1012 Corridor

If homes could talk, this white, two-story number on oak-lined Palmer Avenue would be a bard among residences. First, it might reveal that it’s more than 100 years old, built for just under $10,000 by famed New Orleans architect Frank Gravely. Since then, its neighbors have included a variety of characters, ranging from jazz giant Louis Armstrong to vampire scribe Anne Rice.

It has also overlooked the development of Tulane University, watched streetcar passengers come and go, and played host to one family after another; its 10,000 square feet, seven bedrooms and six bathrooms are filled with memories of elegant parties, emotional exchanges and the kind of joie de vivre that has allowed care to forget this city.

If the home could indeed talk, it would tell you that it was purchased yet again just a year ago for roughly $2.2 million—making it the eighth most expensive home bought in the Crescent City during 2008, and a clear signal to those who pay attention to such luxuries that the Palmer Avenue home would soon have more stories to share.

The buyers were James Carville and Mary Matalin, the quintessential Beltway power couple, whose move from Washington to New Orleans was an instant story to politics junkies across the country. “James told me when we got married we’d end up in Louisiana,” GOP strategist Matalin told the Washington Post when the move was announced. Her husband, famously known as the Ragin’ Cajun, was going back to his roots. “It’s like the Jews going back to Jerusalem,” Matalin said. “It’s the Holy Land.”

On this November day, as Hurricane Ida teases the Gulf Coast before turning into a tropical storm, the front door of the Palmer Avenue home is wide open, as wide open as a book, you might say. No one acknowledges the first set of knocks upon the door’s frame, or the second or the third. But just 10 paces from the entrance stands Matalin, hands on her hips and cloaked in workout wear. She’s staring at a huge, colorful portrait of a woman’s face. Two assistants are holding the canvas up against the wall.

“Bring it down a little on the right,” Matalin says. “No, no. Pull it back up.”

One of the assistants makes eye contact. “You’re here to see James, right?” Matalin finally takes notice and without glancing away from the massive portrait points up a winding staircase. “Go up, take a right, and then take another right.”

The house is packed with people. There are painters in the kitchen, party planners in the outside courtyard and a crew working on a sizeable chandelier. Upstairs, where all the doors are shut and Matalin’s directions seem to make less sense, is another team of workers.

“Do y’all know where James is?”

The workers look at each other. “Who’s James?” one asks.

“Mr. Carville.”

A look of recognition crosses his face. “James Carville? He lives here? No kidding ... ”

Finally, the right door is knocked upon and opened from the inside. It’s Ryan Berni, Carville’s right hand. As for the man, the legend credited for taking an unknown Arkansas governor and creating a cult of personality strong enough to put him in the White House, he’s sitting in a green recliner with both feet kicked up. A notebook computer is in his lap and a remote control in his hand, cable news on the tube. “Forgive me for not getting up,” Carville says. “Come on. Sit down.”

He’s bald and skinny with a mischievous smile. His eyes are warm and welcoming from behind those now-iconic wire-rim glasses. His accent is unmistakable. Famously, Carville is a Democrat and his wife is a Republican. Later that day, Matalin refers to herself and her spouse as “the Jon and Kate Gosselin of bipartisan politics.” She also remarks, “One man’s poison is another man’s Kool-Aid.” Somehow, they’ve found just the right mixture to avoid a treacherous overdose.

The house they’ve moved into is more than just a house; it’s a symbol of their shared confidence in the rebuilding of New Orleans and, for Carville, a homecoming of sorts. Yet it’s a far cry from Carville’s humble beginnings. He was raised in Carville, his namesake, and spent most of his youth in the Donaldsonville area. His mother was a school teacher who sold encyclopedias door-to-door and his father was a postmaster and operated a small general store.

These influences, above all else, explain Carville’s blue-collar sensibilities, even if he is living a privileged, white-linen life today in one of Louisiana’s toniest neighborhoods. “I always wonder what my dad would think about all this,” Carville says, fidgeting with his hands. “He probably could have digested anything, except for me living in Uptown New Orleans.”

Still, Carville should be credited with bringing it all back home—his wealth, his notoriety and his influence. Already, he’s ruffling political feathers and he promises there’s more to come. In September, Carville penned an op-ed about the upcoming mayor’s race in New Orleans for Gambit Weekly entitled “If I Could, I Would.” He begins the piece by referencing the New Orleans Home Rule Charter, which states a mayoral candidate must be a local resident for at least five years, among other qualifications. Primarily, though, Carville calls for qualified candidates to step up to the plate.

The piece—out of everything he has written recently, he says—drew a strong response from the public. Some folks really wanted Carville to jump in the ring. It was a relatively new sensation. After 50 years in “The Game,” he’s managed the campaigns of multiple governors, members of Congress and U.S. senators. He’s worked to help elect 14 different heads of state and candidates in 21 countries across five continents.

Obviously, Carville has always been a bridesmaid and never a bride. And that’s unlikely to change. If he had to do it all over again, he says he would change the title of the Gambit article to something more akin to what real politicians say. “I would have called it, ‘If I Could, I Would Seriously Think About It,’ ” Carville says, laughing.

A more direct answer, and equally humorous, can be found in the article: “I often replied that the only thing I’d run for is the state line. I didn’t really have any interest in running for office. Plus, with two young girls (ages 11 and 14), I’ve long joked that my past is not conducive to the scrutiny of the morally incorruptible. Put it this way, I wouldn’t vet particularly well.”

On the topic of Gov. Bobby Jindal, a GOP darling, Carville doesn’t have much to say. He is, however, interested in next year’s U.S. Senate race where incumbent Sen. David Vitter, R-Metairie, will face off against Congressman Charlie Melancon, D-Napoleonville, who is the only declared opposition as of now. He says he “definitely” wants to weigh in on that contest, and it’s clear he won’t be on the side of Vitter. “I tend not to get involved in Louisiana politics, but that won’t last,” Carville says.

These days, Carville is more interested in his gig as professor of practice at Tulane University. His first class was conducted in January 2009, and his teaching prowess is already the stuff of legend. Carville serenaded that inaugural class with Johnny Cash’s “The Night Hank Williams Came to Town” and proved he wasn’t above peppering the King’s English with a few swears. Throughout the semester, he invited students, usually three at a time, to dine at his Palmer Avenue home along with whomever was the guest speaker at the time—and those ranged from fellow Clintonite and TV commentator George Stephanopoulos to NBC News chief White House correspondent Chuck Todd.

It’s no wonder why the demand for Carville’s class is through the roof (a spillover room was even created just so students could listen in). While certainly tickled to have a superstar on campus, Tulane President Scott Cowen jokingly says that Carville, more LSU Tiger than Green Wave in pedigree, was only allowed to teach under two conditions: “One, he had to be bipartisan. And two, there would be no rhetoric about LSU on Tulane’s campus.”

Carville, for his part, has obliged without objection. He has a real passion for teaching politics, and his 2010 course promises to be a doozey. He wants to focus on fiscal issues like taxes and the federal budget, and he says he wants “one of them tea-baggers”—his phrase for someone involved with the Tea Party protests—to address his class. “There are a lot of people with a lot of different points of view and I want my students to see how intense and how hard it is to come to a consensus on passing a budget,” Carville says. “In fact, we’re going to try and pass a budget through the class. It’ll take 25 out of 40 votes, like a little Senate. I want to go deep into the sausage factory.”

As for politics, Carville says he plans on continuing to do overseas work—he gave up domestic campaigns after President Bill Clinton took office. He’s already worked with candidates in Israel, Argentina, Honduras, Nigeria and elsewhere. This past summer, Carville was hired by Afghan presidential candidate Ashraf Ghani, a contest Carville says is “probably the most important election held in the world in a long time”—and the most interesting, since his fundraising competitors were essentially warlords.

“There are no (get-out-the-vote efforts) over there because everyone votes,” Carville says. “But you really come to appreciate what we have here in the United States.”

Whether he’s at Tulane University or his Palmer Avenue home or on foreign soil, Carville is doing the kind of work he wants to do, which makes you wonder: If he wasn’t in politics, what would he be doing with is life?

While Carville answers the question quickly, he does so with the hallmark style that suggests he could have been a Cajun stand-up if he really wanted. “I guess I would be in advertising or sales,” Carville says. “But I can say with some certainty that I wouldn’t be doing advance calculus or something like that.”

The Carville File

• Grew up in Carville, a town on the Mississippi River named for his grandfather, who was its postmaster.

• As a teen, worked on his first political campaign for a car dealer running for the Louisiana Legislature.

• Served in the United States Marine Corps, 1966-68.

• Earned bachelor’s (1970) and law (1973) degrees from LSU.

• Winning streak began in 1986, when he managed the gubernatorial victory of Robert Casey in Pennsylvania.

• Guided Bill Clinton to the presidency and was named Campaign Manager of the Year by the American Association of Political Consultants in 1992.

• Hosted CNN’s political debate show Crossfire, 2002-2005.

• Has appeared as himself on Mad About You, Spin City, The Family Guy and Arli$$. Had a cameo in the 2005 comedy Wedding Crashers.

• Currently serving as co-chair, with wife Mary Matalin, of Super Bowl XLVII, the 10th Super Bowl to be hosted by New Orleans.

‘The next mayor almost can’t fail’

From Carville’s Sept. 28 commentary in Gambit Weekly, “If I Could, I Would”:

On the off chance that I could get elected—and I should note that the Tulane University/Democracy Corps poll showed it is possible for a white candidate to win—the main reason to run is that the next mayor will be in a position to lead the city during its next Golden Era. You’d never be able to tell from the almost-weekly announcements from A-list politicians declining the opportunity to run, but the next mayor will be taking the reins of a city poised for a decade of major investment, international attention and unprecedented funding for capital projects. The foundation for success is so overwhelming that the next mayor almost can’t fail. For a job that few have shown interest in seeking, the next mayor will walk into City Hall with building blocks for growth already in place.