Electionearing

Reporting for this dispatch provided in part by Neille Ilel, Laura Gordon. Alcohol-induced observations courtesy of the Giff and the Campaign Finance Board ("spend it or lost it, pal") and transportation courtesy of the MTA ("moving backward to move forward") and several of our better-paid colleagues at more reputable newspapers.

The saddest place to be on primary night was at the side of one of the most qualified politicians. The story of Arnie Kriss' bid to unseat Brooklyn District Attorney Joe (or is it Charles?) Hynes nearly reduced our Neille Illel into a mushy ball of soggy Kleenex. Here's her dispatch:

"Kriss, whom I pretty much felt comfortable calling Arnie even before I even met him, seemed like way too nice of a guy to be running for office, much less winning.

"'I believe I could have done it,' Arnie said, conspicuously slipping into the past tense even before any of the election results were in. Arnie gave great big hugs to everyone he saw. It was like watching a man attend his own funeral. At least at an Irish wake, somebody would have been laughing.

"Things only got worse when the results poured in. Admittedly, I knew as much about Kriss and the other candidates as your average Wisconsin cattle farmer. The problem is, I live in Brooklyn, and most Brooklynites shared my dairyland perspective on the race.

"How else can you explain a man who'd served as both a deputy police inspector and an assistant district attorney running last against an incumbent with more ethical violations under his belt than Bill Clinton?

"Kriss hovered at about seven percent the entire night. Forlorn looks answered the question, 'how are you feeling,' which saved me the troubling of asking. His despondent supporters couldn't believe that such a nice guy had impressed himself upon so few voters.

"'I' feel badly about it,' said Brooklynite Horace L. Morancie. The two met while working on the Kerry campaign in Ohio, which must be where this campaign's kiss of death originated.

"Morancie, a true believer, had another explanation: Kriss refused to put up posters. I guess there's some rule about this. 'He just flatly refused to do it, which is a credit to his honesty, but?' Morancie's voice trailed off.

"One of the problems may have been that many of Kriss' supporters were from Long Island. Missing from the party was the usual cadre of young New York City political upstarts trying to get their foot in the door of City Hall. The ones that make calls, carry signs and pound the pavement for pennies. There were plenty of older lawyers, insurance men and the like, and even a friend that runs a rehab center, but are they going to dredge the streets rounding up voters? Maybe the rehab friend?

"All of Kriss' friends wanted to talk at length about how great a guy he was, which only added to the creepy funeral feeling. But then the lawyer gene kicked in, and I was suddenly being introduced to people who knew him longer or had a more impressive resume, or a better golf swing."

Here's a dispatch from a writer who wishes not be identified, from the Miller reception:

"There was brief moment of humor at Miller's reception last night. After getting crushed, Miller took to the stage, thanked everyone, and announced there were plenty of free drinks at the bar.

"He then said something like, 'And I hope the Campaign Finance Board forgives us,' poking fun at the agency whose spending caps and rules he'd recently flouted, and who were presumably footing the bill for about 60 proof worth of each 80 proof shot."

The less said about C. Virginia Fields, the better, since mother always told me (as the Weiner-man might say), 'If you can't say anything nice?' Suffice then that we all knew Virginia was a goner from the beginning. Last night, I publicly challenged anyone in her campaign to leak her victory speech. Of course no one did.

On, then, to a Roman movie outtake? The nearly yearlong hunt for Democratic voters led wannabe officeholders and office retainers to every street fair, church, senior center and little league game. Yesterday, it led two-time Public Advocate candidate Norman Siegel into a ride-along cab pulled up and down St. Mark's Place by an entourage of 40 bicyclists. Weirdly, he lost.

The hunt for voters also led mayoral front-runner Fernando Ferrer and his newfound supporter, Rev. Al, to a Pathmark on 125th and Lennox Avenue.

In the produce section, the portly gadfly told Ferrer "We're in the produce section. We're producing votes."

"I like that," Ferrer responded.

How sweet.

But for the nearly three million registered Democrats, the produce seemed a bit spoiled, and so was the turnout. 785,365 Democrats voted in 2001, when the primary was delayed two weeks after the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, and about the same number turned out for the runoff between Public Advocate Mark Green and then-Bronx Borough President Fernando Ferrer. Almost 300,000 less voters bothered this time around.

Which is no surprise when you consider the big ideas that came from the mayoral field. Miller offered inventive new ways to skirt the Campaign Finance Board's spending cap. Fields spent her time inserting Asians into her literature (magical realism, indeed). Weiner seemed to be auditioning for a role as Ed Koch's sidekick in a comedy routine, speaking almost entirely in one-liners ("Bloomberg dislocated his shoulder patting himself on the back?") Ferrer's campaign lost traction after his Diallo comments drove blacks away, so he stayed quiet and let the public focus on the three other hacks in the race. Just as Zsa-Zsa Gabor is famous for being a celebrity, so did Freddy stay the frontrunner because he was expected to win. The Times nailed this one in their lukewarm at best endorsement when they mocked his "cocoon of soundbites."

Frontrunner Freddy got 182,247 votes, which equaled 39.96 percent of the 456,263 votes cast, minus about 25,000 absentee ballots, just .04 percentage point short of the 40 percent needed to avoid a runoff.

At first it looked like second-place finisher Anthony Weiner would have the door open just enough (.04 percentage points to be exact) to force a runoff, which given the positive press and momentum he'd accumulated over the campaign's closing weeks would have been worth a lot in a compressed two week race with the candidates going head-to-head.

The primary night mood at Weiner camp was euphoric. Despite the strapped campaign's failure to provide much food or any alcohol, the room was filled with a Deaniac-like belief in their man.

The campaign built on the congressman's one-liners and congressional staff had more of the same at their reception.

Before Weiner made his midnight appearance, we noticed the room was full of people who said they weren't just Weiner supporters, but family members of people on his campaign.

Now that's a real family affair.

Weiner, who'd been running mostly to build up name recognition for a future run, had beaten out two candidates who'd in essence spent their entire careers preparing for this moment. A big part of it is that while his gag humor may not have aged well with the press corps, his relatively low profile early in the race had kept the public from tiring off it yet, and the televised debates and general pick-up in attention to the race in the campaign's closing weeks and a weak field had, for a moment, made him a star.

Weiner's rather unexpected concession speech, delivered early today in Park Slope, is perhaps the smartest move of the 2005 race, and possibly of the 2009 race too. Schumer's protégé turned down the chance to become the new Mark Green-a white candidate blamed for torpedoing the hopes of Fernando Ferrer, and by extension, all of Gotham's Latinos-and instantly made himself a frontrunner in 2009, when there'll be no billionaire incumbent waiting to slay whatever Democrat stumbles out of the primary.

And by turning down his chance to face Ferrer (by continuing to campaign on the assumption that a count of the absentee ballots would have knocked Ferrer below the 40 percent needed to avoid a runoff), he saved his party from the spectacle of self-cannibalism. Had he refused to concede, the delicate black and Latino coalition behind Ferrer would have been in the very embarrassing position of demanding an immediate stop to the counting of Democratic ballots. Ohio and Florida, anyone?

Weiner's early competition in the 2009 race's more promising field already includes Comptroller Bill Thompson, who is black, and Bronx Borough President Adolfo Carrion, who is Hispanic. Both have been nervously eyeing each other while standing on either side of Ferrer. Koch has already endorsed Thompson (who already has a Sept. 27th fundraiser planned) and Rev. Al couldn't be any closer to him without messing up his James Brown quaff.

Here's some New York math: one white candidate is greater than two minority candidates, since Thompson and Carrion will take votes from each other.

For now though, Ferrer and co. have to choke down Weiner's withdrawal, and hold out against Bloomberg's spending onslaught for two more weeks than would have been the case if there had been a runoff. And Bloomberg continues to have a good deal of Democratic support, especially among white outer borough Rudy Democrats who can't stomach Ferrer's graft-happy entourage.

Bloomberg has already offered a first wave of "surprise endorsements" including former Queens Borough President Claire Shulman, outgoing Miramax mogul Harvey Weinstein and various others meant to reassure Jews who still consider themselves Democrats that yes, it's OK to vote for Mayor Mike, who despite the looks and sound of him, is indeed a nice Jewish boy.

On a hunch, I called a spokesman for Councilman Peter Vallone, Jr., who was heading home after a disappointing night at Miller's reception at hot nightclub Crobar. I guess he needed to spend whatever money he had left fast. There's no better drink than a drink the Campaign Finance Board pays for, and just remember folks, the more you drink the better Campaign Finance sounds.

Just as our conversation steered towards Bloomberg, Vallone drove into a serendipitously-placed tunnel and we lost reception. If he ever gets out of that tunnel, don't be surpsied if he endorses Bloomberg. With his horse Miller out of the running, Vallone seems like that kind of Rudycrat who could get along a lot better with Bloomberg than with the Bronx boys.

That's plenty for now, but we have a happy thought with which to close:

Eva Moskowitz, the redhead with notoriously sharp elbows, was defeated in her sparky quest for the prestigious and powerful post of President of Manhattan (look at the wonders it did for C. Virginia Fields, who handily defeated Gifford Miller) staggering back to her rent stabilized one bedroom apartment. She can now spend all day and night inside those tight quarters plotting her return with her closest and most photogenic supporters, who surely will be happy for the increased face time, and eager to help with whatever enterprise might get her out of the apartment.