At campaign's ground zero, Ohio tilting toward Bush

Sam Lombardi is the kind of voter John Kerry needs to win in Ohio.

Since being laid off from a telecom company a year ago, Mr. Lombardi has been working part-time at his uncle's farm stand, selling apples and taffy to motorists along Route 23. He was briefly in the hospital a few weeks back, and is trying to figure out how to pay thousands of dollars in bills without insurance.

Until recently, Lombardi was leaning toward Senator Kerry - "just looking for a change, I guess." But now he's not sure. He's not even sure he'll vote. "Seems like both of them can't really tell the truth," he shrugs.

For months, Democrats have regarded Ohio as this presidential contest's golden ring - a state that has gone with the winner every year since 1960, and without which no Republican has ever captured the White House. Four years ago, with just a few weeks left in the presidential contest, Al Gore's campaign pulled out of Ohio, a move many Democrats came to regard as a tactical error after George W. Bush won the state by a surprisingly slim margin of four percent.

Since then, the state has lost more than 230,000 jobs - and become one of the most critical battlegrounds in the nation. Both the Kerry and Bush campaigns, along with outside groups, have poured resources in, sending out unprecedented numbers of staffers and volunteers to knock on doors and register voters, and running more TV ads here than almost anywhere else.

Yet lately the Ohio landscape is looking somewhat steeper for Kerry. After months of deadlock, recent polls have shown the president pulling slightly ahead in Ohio, mirroring the national picture.

Some of the shift may reflect Bush's postconvention bounce - and, say many experts, the race here is still close. But many also say Kerry has struggled, so far, to get his economic message across. At the same time, the campaign's growing negativity is giving many voters doubts about both men - but particularly about the Massachusetts senator, who is the less familiar candidate. It also seems to be dampening enthusiasm about the election, despite a widespread view that major issues are at stake.

Munching on an ear of roasted corn at Renick's Family Market, near South Bloomfield, Becky Papp rolls her eyes at the campaign's tone. "He didn't serve in the National Guard; he didn't do that," she mimics. Ms. Papp, an undecided voter who works in the Columbus schools, is hardly a Bush fan. She's concerned about the economy, but doesn't think Kerry could do much about it, either. "If [Kerry] could bring jobs home, I'd be for him," says Papp. "But I don't think he's going to."

Ohio has long been a bellwether, with an electorate that reflects the nation as a whole. The state combines urban industrial centers with rural agricultural regions. Parts meld into the Northeast; others are authentic Appalachia, where "you can find snake handlers and fundamentalist churches and Country Western radio stations," says John Green, a political scientist at the University of Akron. "Ohio really is a microcosm of the country."

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