Carol Ann Campbell, Democratic powerhouse, dies

Carol Ann Campbell, 71, a razor-tongued champion of the "little people" and master of the backrooms of Philadelphia's Democratic Party, died yesterday after a long struggle with lung disease.

She was not famous and did not seek the limelight, often wearing dark glasses in public, but Ms. Campbell's power as party president and the dean of the city's African American ward leaders commanded the deference of candidates for every office from Traffic Court judge to president.

Ms. Campbell represented the Fourth District on City Council for 13 months, winning a special election in November 2006. She was defeated the following year.

The brief term was stormy, as Ms. Campbell hurried to accomplish as much as she could. She browbeat administration officials to enforce new laws to aid the handicapped and to redirect funds for home repairs to her district, which included parts of West Philadelphia, East Falls and Manayunk.

Perhaps her most permanent legacy, however, will be her campaign of more than two decades to elect more black judges, political leaders said yesterday.

"When she got involved in a cause there was no stopping her," said U.S. Rep. Bob Brady, the city Democratic Party chairman. "She was a tough lady, stern, but she had a great heart. She was also brilliant, and a lot of people didn't see that side of her."

The two were inseparable allies for 25 years.

"Brady was always my rock, and I was always his," Ms. Campbell once said.

Mayor Nutter, who preceded Ms. Campbell in the Fourth District Council seat, said that her passing was a sad day for Philadelphia.

"Carol spent a lifetime serving her neighborhood, her community, and her city," Nutter said in a statement, calling her a "source of encouragement, information and insight" in his career.

Nutter and Ms. Campbell worked together over the years as ward leaders in the Fourth Councilmanic District, but their relationship deteriorated in November 2006, when party bosses named her as their nominee for his Council seat. At the time, Nutter said he objected to the process; she said she was stabbed in the back.

Before she went to Council, much of the publicity Ms. Campbell generated dealt with money in politics. In 2001, she was indicted on charges of failing to disclose what had happened to thousands of dollars contributed to two political action committees she ran. She was allowed to enter a first-offender probation program that resulted in the case's being expunged from official records.

An enduring image of election season in Philadelphia is Ms. Campbell holding court in a hotel boardroom, collecting "street money" from candidates who sought the endorsement of the African American ward leaders.

She was the bane of government watchdog groups. When campaign-finance reporting regulations were tightened on street money, Ms. Campbell formed private political-consulting firms that were exempt.

She was born an insider, the daughter of Edgar Campbell, a councilman and longtime clerk of quarter sessions who was known as the dean of black politics. Ms. Campbell also was a classical piano prodigy, playing with the New York Philharmonic at age 14. Friends said she still kept a Steinway grand piano at her home.

She was "a good-hearted person and a real rough-necked politician," said Pete Truman, a veteran Democratic political consultant who often went toe-to-toe with Ms. Campbell. "She learned her politics from her daddy. She had a heart of gold when she got around little people . . . but anybody in politics, she would take them on and fight till the end."

Friends and colleagues said that Ms. Campbell's mind was a steel trap. Her father never used a Rolodex, and relied on his young daughter to remember all manner of details for him. Her father was her life. She once said she called off an engagement to be married because her father told her he couldn't give her up.

Ms. Campbell loved to talk - about the party, about the little people, and about the many fools she would not suffer. She used a cell phone like a stiletto, cutting deals, calling in favors, disemboweling enemies. She was replete with off-color phrases.

Councilman Curtis Jones Jr. knew Ms. Campbell's prowess well. He defeated her in the 2007 primary, only to find himself the very public target of a city inspector general investigation based on anonymous complaints about the terms of his severance package from his former employer, the Philadelphia Commercial Development Corp. Ms. Campbell was widely suspected to be behind it, though she denied it.

"She had a lot of gangsta in her," Jones said with reverence.

Ms. Campbell, who had trouble walking, used a wheelchair most of the time and had been hospitalized frequently in recent years.

She spent the last six months in hospitals or rehabilitation centers, friends said, but tried to keep the stays secret by using assumed names.

Republican Councilman Frank Rizzo said he was advised to seek Ms. Campbell's help in his first run for Council in 1995. The price tag - $10,000.

Ms. Campbell wouldn't take his money, saying Rizzo would win for his name alone.

She then went out and did just what he had asked, "and she always reminded me, too," Rizzo said.

Union leader John J. Dougherty, who was party treasurer for eight years, recalled Ms. Campbell's confronting Tony Podesta, who ran Democrat John F. Kerry's 2004 presidential campaign in Pennsylvania, "about giving respect to the ward leaders."

He recalled her saying, "Don't think you are getting away with this without paying for it."

Four years later - last spring - Dougherty looked on from his audience seat at the National Constitution Center as Barack Obama finished his speech on race. "If she wasn't the first person, she was the second person he said hello to," Dougherty said.

"I wrestled with her," he said. "Don't think every day was peachy."

At the same time, Dougherty said that Campbell checked in by phone often after his wife had a stroke several years ago.

Councilman James F. Kenney, like many politicians, checked in with Ms. Campbell periodically, which was important to her.

"She needed to be talked to," Kenney said. "I'll miss her."

Services are pending.