Leadership Spotlight

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Serious About Doing the Right Thing

Nutter grew up in West Philadelphia, attended prestigious St. Joseph’s Preparatory, and arrived at Penn in the mid-1970s with an eye on a pre-med degree. Instead, he ended up at Wharton, graduating in 1979 with a degree in entrepreneurial management.

“My Wharton experience helped shape my view of running this city as a corporation,” Nutter said. “It’s a $4 billion corporation called the City of Philadelphia: 22,000 employees, 17 members of City Council as a board of directors, and I have a million and a half shareholders, the citizens of Philadelphia, who work hard, pay their taxes and expect a return on their investment.”

He wasn’t a great student, he admits. “I kind of split my time between going to class and working in a nightclub. Some days and many nights the club was more interesting than the library… Like Mark Twain, I was a very firm believer in not letting my schooling get in the way of my education.”

An investment broker when he won his Council seat in 1991, Nutter was known as a smart, outspoken politician. He was the guy who did his homework, asked tough questions, wasn’t afraid to be a lone voice in the woods. Often considered a “reformer,” Nutter and another City Councilman led the fights to establish the Tax Reform Commission and to reduce wage and business taxes.

He tackled controversial issues, like a citywide smoking ban and ethics reform bills that would eventually shape the race he won. “A one man city council,” is how one admirer described him in a 2005 article.

He was also considered a little too boring, a little too serious. The word “wonk” was—and is—often used to describe him.

Supporters say Nutter’s focus in a good thing. He may be serious, but he’s serious about doing the right thing. Stalberg—chairman and CEO of the Committee of Seventy, a nonprofit, non-partisan organization dedicated to improving life in the Philadelphia region—recalled the morning Nutter called him at 5:45 a.m.

“I thought it was some emergency,” Stalberg said. “He just starts to talk about an issue he cares about and finally I said, ‘Michael, it’s not 6:00 yet. Can I shave before I talk about this?’ I think he knew it wasn’t 6:00 yet, but he wanted to talk about it.”

And he is funny, those close to him say. “He was always hysterical in high school,” said City Councilman Jim Kenney, who knows Nutter from St. Joe’s Prep. “He’s funnier than people give him credit for. We used to call each other from across the room during Council. I would call him up and say ridiculous things to make him laugh in the middle of the debate and he would text message back. It was like being in a classroom.”

How Nutter communicates what he does is not as important as what he’s saying, observers say. Nutter, political consultant Larry Ceisler said, understands nuances, that issues are not just two-sided, and he presents himself clearly.

“Even though he has sort of a monotone speaking voice and isn’t the most inspiring person in the world, Michael communicates very well and people understand where he’s coming from,” Ceisler said. “I watched the forums and Michael was the only one who truly enjoyed campaigning and understood why he was there. He would get to an event early, he’d enjoy the people and he actually understood the process.”

Indeed, on that fall day a month before the election, Nutter worked the crowds like the professional politician many consider him to be. He signed autographs, posed for pictures, drew people into conversations. Many people assumed he was already mayor, calling him by the title

“Do you enjoy your job, Mr. Mayor?” Shaleeta Pressley, 20, asked Nutter after he’d signed her t-shirt.

“I do. I’ll like it even more when I get down there,” he said.

At another point in the day, a man called out to Nutter.

“Mayor, mayor, mayor,” he said, “just do me a favor. Just do a better job than Street. Please.”

Nutter smiled. “That won’t be hard,” he said.

Voters’ dissatisfaction with Mayor John Street played a big part in the Democratic primary. A federal investigation of pay-to-play politics in city contracting resulted in two dozen convictions. Although an FBI bug was placed in Street’s office, he was not indicted.

Still, the convictions tainted Street’s administration. Those, coupled with the city’s rising murder rate—some national media have called it “Killadelphia”—and Street’s general aloofness—one political insider called him “a Sphinx”—had quashed the mayor’s popularity. A 2007 poll showed that 77 percent of voters wanted the city to go in a different direction.

Nutter’s camp used that dissatisfaction—and television advertising—to his advantage. Although Knox was the first to hit the airwaves—and the other candidates followed—Nutter’s campaign was strategic, holding its ads until the seven weeks before the election and then buying airtime consistently until the end. One newspaper headline said of his victory: “A perfect storm of ads, timing, issues fuels Nutter win in Philly.”

One of the first ads told voters that City Hall needed cleaning out and Nutter was the person principled enough to do it. Neil Oxman, Nutter’s media consultant, said some people were shocked by the message and the implied attack on Street, who wasn’t in the running. Still, they responded to it, he said.

“That propelled us from last place to second place within ten days,” Oxman said.

That ad campaign may have turned voters’ heads, but the 30-second spot that had people talking was the one featuring the candidate’s daughter, Olivia. (Nutter also has an adult son.) In it, the smiling 12-year-old, who bears a strong resemblance to her father, gives viewers a tour of her life, including an introduction to her dog, her favorite food and the public school where her father drops her off every day. “My dad’s pretty cool for an old guy,” she says. Nutter speaks once, to wish his daughter a good day as she gets out of the car.