The end of a campaign is not unlike the beginning.

        After all the debates and endorsements, candidates stop talking about their platforms and their issues. They stop attacking each other (usually). And they get back to basics.

        They return to a grass-roots sort of campaigning that has more to do with getting out the vote than changing anyone's mind.

Mayor Charlie Luken chats with David Howard of Western Hills at a charity event outside Cincinnati Museum Center on Saturday. (Tony Jones photo) | ZOOM |

        For Charlie Luken, the delivery truck for this brand of retail politics is a rented 1995 Chevrolet conversion van, plastered with Luken yard signs and American flags.

        The van has logged 265 miles — sometimes with him, sometimes without him — in the past few days, through most of the city's neighborhoods.

        Saturday, Mr. Luken spent his time in neighborhood business districts — perhaps for their symbolic importance in his platform but more likely because that's where people were and because he could get something to eat.

        With his 24-year-old son, Sam, Mr. Luken walked down Montgomery Road in Pleasant Ridge, stopping at Pleasant Ridge Chili just long enough to shake hands and exchange a few pleasantries.

        Then he walked out the door and looked across the street.

        “Is that an East African restaurant? Let's go over there,” Mr. Luken said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation and darting across the street before his entourage could object.

        Mr. Luken became the star of the restaurant's grand opening.

        After a tour of the kitchen and a look over the menu (chicken and rice was about the only dish he could pronounce), Mr. Luken was ready to go.

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        But his hosts would not let him leave without sampling their cuisine — a combination of meats and vegetables on a brown, tortilla-like bread.

        “Water!” Mr. Luken said breathlessly. “Something I just ate was hot.”

        “We eat it a lot hotter than that,” the restaurant's co-owner, Gabriel Mogos, said proudly. “We made it more mild for you.”

        “So you're saying this is Ethiopian food for a Price Hill boy,” Mr. Luken responded.

        Outside, his campaign manager marveled at Mr. Luken's ability to connect with people.

        “He really is the best at this, you know,” said 25-year-old Brendon Cull.

        On Mr. Luken's campaign trail, small talk is the currency of his conversation. Rarely does he ask people to vote for him or, for that matter, even talk politics.

        There's no overt political message in this kind of campaigning — just a subtle one.

        I'm Charlie Luken. You know me. I'm from Cincinnati. I understand you.

        This is Mr. Luken's ninth campaign. He knows the city. He can talk to people about almost anything. And he never spends too much time in one place.

        Across town at Price Hill Chili on Glenway Avenue, Mr. Luken bought a round of drinks and watched the Notre Dame-Tennessee football game with more than passing interest. (Mr. Luken graduated from Notre Dame.)

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        He talked to people about Elder's chances of beating Lebanon last night (pretty good) and of Fraternal Order of Police President Keith Fangman running for Hamilton County Sheriff (also pretty good).

        Later, Mr. Luken would drive through the parking lot of Elder's “Pit” in his van, and drive across the bridge to speak to the 100th anniversary dinner of Local 212 of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers at the Northern Kentucky Convention Center.

        The union represents 1,500 electricians in Cincinnati, Covington, Newport and the surrounding area. At the dinner, Mr. Luken talked about his family's union background.“Some of you are old enough to remember my uncle, Jim Luken. Jim Luken was a man who fought hard in the union business years and years ago,” Mr. Luken said.

        Jim Luken, who served as a Cincinnati mayor and councilman, had served as head of the dairy workers local. The politicians in the Luken family have always had strong union backing.

        “What I want you to do tonight, if you do nothing else, is go out and look at the pictures you have out in the lobby, because those people — 20, 50, or 100 years ago — fought the good fight to get us where we are today.”

        Again, Mr. Luken didn't ask directly for a vote.

        His media strategy is also going back to basics. A radio ad running primarily on urban-format stations talks about how his father walked with the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., and how he voted for civil-rights legislation and the Americans with Disabilities Act while in Congress.

        Mr. Luken, 50, appears confident going into the final three days of the campaign.

        He corrects a reporter who asks about what will happen “if” he wins the election with a stern “when.”

        One poll has Mr. Luken winning by 17 percentage points — although the same poll had him winning by 8 points before the Sept. 11 primary in which he lost by 16.

        “I understand one thing. It's all about turnout,” he said. “There's plenty of votes out there for both of us to win. It's a question of getting them to the polls.”
       

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