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SOUTH BEND – Chris Riley planned this event because he wants to resurrect the Republican Party, but he opens the creaky front door to the St. Joseph County Republican headquarters and is reminded of the daunting task ahead.
A book of political strategy from 1916 sits on an entry table. Portraits of heroes from the Reagan era decorate the walls. Dusty porcelain elephants stand atop an aging piano. A group of septuagenarians works in the kitchen, dividing store-bought cookies onto paper plates colored to look like American flags.
Little has changed at the headquarters for decades, which is precisely Riley’s challenge.
The 37-year-old lawyer accepted the unpaid position of county party chairman in 2006 – “maybe the worst job in the world,” he says – and this was the Republican Party he inherited: A volunteer database consisting of 11 people. An antiquated Web site. A monthly newsletter that was published only sporadically. A fading community of conservatives who refused to run for local office because they suspected, Riley says, “that they would just get their teeth kicked in.”
During a depressing 2008 election cycle for Republicans, Riley oversaw the party’s darkest corner. Indiana, solidly Republican for 44 years, shifted more than any other state and voted for Barack Obama. And Riley’s county, which twice backed George W. Bush, also swung for Obama – by a resounding 17 percent.
One year later, on a Thursday night in late fall, Riley hopes to inspire a local Republican comeback by hosting a recruiting event for aspiring politicians.
For more than a year, he has worked 30 hours a week to recruit local Republicans for this moment. A flyer on the door welcomes all comers to Candidates College, a series of lectures for Republicans who want to run for office. Riley has asked the volunteers in the kitchen to prepare for 25 people, but privately he wonders whether that many will come.
“We are rebuilding this party from the ground up, and there’s nothing more important than finding people who will run for office,” Riley says. “We’ve been such a dilapidated party that people have been embarrassed to put their name next to us and run. If we can’t change that, then we don’t have anything.”
Early in his tenure as county chairman, Riley compiled a list of every elected position in St. Joseph County, the fourth largest county in Indiana. By the time Riley finished his list, it included more than 100 political positions, fewer than 35 of those occupied by Republicans.
Riley believed Republicans could regain legitimacy only by finding candidates to run for all 100, so he created a depth chart of would-be politicians. He began a habit of arriving at his law office in Elkhart each morning at 6:30 and devoting several hours to candidate recruitment before starting his regular workday.
He developed a group of “five-star recruits” he e-mailed weekly: a dentist, the owner of a local steakhouse and the public relations director at a South Bend hospital.
Over and over, he called near-strangers and asked: “Would you like to help rescue the Republican Party by running for office? And if not, do you know anyone who might make a good county assessor?”
Riley promised to provide each candidate with financial support for the campaign, yard signs, fundraisers and tutoring on political issues.
“I try to win people over with a little Irish charm, some lawyerly persuasion and a lot of free lunches,” Riley says. “I think we’ve convinced people that this is a cause worth fighting for, but we still need some good candidates to commit and give us their names.”
So minutes before the beginning of Candidates College, Riley stands by the entrance, waiting. The size of this crowd, he believes, will render one small verdict on the state of his party.
“We’ll see,” he says, “just how much progress we’ve made.”
Originally from California, Riley had settled in Indiana with his wife and two children in part because he believed the state was filled with people whose habits mirrored his own – conservatives who read Bible stories to their daughters at night and hang pictures of Mount Rushmore in their offices.
But now, Riley heard those people referring to themselves as independents or even Democrats.
“It was apparent that nobody felt represented by the Republican Party anymore,” Riley said. “The party had lost its way.”
Riley tried to rally support behind Sen. John McCain during the 2008 election because, he said, “it was a requirement of my job.” But he spent far more time working to attract a younger, more diverse demographic to local Republican gatherings by launching a Facebook page, opening a Twitter account and posting videos of the group’s meetings on YouTube.
For the Republican Party’s annual Lincoln Day dinner, Riley rented a dance floor and hung a strobe light. He hosted tailgate parties before Notre Dame football games and started a family bowling night.
The Young Republicans Club, once dead, grew to 25 members. A weekly e-mail update sent to party volunteers, once an informal note from Riley’s BlackBerry to 11 recipients, ballooned into a mass mailing coordinated by a marketing firm and delivered to a list-serve of 1,583.
But the main source of the local Republican resurgence, Riley said, had nothing to do with his own initiatives.
On Nov. 4, 2008, as polls showed Obama cruising to a win on Election Night, more than 150 people packed into Republican headquarters and risked violating the fire code. Dozens signed up as volunteers or wrote donation checks. A disc jockey played redemptive theme songs.
“We had never been stronger or had more energy than we did that night,” Riley said. “Obama galvanized the Republican Party right then. It was like, ‘OK, the worst has happened. Now it’s our turn.’ ”
Fifteen minutes before Candidates College is scheduled to begin, the first aspiring politician finally arrives at Republican headquarters.
He’s soon followed by a second, then a third, then a fourth. Within five minutes, a crowd bottlenecks near the doorway and a line forms outside.
“We probably have 75 people,” Riley says. “It’s standing-room only.”
Riley walks to the lectern to introduce the Candidates College speakers. Jackie Walorski, a state representative now running for Congress, will begin the program with a motivational address. Then Jeff Rea, the Republican mayor of nearby Mishawaka, will offer logistical advice on campaign strategy.
“What a great night to be a Republican!” Walorski says as she steps onto the makeshift stage.
After the speakers finish, Riley stands up to remind the crowd that St. Joseph County will begin accepting declarations of candidacy on Jan. 20. He thanks everyone for coming and tells them to drive home safely, but instead of leaving, many of the Republicans flock toward the stage.
A receiving line forms in front of Riley – seven, 10, now 15 people eager to declare their candidacy this very minute. When the line dissipates, Riley looks down at his updated depth chart of possible candidates. A Republican is listed next to almost every position now. Many are “five-star” recruits.
“Democrats are in for a surprise,” Riley says. “We’re back.”
