WILMINGTON, Del.—Mike Castle is in his element. It's Saturday and Delaware's only representative in the U.S. House has positioned himself at the entrance to the Arden Fair, a 103-year-old celebration of a left-leaning artist community with a jam band, beer garden, and row after row of homemade fudge and jewelry. As he shakes hands, the eight-term Republican, now running for the Senate seat vacated by Joe Biden, competes for attention with three other candidates and the occasional merchant wearing a wizard's cap and cloak. He usually wins.
"Generally speaking, I get recognized," says Castle. "If they show no sign of recognition, I assume they're not from Delaware." He shakes a few more hands and amends the statement. "Don't get me wrong, there are people who don't recognize me! Some of these kids, for example."
In a typical election year, recognition is all Castle needs to win. A former state representative, state senator, lieutenant governor, and governor, Castle has not lost an election since he entered politics during the presidency of Lyndon B. Johnson. He has not trailed in any polls in his current campaign. The voters who come up and talk to him remember the time they met him at the opera house, or the phone call he made to them after they wrote letters, or the work he's done on some issue like special-needs education. Several people introduce themselves as Democrats and admit—always using the same phrasing—that "you're the only Republican I vote for."
"The whole community, Arden, is based on a liberal philosophy, as you know," says Castle, shaking hands. "But I would imagine a great percentage of people who come here are not residents of Arden. It's probably not a Tea Party haven, either."
The woman he was shaking hands with smiles conspiratorially—she wants to give him some advice about the particular Tea Party candidate running against Castle in his Republican primary, the candidate who has spent a year going after him and who has spent the last week on the defensive.
"Stop giving Christine O'Donnell such a hard time!"
"Ohhhh," Castle sighs. "It's such a shame, isn't it?"
And that's all Castle really wants to say about O'Donnell, a Republican strategist and pundit who's making her third long-shot bid for office. In 2006 and 2008 she ran for Senate and got nowhere—as the sacrificial lamb against Joe Biden, she lost by a 40-point margin, the largest of any of Biden's seven campaigns. Castle, who won re-election to the House the same day, ran 90,000 votes ahead of O'Donnell. When she declined to stand aside for Castle, who's been eying an open Senate seat for years, the party ignored her.
It stopped ignoring her last month. In Alaska, Joe Miller, a conservative attorney and failed local candidate, defied predictions and polls in order to beat Sen. Lisa Murkowski in the GOP primary. The Tea Party Express, the political arm of the movement that had spent $550,000 on ads to help Miller, declared victory and planted a new flag in Delaware. O'Donnell, the group announced, would be the movement's new cause, with ads and fundraising drives that would push her over the top.
The Republican establishment woke up and turned the cannons. The Delaware Republican Party started issuing brutal theses about O'Donnell's 2008 campaign debts, her gaffes, and the fact that she still hadn't gotten her college degree after paying off loans for 13 years. (She got it last week.) Dan Gaffney, a conservative local radio host, asked O'Donnell to respond to the attacks in a morning interview; O'Donnell called him a "sell-out" and asked, "Has Castle gotten to you, too?" She told the Weekly Standard's John McCormack that video trackers were hounding her and even stalking her campaign office, the address of which she does not reveal for security reasons. The state GOP called her "delusional." The National Republican Senatorial Committee made sure that Beltway politicos were watching all of this. The News Journal, the Wilmington newspaper that serves most of the state, has run story after story on the front page about O'Donnell's troubles.
The voters who stop to chat with Castle have a rock-solid faith that those stories will sink her.
"I want to say one thing to you," says one voter. "Delusional."
Castle laughs sheepishly. "Well, I didn't say that! Those were not my words."
There's something almost quaint about this faith in the local media, especially when O'Donnell's supporters are asked about the same stories. They, like many members of the Tea Party movement, don't think that information in newspapers is definitive; it may even be inferior to what they hear from their friends or from talk radio. This is one of many reasons why Castle gets along with these activists the way a negotiator might deal with a hostage-taker.