GRAND RAPIDS, Michigan — In between bounding strides up and down the front steps of the Creston neighborhood’s Folk National style homes, Democratic Michigan state Rep. David LaGrand recalled the time he almost won an aquathon before he interrupted himself to promise a voter he’ll finally leave them alone.
“I promise this is the last time I’ll be at your door,” the state senate candidate told one of more than a dozen voters he met face-to-face at their homes on a nippy Saturday in October, before urging them to remind their social circle to get out and vote.
After all, he said, two of his four children forgot to vote for their mother in her county commissioner race.
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The line is a hit every time.
LaGrand is running in one of the four districts that will decide whether Democrats can retake the Michigan State Senate majority for the first time since 1984, and believes he’s the right man at the right time to turn the once deep red but increasingly blue Grand Rapids into the Democratic column.
From the possibility of a GOP majority submitting fake electors and nullifying the will of the people in a 2020-type scenario in 2024 to how much more severe restrictions on contraception and other reproductive health issues could get, the stakes to this race are in a league of their own compared to most state senate races.
The bulk of the outside spending is coming down this district, the 12th, and the 13th in the Detroit suburbs between Oakland and Wayne County, according to Michigan Information Research & Service, an independent news service based in the state capitol in Lansing.
LaGrand, 56, has equal parts standard and unorthodox work experience for a politician.
His current day job outside of his time in the state house is owning and operating Long Road Distillers, which he launched in 2015. He also served on the Grand Rapids City Commission and the school board, ran a Karate school, started a construction business while still in college, became a commissioned pastor in the Christian Reformed Church, and in between all of that also went to law school, served as a Kent County assistant prosecutor, founded his own private practice and then left the legal field altogether to pursue politics.
In December 2020, LaGrand had a front row seat to the Trump campaign’s attempt to subvert democracy as a member of the Michigan House. LaGrand said he challenged Rudy Giuliani, then-Trump’s lawyer, when he infamously testified and introduced witnesses, like IT contractor Melissa Carone, in front of the Michigan House for over five hours in a failed attempt to demonstrate evidence of voter fraud.
“Rudy Giuliani came to do the clownshow that turned into the SNL sketch here,” LaGrand said. “I was the Democratic lawyer for that, because there aren’t many of us who are lawyers.”
“I’m sorry, this is worth five minutes,” LaGrand said before re-enacting what he described as “my one strategic freakout” in debunking Giuliani’s witnesses point by point. “I was like, come on! How long are we gonna do this?”
LaGrand channeled his frustration by launching his state Senate campaign, an effort fueled by what he called “therapy for democracy”—a paid door-knocking strategy akin to that of Georgia gubernatorial candidate Stacey Abrams.
“The problem is, it’s easier to buy TV,” LaGrand continued.
“You get a consultant, he places the ad buy, he takes a piece as a commission. That’s easy, right? And you know how to do it, and there’s no herding cats involved. It’s just a transaction.”
Instead, LaGrand has built up training methods and a clockwork schedule—all covered in a 3-hour initial training session—in conjunction with his field director, Tiana Peavey, around an ambitious goal of hitting 150,000 doors in the city of roughly 199,000.
“It’s just a math question,” LaGrand said as he struggled to find his car, a “civilian version” electric Ford F-150 truck, the same model President Joe Biden declared, “This sucker is quick.”
“Our people are trained to stay at the door, and make sure people vote, and not run away,” the candidate continued. “But the really important thing is if I knock on your door and say, ‘Hi I’m David LaGrand, please vote for me,’ and then I ran away, what’s that worth? You have to make some kind of meaningful bond with that person. So I am not hiring my people to maximize their door knocks or maximize their contact rate. I’m hiring them to maximize their moments of empathy.”
He also looks out for subtle cues, such as whether a dog barking in the window will look over its shoulder.
“If the dog doesn’t look behind him, nobody’s home,” LaGrand declared after getting a read on a canine for a no-show.
In between LaGrand’s polymathic tangents, he often finds himself getting into animated discussions with voters on the state of American democracy.
“This is a do you believe in democracy or don’t you type moment,” LaGrand told a voter in pajamas who nodded along and held his son by his side, with legos and train sets strewn about the living room.
“One of the standard things I’m saying at the doors is, I kind of have two marriage analogies for what’s wrong with America right now,” LaGrand said after crossing the street from that house.
“I say, first of all, if Melissa and I only ever fought, we would eventually get a divorce, and I don’t want America getting a divorce! I don’t know what that would look like, and it scares the daylights out of me,” LaGrand continued. “The other marriage analogy is that we are at an all-time low for voter trust of politicians in this country. If my wife stopped trusting me, the solution wouldn’t be to tell her to trust me; the solution would be to figure out how to be more trustworthy… It is a politician problem, it is not a voter problem.”
“Like, you can be mad at Fox News for causing the problem, but the only way through it is to get more open, honest, and transparent.”
LaGrand often follows the latter marriage analogy with a plug for Proposition 1, which he described as “his baby” on the ballot, which would require Michigan lawmakers to make financial disclosures. The Great Lake State is one of only two states left in the country with no such system in place, the other being Idaho.
He also refuses to bash his opponent in conversations with voters, and says he refuses to use terms like “fight and win” in campaign messaging. For a man who used to run a Karate school—before he left the legal field and went into the distillery business—there are some tactics that are just out of bounds in fighting for democracy.
At some point before LaGrand got lost enough to the point where he couldn’t find his truck, he returned to the story about his obsessive aquathan training and how he narrowly missed out on victory during the modified cycling and swimming only portion of The Grand Rapids Triathlon some time in the early 2010s.
An avid cyclist and swimmer but admittedly not the best runner, LaGrand had been training for months and found himself within reach of winning it all in the home stretch of the bike race.
Then he watched as the rider in front of him was blindsided by a car.
“I was in first place, the guy passed me, so I had my eyes locked on him,” the 56-year-old said as he made his way down Elmwood Street, lined with winterized porches and an even split of University of Michigan and Michigan State flags.
“I’m like a mile from the finish line, and I’m not gonna let this guy beat me,” LaGrand continued, speaking with the same animation he shows on the rare occasions he brings up his opponent, incumbent Sen. Mark Huizenga. “So I had my eyes locked on him, and a car turns left through and his bike explodes, he launched like 15 feet down the road, he landed on his back.”
Instead of cruising to victory, LaGrand pulled over and waited until paramedics arrived.
“That was my last triathlon,” he said. “I was trying to win, but once I was out, I was out.”
