Outside the box

GREENVILLE, S.C.—During the last days of a withering summer, GOP presidential frontrunner Donald Trump shouted above a roaring crowd at the Greenville, S.C., convention center, touting his financial prowess, his “perfect temperament,” and his headful of real hair.

To prove the last point, Trump called a chagrined woman on stage and asked her to tug his hard-boiled coiffure. Standing on her tiptoes, the woman sheepishly declared into the microphone: “I think it’s real.”

The crowd went wild.

On the subject of wealth, Trump is so rich, he bragged to the crowd of 1,400: “I might have reported it, even if I wasn’t running for president.” When it comes to campaign fundraising, the billionaire asked, “What the hell do I need money for?”

The crowd cheered in approval.

Three days earlier, at a small landscaping company in nearby Seneca, S.C., the scene couldn’t have been more different. Local television reporters asked Republican contender Ben Carson to step closer to a microphone. They needed to capture his soft-spoken voice over an artificial waterfall bubbling nearby.

The former neurosurgeon was recounting a lesson his single mother taught him about finances in their poverty-stricken home in inner-city Detroit when he was a teenager. Carson had complained his clothes weren’t fine enough. His hardworking mother offered to let him pay the bills with her housekeeping paycheck, and to keep anything left over that week. Carson barely managed to cover the rent and food.

“I realized that my mother with her third-grade education was a financial genius,” the GOP candidate told a couple dozen quiet supporters. “And I realized I was a fool.”

Voters want a candidate who tells the truth, and some want a candidate who lives it.

Forget Felix and Oscar: With four months to go before Iowa caucuses formally launch the 2016 election, the contest for the GOP presidential nomination has perhaps the oddest couple in electoral history polling in the first and second spots for a shot at the highest office in America. From summer into fall Trump and Carson surged ahead in a crowded field—at least for the moment.

At the same time, Democrats are following suit: Sen. Bernie Sanders, I-Vt., a self-declared socialist, drew thousands of supporters to huge rallies, and in some states he outpolled former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, the candidate once considered the inevitable Democratic nominee.

What do a reality television star, a famed neurosurgeon, and an aging socialist have in common? Apparently, at least one thing: They’re political outsiders tapping into voters’ deep angst and anger with Washington insiders responsible for running the country.

Trump’s rally in Greenville ended with the rallying cry of his campaign, when a 1980s heavy-metal anthem blared through the convention hall speakers: “We’re Not Gonna Take It.”

But if voters crave outside influence, they gravitate toward very different candidates: Trump’s loud declarations of his greatness and Carson’s low-key demeanor of humility offer a GOP whipsaw for anyone following the two campaigns.

Whether these GOP outsiders continue to rise, or their campaign hopes burst, each one seems to offer a lesson for the eventual GOP nominee: Voters want a candidate who tells the truth, and some want a candidate who lives it. Whatever happens, Carson’s story particularly offers a message any Republican nominee should prepare to articulate in an embattled political environment: why conservative principles are good—and why they’re good for everyone.

JUSTUS COX learned that lesson partly through Carson.

On a recent summer morning in Seneca, S.C., Cox stood just inside the door of Unlimited Landscapes, dressed in a shirt and tie and offering Ben Carson campaign stickers to supporters trickling in to the early morning event.

The day before, hundreds of people showed up for a Carson event at a nearby technical college, and the candidate spent nearly two hours mingling with the crowds. But this morning was quiet, and Cox had time to talk before the candidate arrived.

Cox, a 22-year-old college senior at Anderson University, volunteers with the campaign, and he’s part of a program designed to increase the pool of African-American teachers in local elementary schools. He plans to teach fourth or fifth grade next year.

Reading Carson’s story was formative: “Just seeing what he came out of, and how he came out of it with education. … That book might have changed my life.”

By now, many know Carson’s story: He grew up in a single-parent home in inner-city Detroit. His parents divorced after his father’s unfaithfulness, and Carson’s mother cleaned houses, sometimes more than 12 hours a day, to provide for her two young sons.

Though she had a third-grade education, Carson’s mother insisted her sons read books outside of school and submit written book reports to her each week. (Sometimes she could barely read the reports herself.)

She refused welfare, and urged her sons to work hard. Carson excelled in school and attended Yale on a scholarship. He became the first neurosurgeon to separate Siamese twins conjoined at the head. He started a family and has been married to Candy Carson for more than 40 years.

Cox was moved.

The young man also grew up in a single-parent home: “I’ve seen what drugs do to a family firsthand.” But Cox’s mother insisted he work hard too, and he stayed focused on school, even in a tough neighborhood: “A wise man learns from the mistakes of others.”

In this case, Cox wisely learned from another’s success, and he thinks Carson’s example of hard work, Christian faith, and solid education offers a path forward for others in low-income neighborhoods, even when the hill is steep.

That’s not always a popular message, and Carson often delivers it to the mostly white crowds who come to see him, including the one here in Seneca. Indeed, at this morning’s event—labeled as a Latino outreach—only two Hispanics attend. One owns the business.

Carson, the only black candidate in the GOP field, has resisted becoming a political spokesman to minorities, but he has met with black leaders in the wake of racial unrest in places like Ferguson, Mo., and Baltimore. Some have said they’re disappointed he’s joined the Republican Party. Others have said his message is too simplistic.

For Carson, the message may be simple, but he knows following it isn’t easy. And he emphasizes the government’s role in bolstering an economy that provides job opportunities and dignity for residents in low-income neighborhoods. Still, he insists on resisting a victim mentality.

Less than a mile away, Curtis Lee was one of the few black persons outside the Seneca Family Restaurant, where Carson later addressed a packed breakfast crowd. Dozens of supporters spilled over into the parking lot.

Lee, 60, grew up in nearby Anderson and remembers hearing KKK rallies from his bedroom as a small child. His grandparents were sharecroppers, and Lee worked hard in a difficult environment. Carson’s story resonates with him too. “He came from the same place we came from,” he says. “He didn’t come to this all overnight. He earned it.”

Even Carson had to come to similar politics.

The candidate used to be a Democrat, but said he changed his views when he saw social welfare programs hurting minority communities and driving them to dependence on government.

Carson likely won’t peel a large number of minority voters away from the Democratic Party, but his example could be instructive for Republicans: It offers a compelling case for why conservative principles are good for all groups of society, not just a few.

Back at the Seneca restaurant, Lee says: “It’s not just about us. It’s about the whole country.”

CARSON’S STORY is inspiring, but does it mean he could lead the country? That’s a critical question for both GOP outsiders, and it’s difficult to answer before watching their campaigns enter longer stretches.

Carson stresses his leadership at John Hopkins Hospital and his role on corporate boards like Kellogg and Costco. Trump emphasizes his business savvy in spearheading multimillion-dollar real estate deals and a media empire.

Both reject the notion a candidate has to have political experience to lead the country. (Carson is fond of saying the collective experience of Congress comes to 9,000 years: “And where has that gotten us?)

For now, both are building political organizations in early voting states. Trump has largely funded his own campaign so far, and Carson raised $6 million in August—twice the amount he raised in July.

Both face tests on specific policy proposals. During a car ride between campaign stops in Aiken, S.C., I asked Carson what he’d do to protect religious liberty. He says he’d urge Congress to pass legislation to protect citizens who oppose gay marriage, but says he’d leave it to Congress to determine the appropriate law.

He’s more specific on tax policy and proposes a proportional tax based on the idea of tithing. (It might not be 10 percent, but he doesn’t think it would be much higher). “God didn’t say if you have a bad year, don’t tithe, and he didn’t say if you have a bumper crop, give a triple tithe,” he says. “There must be something inherently fair about proportionality.”

References to God come easily for the professing Christian. (Carson is a Seventh-day Adventist.) He peppers conversation and campaign speeches with Scripture references, often from the book of Proverbs. When I ask about his advisers, he names staffers with political backgrounds, and says, “In a multitude of counselors is safety.”

When I ask about Trump, he demurs. “My job is to talk about the issues—to put forth my vision and the solutions I think will help us as a nation,” he says. “I don’t have to put my finger in the air, and see which way the wind is blowing … which takes the pressure off me.”

IN THEIR FIRST FEW MONTHS of campaigning, Carson and Trump didn’t put much pressure on each other, but clashes loomed. When a reporter asked Carson the biggest difference between him and Trump, he said his Christian faith.

“By humility and fear of the Lord are riches and honor and life, and that’s a very big part of who I am,” said Carson. “I don’t get that impression of him. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t get that.”

Trump pounced. He called Carson an “OK doctor” and criticized his background on abortion. Carson is pro-life, but he defends the fetal tissue research he conducted during his career and says he once advocated legalized abortion before changing his mind.

Trump also slammed Carson for questioning his faith: “I’m a believer, big league, in God and the Bible.” But many others have questioned Trump’s Christian convictions, particularly after he told an interviewer he didn’t think he had ever asked God for forgiveness—a basic tenet of Christianity.

The tiff over faith likely won’t form the core of the tension between Carson and Trump, but the blowup did indicate Trump sees Carson as competition.

During the late-August Greenville rally, Trump mentioned several other GOP candidates to the large audience. Some got jeers. Most got silence. Only Carson’s name elicited applause.

Meanwhile, Trump made sweeping claims about his own broad appeal. Speaking for nearly an hour without notes, the candidate called American leaders “stupid” and offered grand promises short on specifics: “If I become president, you are going to be so proud. … You are going to be the happiest people.”

He appealed to concerns over the country’s demise, saying “the American dream is dead,” but promised he would bring it back. “What’s going on with our country?” he asked. “Soon we’re not going to have a country anymore.”

He quoted what others say about him: “They say he does great with the moderates, and with the young and the old and rich and the poor. He does great with everybody. I even do great with Democrats.”

A few weeks earlier, Trump explained during the first GOP debate why he’s done great with some Democrats, discussing his contributions to politicians like Hillary Clinton and Nancy Pelosi: “I give to everybody. … And you know what? When I need something from them two years later, three years later, I call them, and they are there for me.”

Trump says he’s not part of that “broken system” anymore, but some voters wonder about a professed pro-life candidate who once called himself “very pro-choice” and praised single-payer healthcare. (He now says he would repeal Obamacare and replace it with “something terrific.”)

For months, Trump has pointed out genuine problems in the country’s political system but resisted offering many specific solutions. In early August, his campaign manager told a radio journalist the campaign’s policy papers were ready: “They’re done and we’re waiting for our schedule, and we won’t be dictated to by the mainstream media to tell us what we should or shouldn’t be doing.”

A month later, the policy positions still weren’t on Trump’s campaign website.

A central tenet of Trump’s plan seems to be hiring experts who would help him execute important jobs—a talent he says has been critical to his business success. In Greenville, he told the crowd he knew the world’s best negotiators, and added: “The people I’m talking about are not nice people. They are vicious, horrible, miserable human beings. But they are the greatest negotiators in the world.”

His biggest applause lines came from comments about immigration. Trump promised to build a border wall “so beautiful and so big, they’ll call it the Trump wall.” He also insisted he loves Mexicans, saying the rich ones “buy my apartments.”

For Trump supporters, these events seem to be partly tongue-in-cheek affairs, where his most outlandish comments don’t overshadow the serious reasons they say they support him for the presidency.

One audience member came to see Trump because it was like “watching a car crash—you can’t look away.” Others were enthusiastic about the substance of his remarks and said they liked Trump’s willingness to say exactly what he thinks.

Carroll Kelly, a local resident, said the Republican Party has lost its way, and he’s supporting Trump: “I don’t know everything about him—whether he’s really a conservative or a moderate or whatever—but I like what he says. And so many of our politicians say all kinds of things to get elected. But I think he’s telling the truth.”

One audience member came to see Trump because it was like ‘watching a car crash—you can’t look away.’

Kelly is concerned about veterans affairs, but when I asked what he thought Trump would do specifically, he said the issues are so broad it’s hard for a politician to get into specifics: “But if he says he’ll take care of it, I think he will.”

Another supporter, Dawn Wood, said: “He’s for the people, and what he says he’s going to do he does. He doesn’t back down from anybody.”

It’s unclear whether Trump would back down from the presidential race, even if his poll numbers drop. If Trump garners more support from business owners, and if Carson pulls in evangelical support, it’s possible they could split the vote in places like South Carolina or Iowa—where social conservative Rick Santorum essentially tied with moderate Mitt Romney in 2012.

As for Carson, he seems ready for whatever twists may come. “The Lord has opened doors so far,” he says. “But I’ve told him if He closes the door, I would gladly sit down.”