The Jersey Crusader: Bret Schundler, against the odds.

Ewing Township, N.J.

It's half an hour before the penultimate debate in the race for governor of New Jersey, and IUPAT-that's the union of "painters, tapers, glaziers, and allied trades"-is out in force. On the green in front of the auditorium where the debate will be held, at least two- thirds of Democrat Jim McGreevey's supporters are wearing IUPAT T- shirts. All of them are in a boisterous mood. They've had a few beers, and their guy is up ten points in the polls. They're supposed to stay on one side of the green, but they cross over and push the outnumbered Republicans to the edge. The Democrats are not without a sense of humor: "Union goons! Union goons!" they chant by way of self- description. And then: "Schundler sucks! Schundler sucks!" The Republicans try to chant, "Go, Bret, go!" But they're drowned out.

Being outnumbered and drowned out is something Bret Schundler is getting used to. As the mayor of Jersey City, one of the state's many urban blight spots, Schundler was a hero to conservatives. He was the man who was doing what Jack Kemp had always talked about: bringing free-market reform, and hope, to the dark-skinned poor. Under his leadership, the city saw ten times as much job growth as the rest of the state's cities combined. Crime went down, and educational achievement went up. But Schundler's bid for governor faces long odds. He has been too reformist for some Republican officials. He's running in a state that is heavily unionized, dependent on state government, and liberal on social issues. Since September 11, he's had an additional problem: His campaign message has been drowned out by the news.

"For the last two months, our opponent hasn't been McGreevey. We've been running against hijackers and anthrax," says a frustrated Schundler aide. It's hard to get the attention of New Jersey voters at the best of times. Most of the media are based outside the state, in New York and Philadelphia, and television advertising is expensive. Swing voters are notoriously late to decide on candidates. That tendency is going to be more pronounced than ever this fall. (It doesn't help that the Yankees are in the World Series.)

For an underdog to turn around a campaign under these circumstances requires that he stick day and night to a simple, popular message. Schundler is incapable of this discipline. He overflows with ideas about public policy, all of which he is sure you would support if he could patiently explain them to you. He makes gaffes not because he is a table-pounding ideologue (he isn't), but because he doesn't always consider the effect his words will have. In September, for example, he said that it was "wonderful" that the recession would force New Jersey's government to make choices.

Schundler's advisers have given him a simple mission for his October 25 debate: Say that he plans to cut taxes and that McGreevey will raise them. At the very start of the debate, McGreevey shows his vulnerability on the subject. Having spent months saying it would be "irresponsible" to join Schundler in pledging not to raise taxes if elected, McGreevey says he won't raise taxes. Later in the debate, he calls former governor Jim Florio's tax increase of 1990-an unpopular move that cost Florio his reelection, but one that McGreevey has defended for more than a decade-a "mistake." Schundler has an opportunity to call McGreevey on his flip-flop and question his sincerity.

He muffs it. Even though Schundler's campaign has issued a press release predicting that McGreevey would make a no-tax-hike pledge, Schundler appears not to notice when it happens. He gets bogged down talking about guns.