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FIORE ABSOLUTELY LOVED THE campaigning. Thus far, approaching the July Fourth holiday, Berman had him out meeting voters most afternoons, three or four nights a week and the better part of both Saturday and Sunday. It was important to establish name recognition as early as possible, Cyril told him. Doug never questioned the scheduling. Their Fountain Street headquarters was located almost directly across the street from the Herald building. One of the volunteers there was charged with notifying the local media in each town of Fiore’s presence in their community whenever the speech he was scheduled to give was not considered closed to “outsiders.”

Fiore had every message he wanted to deliver down pat, and already dispensed with the 3x5 cards he partially relied on at the start. He felt equally at ease talking to a small group of supporters in someone’s living room, addressing the members of an association in a hotel function room, or telling whoever came to listen to him at a local mall what his plans were for the State of Rhode Island. The excitement that suddenly filled the air when he arrived to make an address buoyed him. He shook hands incessantly when he finished speaking, stopping only when Lester Karp or Russell Walsh warned that they’d be late for their next appointment if they didn’t get going.

At the beginning, Doug found himself thinking only in terms of contacts. He might lose the primary, he reflected, but when he returned to practicing law there would be a slew of people he could call about giving their work to Walters, Cassidy & Breen. His appearances had all the trappings of a fight to become governor, but he really saw it as a fantastic opportunity to advertise for himself professionally. And better yet, other people were financing his chance to present his credentials to everyone as a lawyer. All he had to do was show the public how well-spoken he could be, while avoiding an appearance of superficiality and emphasizing the fact that the interests of the State came before his own.

Of course, the polling numbers in those early days had a lot to do with his attitude. Initially, as Berman predicted, they showed him trailing Richie Cardella by about 65 to 35 percent. It was discouraging at first, but both Berman and Walsh assured him that the polls didn’t mean a thing until they got to September.

Still, they were quick to fortify his ego when the Herald’s three day poll in early June of almost 500 registered republican voters throughout the State gave him 39 percent of their support. And as they sat around in Berman’s suite one night just two weeks later, Lester Karp insisted on their joining in a toast when the Channel 6 news anchor reported that Cardella’s lead over Fiore was even narrower, sitting at 58 to 42 percent. They agreed that just two months of campaigning produced great progress. At that point in time, Fiore began a pivotal readjustment of his thinking. Making contacts for the future started to become secondary to winning the election. Returning to his office at WC&B seemed less of an attraction than occupying the large corner one at the Statehouse.

The Fiore campaign got a huge lift from the Providence Herald on Independence Day. About a week earlier, Doug met with Jenna Richardson in one of the law firm’s conference rooms and gave her a long interview. She came well prepared, and sounded him out carefully on all the positions he advocated in his speeches.

Richardson seemed primarily intent on following up the editorial that appeared in her paper the day after Fiore announced his candidacy. She wanted to know what he would do as governor to rejuvenate Rhode Island’s economy, and why he so strongly opposed the introduction of casino gambling in the State.

Fiore was fully briefed early on by Cyril Berman as to both issues. He took the time to study some of the reference material Berman cited in his position papers, and practiced his answers several times with his campaign handlers. When discussing the economy, Doug borrowed heavily from the terms of the Greenhouse Compact that was defeated in a Statewide referendum in 1984. It was too large a dose of medicine for the voters to swallow back then. Fiore realized, however, that most of it made sense. Best of all, it sounded like exactly the right message to thousands of people now on unemployment who were becoming desperate to find any kind of work.

He looked directly at Richardson as he spoke, turning on all the sincerity he could bring to the conversation. “The key to our revival is to bring new industry into Rhode Island. The key to doing that, as the Greenhouse Compact emphasized, is to give favorable tax considerations to the companies that accept our offer. All of the high tech industry on the East Coast used to be located along ten miles of Route 128, outside of Boston. You would have thought it was a crime to try and set up shop somewhere else if you wanted to write software, build computers or manufacture any kind of electronic parts.”

He began talking a little slower to be sure she could write it all down. “But look at what New Hampshire did. They made land available in the Nashua area for a good price. They advertised tax concessions for technology companies to move in over the border and get away from unfavorable financial conditions in Massachusetts. Now you’ve got the so-called Golden Triangle up there, and that’s what saved the state’s economy in the last few years. They were probably hit harder than we were by the recession, but they’re thankful they attracted all that new technology business before the bottom started falling out of things.

“That’s what we’ve got to do in Rhode Island right now,” he continued, quickly lowering his fist toward the table but stopping just before it made contact. “There’s plenty of skilled labor here just waiting for jobs to open up. We could create a high tech highway on Interstate 95, from Warwick all the way down to Westerly. The land is there. We’ve just got to make it available at the right price. And we’ve got to let every company that takes the time to listen to our sales pitch know we’ll do everything we can to help them get successfully established. That includes tax breaks for the first five or ten years of operation, depending on how well they do. Over and above that, we could give them a one thousand dollar reward for every high-paying job that gets filled by a Rhode Island resident.

“I can see technology companies in Silicon Valley setting up their East Coast plants right here. Others would move in from Massachusetts. A lot of the industry in Connecticut, down around Bridgeport and New Haven, could be persuaded to come north, cut their costs and be more competitive. Maybe some of the insurance industry giants in Hartford would like to get out of a crowded city and build new offices along a quiet stretch of 95. If we’re only partly successful in doing all that, we could still have one hell of a building boom going on.”

“Sounds impressive,” Jenna replied, looking up at him just seconds after he stopped talking. He hoped she was able to get it all into her notebook. “I write fast,” she added, as if reading his thoughts.

“Rich Cardella says there’s no way we can avoid a tax hike if casino gambling isn’t allowed to become law,” Jenna said. “He says the money the State will pull in from it will help pay for a lot of services. What’s your take on that?”

Fiore explained all the reasons why he disagreed with his opponent. He probably overstated the size of the new bureaucracy they would need to set up to supervise gambling operations throughout the State. He emphasized the danger it presented to attracting the new industry he just spoke about because of how adversely businessmen viewed the presence of a temptation like gambling for their employees.

“Tell me, Ms. Richardson, how much industry have you got in the State of Nevada, or even in Atlantic City? Essentially nothing,” Doug said, answering his own question. “And don’t tell me about Connecticut,” he added, “because the Indian reservations where they have gambling are hidden away in the woods.”

He wrapped up his position on the issue by arguing that gambling on that scale was morally untenable because most of the money the State collected would come from those who could least afford to be throwing it away. “We’ll take their gambling losses and then give it back to them in welfare, Medicaid, food stamps and whatever else we have to do for the homeless.”

Fiore was pleased at seeing Richardson nod her head up and down as she took notes. “If anyone needs craps or roulette or blackjack so bad,” he continued, “let them go where it’s legal and get it out of their systems. But let’s not take money from the poor people in this State with the idea of providing services for everyone else. That’s just not going to happen.”

Jenna closed her notebook. “Well, I’m sure the folks on Federal Hill who run their private gambling houses agree with you. You can probably count on their support.”

Fiore hesitated before answering. He wanted to be sure her remark was made innocently, that she wasn’t throwing out a signal to show she knew or suspected something about his relationship with the Tarantinos. Her smile convinced him that was the case. “I guess I can only hope they’re republicans,” he answered, smiling back.

Richardson included most of the interview in her holiday column. She succeeded in convincing Dan McMurphy to let it start at the bottom of the front page and continue for more than half of page eight. As if that weren’t enough, the editorial page writer made reference to her column in one of his items that day. Previewing the primary, he encouraged the other candidates to share their best ideas with the electorate, “as Mr. Fiore has done.”

Berman called Fiore at home at eight o’clock in the morning to give him the good news. He was optimistic that their numbers would continue to rise in the polls as a result of the interview and the editorial. Doug rewarded himself with another half hour in bed. When he finally went downstairs for breakfast and read the paper, he was pleased with how far he’d come in just over two months. He was halfway home, he figured, halfway to victory in the primary.

Some hours later, as he marched down Hope Street in the traditional Independence Day parade through the town of Bristol, Fiore was a picture of confidence. He waved at the crowds, stopped to shake hands with people all along the route and kissed at least three babies in each block. He loved every minute of it.