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Winning back the White House

Party leaders put their hopes in Leah Daughtry, a Pentecostal pastor, for a successful convention next year in Denver - and to help woo voters of faith back to the Democrats

David Montero, Rocky Mountain News

Published November 4, 2007 at midnight

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NEW YORK - Leah Daughtry is listening to her father from near the pulpit, eyes closed behind wire-rimmed glasses and hands folded neatly in her lap.

He's about to preach - just as he has for almost 50 years in this tiny Brooklyn church - and she's ready for a high-energy, sing-song lecture that will end with loud praises to Jesus from the well-coiffed congregation.

Except this time, Herbert Daughtry has a message to deliver first. A message steeped in the black struggle, God's will and a parent's pride. It will evoke the ghosts of slaves freed, civil rights leaders slain and adversity overcome.

And it will bring his oldest daughter to tears.

"No, her father didn't have material things to give her - or her mother, but what we gave her, what our parents gave us, was faith in God," he said, deep baritone voice rising - then falling - echoing richly through the old church.

"Faith in doing right. Faith in believing that ultimately good will conquer evil. That no matter how hard, you must trust in God. Somehow, God will make a way."

The congregation nods in approval and his daughter gets up slowly to hold his hand as he proudly talks of her selection as chief executive officer of the Democratic National Convention Committee.

"When God reaches down, reaches over, reaches yonder, reaches somewhere and picks someone up and blesses them and allows them to reach a high exalted position, everybody wins," he said. "Particularly when that person's essence is decency and fairness and righteousness and goodness for everybody. You can say Amen to that."

The response is resounding, thunderous and soaked in joy. Before long, Leah Daughtry is dancing in her white robe with other church members, praising God while her nephew pounds on the drums in the corner.

After Herbert Daughtry preaches, a cancer survivor comes forward. God is proclaimed almighty by the reverend, the whites of his eyes visible as he claps. The congregation sweats as the beat gets faster.

"Put a praise on it," someone yells. The congregation is stomping their feet, moving in circles.

And Leah Daughtry, the most powerful person in the DNCC, turns her back to the pulpit and spreads her arms out and upwards toward a simple crucifix hanging on the wall.

Dems woo faithful

It's no accident that Daughtry, a Pentecostal pastor, heads the team that will put on her party's biggest show in Denver next year and is the right-hand woman to Democratic National Chairman Howard Dean.

At 44, she's part of the drive to encourage Democrats to talk about religion - a tenet Dean says was wrested from them in 1994. That's when House Speaker Newt Gingrich helped persuade so-called values voters to turn Congress over to Republicans during President Bill Clinton's first term.

Dean said that in subsequent years - including his own bid for the presidency in 2004 - he saw a need to expand beyond his party's traditional strongholds and campaign in all 50 states to get a Democrat into the White House in 2008. And as part of that strategy, he wanted to reach out to people of all faiths as well.

So, in 2005, the DNC launched Faith in Action, an outreach effort by Democrats with a simple goal - to have conversations about the intersection of faith and politics while wooing voters to the Democratic Party.

Dean, who was quoted in 2003 as saying, "I don't think that religion ought to be part of American policy," says he has grown more in his faith. Conversations about faith with Daughtry, Dean said, have helped burnish his own.

Daughtry, he said, was a natural fit to lead the outreach along with leaders from different faiths, including evangelicals, Catholics, Muslims and Jews. As an evangelical pastor, Daughtry's core beliefs reflect a widening of the Democratic umbrella.

"As a Pentecostal African-American, I have more in common theologically with white evangelicals than with black Baptists," she told the New York Times last month.

That's OK, according to Dean.

"We have to find common ground," he said.

Daughtry is hopeful that it will work, conceding Democrats hadn't connected with voters who bring their faith into the polling place.

Sitting in an office more intern-sized than CEO-sized and mere blocks from Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C., in late October, Daughtry said Democratic candidates have been "limited and too narrowly defined" in talking about faith to have the impact Republicans do with religious voters.

She also thinks that the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, changed the rules on mixing religion and politics.

"Something happened in our country, and our faith in our own system - and post-Katrina also - our own government and in everything we had come to really take for granted was shaken," she said. "How could people get into our country and fly planes into the World Trade Center? How could the levees fall down and people stood on roofs and it took us, America, three or four days to get people out? How could that be? I think in those times of crisis, people try to find rationale and reason and sustenance and faith in something bigger than themselves."

Daughtry started down that path years ago as the daughter of a preacher.

Pulled in two directions

She was born in Brooklyn, and her father is fond of telling the story about the hard choice he had to make leading up to that moment.

It was August 1963, and Herbert Daughtry was getting ready to join Martin Luther King Jr. in the March on Washington. Things were heating up in the civil rights movement, and the Rev. Daughtry felt an obligation to be on the front lines of the fight.

But he also had an obligation to his wife, Karen, who was pregnant with their first child - Leah.

Sitting in a creaky pew at his House of the Lord church, Daughtry goes into his Dick Gregory story.

"I was in a deep, deep dilemma about this," he began. "I didn't want to miss the birth of my child - my first. But I felt I needed to be there for the march, too. My wife, Karen, however, was clear on what I should do."

He paused, calling on 50 years of preaching experience in building up to the story's finish.

"So I decided to stay with my wife," he said. "Later, I talked to Dick Gregory, who told me he was in the same situation. You know what he said? He said, 'You made the right decision. I went on the march when my son was born and I ain't seen him since.'"

Daughtry laughs. But to him, there's something deeper than a punchline. Daughtry possesses an easy willingness to bypass a historical event and put his family first.

Leah Daughtry has a similar mindset.

Before she accepted the job as head of the DNCC in April, she told Dean unequivocally there were non-negotiable conditions. The biggest was that her small Washington, D.C., church - her first - with about 25 members was to remain Daughtry's top priority.

Dean agreed.

So, despite moving to downtown Denver at the beginning of October to live until the convention ends, she goes back to Washington to preside over services at least twice a month.

To her, it's about priorities.

"If members call me and children are in the hospital, my schedule gets canceled and I go to the hospital," she said. "That is the most important thing to me because I think 10 years from now, I will not remember what meeting I was at, I will not remember what conference I was at, but I will remember I didn't go to see my parishioner's child in the hospital and they will remember that. And I think that is my barometer for how I make those sorts of decisions."

But she's still aware of how important her role is in putting on the convention. After all, this will be her fourth, and she knows much of its success hinges on her.

Spreading the word

Sitting in the small diner in Pueblo on a clear October afternoon, Daughtry is meeting some of the county's top elected officials to discuss political landscapes and strategy. It's her first time to this town that's about 25 times smaller than her home borough of Brooklyn.

Pat Waak, chairwoman of the Colorado Democratic Party, is joined by State Sen. Abel Tapia and Pueblo County Democrats Vice Chair Terry Hart in welcoming Daughtry to a part of Colorado where Democrats are hoping to continue making strides in turning the state blue.

Daughtry said she's following Dean's 50-state model by trekking all over Colorado to talk about the convention and electing Democrats.

Tapia, over a plate of appetizers, said he hoped she was impressed with Pueblo.

"She's a big fish in a small pond - and we're going to treat her that way," Tapia said. "That's what we do here in Pueblo. We're a small community with a lot to offer. I think she heard that."

Daughtry was in town as a part of a tour that will both familiarize herself with Colorado and enhance her understanding of the political map. This night after the meeting in the diner, she's with Gov. Bill Ritter on the second leg of the DNCC's community forum series. The first was in Denver in September.

On stage with Ritter, Daughtry speaks to the crowd of about 100, easily weaving together references to the Colorado Rockies startling run through the playoffs and the convention's impact on the region. She doesn't bother to correct Tapia when he mispronounces her name during her introduction.

Daughtry and Ritter field questions and comments from the crowd that range from the Pepsi Center's accessibility for the disabled to how the speeches should be staged. She laughs, smiles easily and exhibits a dry wit. When she says something she knows might invite controversy, she deflects it quickly by rolling her eyes and adopting a mock don't-go-there tone.

Afterwards, she shakes a few hands, poses for a couple of pictures, but has to rush off to catch a flight to Washington early the next morning to give a speech to the Women's Leadership Forum.

Ritter, however, remains and poses for pictures, and soon Daughtry returns to mingle a bit and to give the governor a T-shirt from the DNC headquarters.

"Free schwag," Ritter exclaims before putting his arm around her and wishing her a safe trip.

The governor said he met Daughtry a few months ago and was convinced early on that she'd make a strong CEO. He's also getting a handle on her personality.

"She's a taskmaster," Ritter said with a laugh. "She gets what a massive job this is and isn't afraid to do what needs to be done."

Denver in spotlight

Daughtry knows there's a lot to be done. Big numbers are tossed about - 35,000 descending on Denver, an economic impact of about $160 million and thousands of credentialed media putting the city center stage Aug. 25-28.

She said one of her chief worries is something that she never encountered in Los Angeles, Boston or New York when conventions were held there.

It's the King Soopers anecdote - an incident in Denver when Daughtry said she was trying to buy eggs and was stopped by a woman who began enthusiastically telling her how important the convention was to Denver.

Then there was the LoDo restaurant owner who recognizes her and shouts out that his business is booked for two solid weeks during the convention.

All of this tells Daughtry that Denver will be a different experience than past conventions.

"The challenge for us - in Denver particularly - and, I don't see this as a problem, it's just a challenge, is managing the enthusiasm and the excitement of the local community because it is some days, overwhelming," Daughtry said. "You go to New York . . . but there are thousands of conventions in New York in a year so it's just one more thing they're doing. So unless you're right around Madison Square Garden, you probably wouldn't even know it's there. That can't happen in Denver."

Early into politics

Herbert Daughtry is fond of telling people the first place his daughter came to was his church. "Sleeping in the front pew," he'll say. But she was also exposed to politics at an early age.

Her father's church was involved in Jesse Jackson's Operation Breadbasket, and the two men remain good friends. Leah's first official foray into politics was working on Jackson's presidential campaign in 1984.

She doesn't think social justice and Christian values can be separated.

"It is, I think, a sin to go to church on Sunday and praise and worship and go home and step over homeless people along the way and hungry people and the church does nothing and says nothing about that," Daughtry said. "The church is called to be prophetic and that is to declare the kingdom of God here on Earth. So what does that mean? In the kingdom of God, there's justice, there's peace, there's freedom and there's love, but people are fed, people are clothed and people are housed. How do I worship a God who only calls me to the kingdom of God in a place I've never seen and this place where I live is in disarray?"

Disarray is something that Daughtry frowns on.

Talk to her three siblings and they'll all tell you the same thing. Growing up, she was the one who followed the rules - organized to a fault. While her sisters can regale you with tales of how they cheated at Monopoly as kids or got into trouble by fighting, they draw a blank when trying to remember a time Leah ever stepped out of line.

Sharon Daughtry, the second-oldest, said that when the kids were growing up, Leah had a system for who got to sit up front during car trips. The rotation gave everyone a chance to ride upfront with their parents.

"And she still does it," Sharon said. "She remembers whose turn it is whenever we drive to a function."

It's true, Leah concedes. She also keeps track of, in her head, whose turn it is to speak at each of their parent's birthdays. Within moments, she recalls who will be speaking at her mother's birthday this month.

Her sisters - one of whom is a preacher in New Jersey - said it wasn't surprising to them that she has the CEO job. It fits her personality. What is surprising to them, and to her father, is that Leah became a pastor.

The politics part they understand. Around the dinner table while growing up, the Daughtry family had lively debates about what was going on in the nation and the world and the black community.

The House of the Lord church reflects that even now, with the Rev. Daughtry getting ready to leave on a relief trip to Darfur to talk to Sudanese leaders and deliver aid to refugee camps in the wake of that nation's genocide. In the church's basement, there are posters that speak to its past: "Free Mandela" and "Millions for Reparations Rally." Winnie Mandela has spoken from the church's pulpit.

Leah Daughtry has not been to Darfur and expressed relief that her sister joined their father there. But she's not a worrier - something she attributes to her faith. And that extends to the choices she's made throughout her life.

"When you're young, when you get out of college, you're supposed to get married - you're supposed to meet the person you're going to marry in college - graduate, have the big beautiful wedding, go live in the suburbs and have 2.5 kids and a dog with two cars. And so, that was my prayer and my wish like it's probably every American girl's wish," she said. "But that wasn't how my prayer was answered, and so I'm not married and I'm perfectly happy and I'm child-free and I think the things I have done and the path that God has sent me down would've been dramatically different if those things had happened in my early years."

She is reflective, sitting at the desk in her Washington office thinking about the road she's on now. Her schedule is busy, and a DNC official has already popped in to tell her she's got another meeting scheduled shortly. She's also booked to fly to Florida the next day.

"So at the time, when I reached 30 and I didn't have children and wasn't married, I had a crisis like all 30-year-olds do, but I got past that and it's fine. But I think it's a place of faith that people of faith have to always come to - wrestling with how your life aligns with the will of God and do you want what you want or do you want what God wants you to have."

She doesn't get caught up in prognostications about the 2008 election, who the best candidate is, or which Republican will present the toughest competition.

Daughtry said she is content to let things happen through God's will - even if she's working well over 60 hours a week to make the Democratic National Convention a success and get a Democrat into the White House next November. She doesn't minimize the importance of those goals, but her pastor side believes it isn't really up to her.

"I don't know that God gets involved in that level of stuff. Maybe he does and maybe he cares and maybe that's important, but what I prayed for is that I would have peace in my spirit about the outcome. I know I prayed for God to intervene and for Al Gore to win, but I'm sure there were people praying for George Bush to win," she said.

"I don't think God looks at us as children and says, 'Which side should I pick?' We shouldn't hitch our faith on those sorts of things. That's like hitching your faith on the outcome of a horse race and deciding God loves you based on whether you hit the trifecta or not. You can't."

Dean's faith rests in Daughtry to help Democrats win back the White House.

or 303-954-5236

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