred by a feud with the county police union and a vote of no confidence by the rank-and-file.

The union even placed ads in local newspapers suggesting that the public was not being adequately protected. Angered, Mr. Rappaport launched an internal investigation into the officers who placed the ads, a probe that was halted only after the officers filed a federal lawsuit against the chief.

After leaving county government, Mr. Rappaport, who still lives in Ellicott City, settled into practicing law full-time, something he had done part-time for years.

Things changed when he got to know Mrs. Sauerbrey last year.

"The first time I heard her speak, I said, 'Who is this Ellen Sauerbrey?' " Mr. Rappaport, 60, says. "She's too good to be true."

He had the credentials Mrs. Sauerbrey sought -- a strong background in law enforcement and some knowledge of state government. Mr. Rappaport started as a 17-year-old clerk with the state police and retired 27 years later as a major overseeing crime investigations.

Although this is his first run for elected office, Mr. Rappaport has long been familiar with politics. His wife, Margaret, is a former Orphans Court judge who is running for re-election as clerk of the Howard County Circuit Court.

On the campaign trail, Mr. Rappaport stresses crime-fighting and Delegate Sauerbrey's support for tougher sentencing and parole laws.

Broader outlook

But in recent years, as a defense lawyer for people in criminal cases, he has offered a broader outlook, scoffing at those who want simply to lock up every criminal.

"These are the same people who will make excuses when it happens to their son or daughter," Mr. Rappaport said in a 1988 interview with The Sun. "What I have come to see is that everybody is human and can make mistakes."

Asked about those comments recently, Mr. Rappaport said he has a short-term goal of locking up the lost causes and a long-range goal to save youngsters.

"We have to get some counseling to the adults to say, 'Hey, do you know what you're doing to the kids?' " he says.

The comments could easily have come from the 43-year-old Mrs. Townsend.

A lawyer with a decade of experience in state and federal government, Mrs. Townsend also talks about stiff punishments for hard-core criminals and more hands-on guidance for youngsters.

She gives her four children little free time to get into trouble -- packing them off to soccer or ballet class -- and all kids should have those chances, she says.

"You realize at some point law is not going to change people," she says in an interview in her cramped office in Democratic Party headquarters in the Rotunda shopping center in North Baltimore. "You need character."

Many Democrats privately criticized Mr. Glendening for picking Mrs. Townsend, calling her too liberal and politically untested.

Mrs. Townsend seems unfazed by the whispers. "My sense was people didn't know me, which was unfortunate," she says. "I was a caricature."

For a politician, Mrs. Townsend is completely unaffected. She gobbles Advils for a headache during an interview and cringes at the memory of an amateurish performance she gave at a political event in her first run for office in 1986.

On the stump, she is warm and earnest.

Kennedy connection stressed

The daughter of the late U.S. Sen. Robert F. Kennedy and the niece of the late President John F. Kennedy, Mrs. Townsend makes frequent use of her family legacy. The other day at the Locust Point senior club, for example, she began her speech with a series of stories about her 104-year-old grandmother, Rose Kennedy.

While she has been able to raise a significant amount of money through family connections, it's unclear if the Kennedy name translates into many votes.

"The Kennedy name has nothing to do with it," says Richard A. Hampton, a 32-year-old Baltimore man who ran into Mrs. Townsend shaking hands recently at the Northeast Market. "I just wanted her to say what they would do if they got in there."

The anti-Kennedy hostility she encountered during her unsuccessful run for Congress eight years ago has slackened, Mrs. Townsend says. "A lot of people like" the family connection now, she says. "Some don't."

After losing badly to U.S. Rep. Helen Delich Bentley in the congressional race, Mrs. Townsend has bolstered her political resume.

She spent six years in the state Department of Education, boosting volunteerism, an effort that culminated with Maryland becoming the first state to make community service a high school graduation requirement. And last year she landed a mid-level job in the U.S. Justice Department.

Mrs. Townsend, who lives in Ruxton in Baltimore County with her husband, David, and their four daughters, was helping plan implementation of the crime bill when Mr. Glendening asked her to run.

The post of lieutenant governor dates only to 1970, when the General Assembly decided it was better to have a No. 2 person on hand instead of having legislators elect a new governor as they had done after Maryland Gov. Spiro T. Agnew's resignation to become vice president.

Both Mr. Glendening and Mrs. Sauerbrey say their No. 2 person will play a key role coordinating some part of criminal justice policy.

But teamwork is a familiar promise on the campaign trail that has proved to be more elusive once in office.

Says state Sen. Barbara A. Hoffman of Baltimore: "I don't think either of these candidates for governor wants or expects a full partner in a lieutenant governor. I'm not sure it matters a whole lot."