"I Don't Feel LIke Anybody Cares About People Like Me"

In today's NYT is a story about Congressman Patrick Murphy, a moderate Democrat from north of Philadelphia, who won election in 2006 and was reelected in 2008, which included early support for Obama.  This year, however, he's trailing in the polls to his Republican challenger.  The journalist writer accompanied Murphy for three hours one evening as he went door to door in his district:

As Mr. Murphy moved from house to house, he tried to connect in any way he could, rattling off whatever biographical facts seemed to apply. He’d say he was in a “mixed marriage” — his wife is an enrolled Republican — or talk about his military background or his father, a retired Philadelphia police officer now working three part-time jobs. At a house with a pickup truck in the driveway plastered with Philadelphia Flyers bumper stickers, he remarked that he had played hockey as a child at a rink in neighboring Bristol Borough. To a woman wearing a crucifix, he said he had once been named altar boy of the year at his local parish.

Very few people seemed to want to actually listen to him. They jumped in with long lists of grievances: taxes, job losses, immigration, crooked local officials, junked cars in neighbors’ yards.

Marge Reed, 75, opened her screen door and before he could complete a sentence said, “You know what, Mr. Murphy, I don’t believe anything anybody tells me anymore.” She apologized for her frankness but said it was to be expected because of her Irish heritage. “I’m Irish, too,” Mr. Murphy said, as if she might not know that. “So is your opponent,” she said, and they both laughed. She told Mr. Murphy that she planned to vote for him, then continued giving him a piece of her mind.

Little of the anger Mr. Murphy encountered was aimed directly at him or even at President Obama. Mr. Murphy never once mentioned the president’s name, and, oddly, over the course of three hours, neither did any of the Levittown residents. People just did not like their situation or the general drift of the country, and seemed to hold everyone in a position of power — locally and in Washington — responsible.

I called Marge Reed the next day. She had worked for the Spiegel catalog company at a store in Levittown where people picked up their orders. She said she had lost much of her retirement nest egg in the stock market and was living on $13,750 a year and having a hard time paying for her prescriptions. Her husband died in 1993. “I don’t feel like anybody cares about people like me,” she said. “I remember President Obama talking about how he worried about his mother paying her health bills when she had cancer. Well, I’m somebody’s mother, too.”

Rick Rook, 59, a retired Air Force man, said he was not sure that he would vote at all. “I know why people go into politics,” he said. “They’re idealistic. But they get to Washington because somebody gave them money and then they’ve got to return the favor. I still believe in our system, but I don’t believe in the politicians.”

Mr. Murphy’s campaign has vehemently contested the accuracy of a late September poll that had him trailing Mr. Fitzpatrick by 14 points among likely voters, pointing out that the same pollster, G. Terry Madonna of Franklin and Marshall College, had him well behind in his 2006 race just weeks before the election. “I’m not saying the race is over,” Mr. Madonna said when I called him. “The poll was taken at five weeks out and there were a large number of undecideds. Murphy could still win. I don’t think, politically speaking, he’s a dead man walking.”

My walk with Mr. Murphy in Levittown began in a steady drizzle, which as the night wore on became a cold, driving rain. He had an umbrella but didn’t use it. I wondered at times why he, or anyone, would want to win office. The low regard for public officials that pollsters are finding could be viscerally felt.

Several people shook Mr. Murphy’s hand and commented on how cold it was. They couldn’t believe that he was outside on such a horrid night. But they let him stand at the door. No one invited him in for so much as a cup of hot tea.