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VISIT MINNESOTA MONTHLY ON THE WEB Online Article Index		Back in the Days of psychedelia, it was said that if you played the Beatles song "I Am the Walrus" backwards, you'd hear the words "Paul is dead." I never could hear it. Playing the record backwards created nothing but gibberish—it didn¹t make any sense. And even now, nearly a year after the campaign plane crash of October 25, 2002, to hear the words "Paul is dead" in Minnesota doesn't seem to make any sense. It's like a world gone backwards. I got to know Paul Wellstone at Carleton College in the 1970s, when he was a big-haired professor of government and I was a hirsute student. Nearly 15 years after I graduated, when Paul first ran for the U.S. Senate, he called upon me to develop his ad campaign. "I understand you need advertising if you're gonna run for the Senate," he said. "And you're the only person I know in advertising." Paul hated the artificiality of most political campaigns and all the money it took to fund the artifice. So did I. The first ad we did together, called "Fast-Paced Paul," began with Wellstone talking directly to the camera and noting, "I don't have a lot of money, so I'm gonna have to talk fast!" And off he went, leading us on a peripatetic, time-compressed introduction to his house, his family, and his views on the environment, health care, education, and labor before jumping on his signature green bus, which zoomed off down the street. I can't think of another candidate to whom we could have suggested the next commercial, "Looking for Rudy." Inspired by Michael Moore's film Roger and Me, our idea was to seek out the debate-dodging Republican incumbent, Rudy Boschwitz, and film an on-the-spot discussion between Paul and Rudy. This was certain to put Paul in tense situations. But he had such an amazing ability to connect with people, even those who disagreed with him, that if anyone could pull it off, he could. Paul ad-libbed all the way through the commercial, making friends in every enemy camp we entered. To this day, I believe Paul got at least a couple of votes from Boschwitz¹s people after meeting them in the course of filming. They say you can't fake authenticity. But political commercials certainly try. In the midst of the dozen or so commercials we produced for Paul, the old-line party leaders and political operatives sent in from Washington would cluck into his ear, "Paul, you don't look very senatorial in your commercials." Occasionally, he'd broach the subject with me. "Paul," I'd say. "You're five-foot-five. You have hair like Harpo Marx and you won't let anybody but your wife cut it. You wear short-sleeved shirts with ties, and it's a good shoe day for you if just one of the pair has a hole in it. I could bring in the entire Star Wars special effects team, and you're still not going to look senatorial." "You can't work with these good looks?" he'd reply. One of the last spots we did together was a sequel to "Fast-Paced Paul," which we filmed for his 1996 campaign. But in this commercial, "Faster-Paced Paul," Wellstone wasn't alone. As he talked about his health-care accomplishments, the crowd of senior citizens behind him would cheer. As he ran past a group of college students, telling how he fought cuts in education, the students would cheer. As he rushed through a fancy restaurant, noting his restrictions on lobbyists, the big cigars eating lunch would boo. And as he talked about fighting to increase the minimum wage, people exiting the grocery store would yell, "Go, Paul!" I don't think any camera ever captured him happier than he was that day. It's well known that Paul and I did not see eye-to-eye on the ways he ran for reelection. In 1996, and again last year, he was justifiably criticized for "going Washington"—embracing the kind of big-money, poll-driven campaigns we crusaded against in 1990. But these days I'm not sure you could send Jesus Christ to Washington and have him come back unchanged. In the end, nobody ever cared more about working people than Paul Wellstone, and certainly no one ever worked harder on their behalf. Before he died, Paul's famous run had slowed to a walk, and sometimes even a limping shuffle, because of what he described as "a touch" of multiple sclerosis. But if there's even a smidgen of injustice in heaven, you can bet that within minutes of his arrival, the good professor was once again agitatin' and organizin'. And running, always running, because even eternity would seem too short a time for Paul Wellstone to finish all that still needed to be done. MM Bill Hillsman is the president of North Woods Advertising in Minneapolis. His book on politics will be published in January.

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