WASHINGTON — Herman Cain’s unlikely and ill-fated
presidential campaign proved that one rule is immutable even in this
rambunctious campaign year: Political outsiders may be an attractive
alternative to career politicians, but all the fresh approaches and
folksy charm in the world can’t make up for inexperience and untenable
baggage.
Ending days of intense speculation, the
Republican presidential candidate announced he will suspend his
campaign, a legal maneuver that allows him to request federal matching
funds. The move followed accusations of sexual harassment, groping and,
this week, a 13-year affair with a woman Cain insisted was merely a
friend.
“My wife, my family and I, we know that
those false and unproved allegations are not true,” said Cain, whose
wife, Gloria, walked with him hand-in-hand, then stood behind him on a
makeshift stage on the steps of the Atlanta headquarters Cain was to
have opened Saturday. “So one of the first declarations that I want to
make to you today is that I am at peace with my God. I am at peace with
my wife. And she is at peace with me.”
Defiant and
at times angry, Cain told the crowd that his Plan A — becoming
president — would have to give way to Plan B, which he described as
changing Washington from the outside.
“I am not
going to be silenced and I am not going away,” said Cain, who thanked
his supporters, acknowledged their disappointment and announced the
launch of a new website, TheCainSolutions.com.
Veterans of other GOP presidential campaigns said Cain’s decision was to be expected.
“He
was never a serious candidate so I can’t say this was, in the end, very
surprising,” said strategist Mike Murphy. “I think only people with
real prior experience in national politics know how tough a process it
is. For others like Cain, it looks fun, but then comes the rude
awakening. It’s just not a business for amateurs.”
Sara
Taylor Fagen, a former White House political director for George W.
Bush and an adviser to former Minnesota Gov. Tim Pawlenty, who dropped
out of the race earlier this year, said any expectation of personal
privacy is a mistake.
“There are no secrets in
politics anymore,” Fagen said. “If you engage in illegal activity or
carry on with someone other than your spouse, don’t run for president.”
Although
Cain retained a core of loyal supporters, many voters were put off by
the accusations swirling around him. Others worried about an early
stumble over his position on abortion and his lack of foreign policy
experience, illustrated disastrously in a Nov. 14 meeting with The
Milwaukee Journal Sentinel in which he was unable to offer an opinion on
President Barack Obama’s Libya policy.
In a poll
released Friday, The Des Moines Register found that Cain was favored by
only 8 percent of Iowa’s likely caucus-goers, plummeting from the 23
percent support he had a month ago.
Because Cain’s
support was already waning, it’s unclear how his withdrawal will affect
the race. Many strategists expect his supporters to migrate to Newt
Gingrich, the former House speaker, rather than to former Massachusetts
Gov. Mitt Romney. Cain said he would soon endorse a candidate.
Several
former rivals wished him well and applauded him for putting the issue
of tax reform at the forefront of the GOP race. “He will continue to be a
powerful voice in the conservative movement,” Gingrich said.
A
tea party favorite who had toured the country in support of Americans
for Prosperity, the anti-tax group backed by the billionaire Koch
brothers, Cain delighted in dismissing the idea he should be liberal
because he is black, offering a rebuke to those who accused the movement
of harboring racists.
His charisma, strong debate
performances and compelling rags-to-riches story propelled him from a
curiosity to the top of the polls, albeit briefly.
“I
grew up in a world of segregated water fountains,” Cain said Saturday.
“My father was a chauffeur, my mother was a maid. And we showed that you
didn’t have to have a degree from Harvard in order to run for
president.”
Had
he remained at the back of the pack, it is possible Cain’s private life
would never have been subject to scrutiny. But as Cain frequently
pointed out, turning around to show crowds an imaginary “target on my
back,” he could not escape the negative attention as his profile rose.
A
successful Atlanta radio talk show host, motivational speaker and
author after retiring as CEO of Godfather’s Pizza, Cain joined the race
in May. His announcement before a crowd of 15,000 at Atlanta Memorial
Park was virtually the only other time in an almost seven-month campaign
that his wife stood at his side in public.
Cain
was the first candidate to introduce an easily digestible alternative to
the complex federal tax code. His catchy “9-9-9” plan called for a
system of 9 percent flat taxes. He repeated the three numbers like an
expert pitchman, but sometimes ran into trouble when pressed on the
details. Many analysts said it would cut taxes on the rich and raise
taxes on the middle class.
Throughout, Cain
signaled he’d be a different sort of candidate. He wore sunglasses and
sometimes greeted crowds with the corny phrase, “Aww, shucky ducky, as
the man would say.” He occasionally broke into song. He would charm
crowds by responding to criticism with a quote from his unschooled
grandfather: “I does not care.”
But there was a
downside to being unconventional. Cain’s small staff seemed frequently
at wit’s end. Plans to meet donors sometimes fell through.
Instead
of concentrating on the early voting states, Cain launched a book tour
in September, making stops all over the country that fed speculation he
wasn’t serious about the nomination. Cain, who disputed that, subtitled
his memoir “My Journey to the White House.”
Steve
Duprey, a New Hampshire GOP committeeman and campaign veteran, said
candidates who don’t build strong organizations have trouble surviving
bad news. “They lack the roots under that tree that helps sustain you
when the going gets rough,” Duprey said.
A festive
mood had prevailed Saturday outside Cain’s new headquarters. Before
Cain arrived in his custom campaign bus, there was bunting, barbecue and
blaring pop music; there was a sign-up sheet for volunteers and $50
Herman Cain golf shirts for sale. Soon, many of his supporters were
dejected.
“I just — I’m heartbroken,” said Hokey
Sloan, 63, a restaurateur from Auburn, Ga. “He was the one candidate I
could really agree with.”
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