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Power: The Dwight Stuff?
By Gregory Gilderman
Evans is extremely protective of his personal life. He has never married, and when a reporter once asked if he had a significant other, he quipped, “My work.” In a 1998 profile in this magazine, he said a query into speculation about his private life was not a “fair question.”
“It’s hard to know Dwight,” says Sam Katz. “I’ve known him for 20 years, and I don’t really know him. And I don’t know people who say they do know him. He has some close political friends, and close personal friends, but I don’t know who they are. That’s not a criticism, that’s just how it is.”
Evans says he spends his evenings watching ESPN or movies. “Let me tell you, I like to do what every other normal person does … go to movies, have a little, small group of friends. But I think I do what normal people like to do. … I like to go out and see a group play — Frankie Beverly and the Whispers. Go to the Robin Hood Dell when I get the chance.”
At press time, Evans said his campaign had somewhere around $2 million — not enough to launch the kind of media blitz he might need in a field of heavyweights. Evans’s hope is that over time, through his appearances, editorials, word of mouth and endorsements, thinking voters will see what he’s accomplished and decide he’s the best man for the job.
“I ran for governor and came in second,” Evans says when asked about his inability to translate his one-on-one rapport with people to a larger stage. “Look how many races I’ve run. I’ve won more races than I’ve lost, right?
“Look at Ed Rendell,” Evans continues. “He lost bad to Bob Casey and to Wilson Goode, right? And in ’91, when he won, most people didn’t think he had a shot. He won that mayor’s race and went on to run for governor. So, I mean, people say that. There’s not much I can say about that.”
Evans is right about Rendell, but it seems an odd analogy. Rendell’s political gift is his ability to connect with audiences — to win them over with his charm and candor and undeniable comfort in his own skin, even when they might not agree with him on the issues. Evans is different: just as solid on substance, but to many people in this city, a mystery.
In late January, I went to one of Evans’s press conferences, and before the event, I had a conversation with the building’s front-desk officer, an African-American man around 50 years old. He had opinions on every issue I brought up, but when I asked what he thought of Dwight Evans, he was stumped.
“I just, ah — I don’t know,” he said. “I mean, he’s … ” He looked at me and shook his head. “I just don’t know, man.”
“It’s hard to know Dwight,” says Sam Katz. “I’ve known him for 20 years, and I don’t really know him. And I don’t know people who say they do know him. He has some close political friends, and close personal friends, but I don’t know who they are. That’s not a criticism, that’s just how it is.”
Evans says he spends his evenings watching ESPN or movies. “Let me tell you, I like to do what every other normal person does … go to movies, have a little, small group of friends. But I think I do what normal people like to do. … I like to go out and see a group play — Frankie Beverly and the Whispers. Go to the Robin Hood Dell when I get the chance.”
At press time, Evans said his campaign had somewhere around $2 million — not enough to launch the kind of media blitz he might need in a field of heavyweights. Evans’s hope is that over time, through his appearances, editorials, word of mouth and endorsements, thinking voters will see what he’s accomplished and decide he’s the best man for the job.
“I ran for governor and came in second,” Evans says when asked about his inability to translate his one-on-one rapport with people to a larger stage. “Look how many races I’ve run. I’ve won more races than I’ve lost, right?
“Look at Ed Rendell,” Evans continues. “He lost bad to Bob Casey and to Wilson Goode, right? And in ’91, when he won, most people didn’t think he had a shot. He won that mayor’s race and went on to run for governor. So, I mean, people say that. There’s not much I can say about that.”
Evans is right about Rendell, but it seems an odd analogy. Rendell’s political gift is his ability to connect with audiences — to win them over with his charm and candor and undeniable comfort in his own skin, even when they might not agree with him on the issues. Evans is different: just as solid on substance, but to many people in this city, a mystery.
In late January, I went to one of Evans’s press conferences, and before the event, I had a conversation with the building’s front-desk officer, an African-American man around 50 years old. He had opinions on every issue I brought up, but when I asked what he thought of Dwight Evans, he was stumped.
“I just, ah — I don’t know,” he said. “I mean, he’s … ” He looked at me and shook his head. “I just don’t know, man.”
Originally published in Philadelphia magazine, April 2007
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