Thus did Petruzielo pin a brand name on a political phenomenon that took root 14 years ago when the mothers of two kindergartners at Harbordale Elementary School in Fort Lauderdale met. Along with arranging play-dates for their kids, Mary Fertig, a Democrat, and Ellyn Bogdanoff, a Republican, became friends and got involved in school activities, working on boundary issues and Bogdanoff's plans to bring programs to the school.
Their volunteer work eventually landed them in 1993 on a countywide school desegregation task force. There, they discovered a third kindred spirit in another mother, the task force's co-chairwoman, Aleida "Ali" Waldman, a Democrat lawyer.
Over a decade, the three waged a campaign to secure for mostly minority eastern schools the same resources as newer, suburban white schools in west Broward. The fight cemented their relationship and filled their address books with contacts among blacks, Hispanics and women -- a "huge grass-roots network that reaches everywhere," says school board member Stephanie Kraft.
It also seeded the trio's gradual emergence as a squad of political operatives that has thrived in the maul of Broward politics. The three -- in concert with lesser-known Magnolias, including some men -- have knocked power-structure candidates from the Fort Lauderdale city commission, Broward school board and county commission, have helped switch the school board from partisan to nonpartisan races and defeated a penny sales tax referendum that they felt didn't address school needs in older and minority areas.
"They outwork everybody. They're an important force here in Broward," says Jim Kane, Fort Lauderdale pollster and editor of the Florida Voter.
Bucking the party line
The Magnolias revel in their freedom from the strictures of party allegiances and in their informality. "You know, we have a lot of fun doing it," Bogdanoff says. In an interview in Waldman's Fort Lauderdale office, a yellow, renovated historic building hard-by the county jail, Magnolia war stories are interrupted by a hyperactive puppy that Waldman is pet-sitting -- and which eventually takes a mouthful of Fertig's jacket. "I forgot to tell you she was teething," Waldman said.
"And shedding," observed Bogdanoff.
The Magnolias say a shaping moment in their political evolution came in 1996 after Waldman spearheaded a tea-party fund-raiser for county commission candidate Ilene Lieberman at a local estate. The event brought in $27,000 and was so successful that Lieberman's opponent -- who was backed by "all the usual people," Lieberman says -- withdrew from the race.
The war stories also include seamier aspects of politics: Break-ins at their offices during campaigns, threats from the power elite -- and vicious gossip. "Mary and I have affairs with almost everyone in town," says Waldman breezily.
In a county where hewing the party line matters, the Magnolias are contrarians who get involved when they find a candidate or issue they see as deserving. "We're driven by passion on the issues," says Bogdanoff. "The races pick us."
Republican Bogdanoff bucked GOP leaders in a strong-mayor referendum in Broward in 2000, for example. Democrat Waldman can't hold a party leadership post because she refuses to take the oath that requires her to support only Democrats.
Democrat Fertig was impressed by how candidate Jeb Bush followed up on the concerns of Ernestine Price, a black Pompano Beach activist and frequent Magnolia ally, and other black parents. Upon becoming governor, Bush put Price on a statewide task force he formed and helped her get to meetings. "Gave us a whole different view," Fertig says. "What we found out was. ... " She stops herself before lauding Republicans and instead concludes, "all people were interested."
Bogdanoff, at 43 the youngest Magnolia, cheerfully points out how Fertig and Waldman dodge saying the word "Republican." "I just find it ironic," says Fertig, summing up, "that people can place their faith in parties and not people. You can't depend on party. You have to depend on people."
Grass-roots network
Depending on people sometimes means swimming against the tide of political correctness. In November, the Magnolias stuck with an incumbent school board member who had alienated both Hispanics -- with untoward remarks about the health status of immigrant children in the schools -- and gays, by opposing a group wanting an entrée to schools to instruct teachers on tolerance.
The incumbent, Darla Carter, had been maneuvered out of the race, the Magnolias say. Believing her priority is kids, not contractors who want board business, and disbelieving her negative press, the Magnolias began tapping the people in their respective spheres of influence -- and so set the grass-roots network in motion.
Fertig played her usual role as issues-brain and research maven, marshaled poll worker support and called on Price, her ally in Pompano Beach. Fertig is "the person who goes out and brings everything to all of us," says Price, who mimics Fertig's appeal: " 'Ernestine, you're going to think I'm crazy, but I have another project, and I just want you to listen to it.' "
Bogdanoff, known for design skills and writing, hit on a low-budget web answer to the opposition's mailings. Waldman, a Cuban-American, took Carter around to Hispanics to explain that her mouth didn't reflect her heart. Well-connected in politics and business and known for her fund-raising ability, Waldman also raised money. Backed by a hodgepodge of liberals and conservatives, Carter won after a harsh campaign.
Enemies
The Magnolias have made enemies -- particularly with a politics-as-laugh-riot approach. After Kraft's successful race for school board in 1998, Waldman and Fertig were spotted planting a Kraft sign in front of the school board offices in a moment of in-your-face giddiness.
After Carter's win, flowers were sent anonymously to school board member and current board chairwoman Lois Wexler, who saw them as the political equivalent of eye-gouging at the bottom of a football pile.
"That's the kind of thing I take offense to," says Wexler, who implies the group lacks the graciousness associated with magnolias. Wexler, who says her once-solid friendship with Fertig ended over differences in philosophy and style, says some Magnolia-backed candidates haven't been the best for the schools, and she is skeptical of claims of altruism. "When people assist people in politics, most of the time there's a hidden agenda, especially when it's free. I'd say that about anybody," she says.
Still, Wexler volunteers, "they are all very, very bright women. Bright, articulate, attractive ... the total package."
Two candidates who've lost races to the Magnolias say the women are overrated and rode the winning surge of hard-working candidates. And when it comes to their own, the Magnolias have done poorly. Bogdanoff lost a 1996 school board race to incumbent Miriam Oliphant, who has gone on to flounder as Broward's controversial elections supervisor. Bogdanoff lost again in 1998 against Democrat Steve Geller in a state Senate battle that drew adjectives from south Florida political writers such as "most ferocious" and "dirtiest" in memory.
Bogdanoff was written off as damaged political goods afterward, which might explain why, when asked for what she's known, Bogdanoff retorts, "instead of 'losing Republican candidate?' "
Outsiders?
The trio are mum on future plans. They feel candidates should outshine operatives. And they see advantage in stealth -- unless it suits their purposes to make their presence known. Political involvement has led to appointments for Magnolias on the like of the Fort Lauderdale planning and zoning board and the state boxing commission. Bogdanoff is a lobbyist. But they object to suggestions that they're insiders. "We're part of a different sector of society that looks at government and desperately wants it to work well," Waldman says.
Petruzielo, the man whose characterization stuck to the Magnolias, retired from Broward and is now a Georgia school superintendent. He credits the Magnolias for doing their homework, speaking for people "you normally don't hear from" and delivering community support for policies. He says their "stick-to-it-iveness and their passion" on desegregation changed his thinking about what could be done and caused him to advocate change. "They were just people out in the community doing their job every day and trying to make a difference and refusing to accept the decisions of the powers that be."
No Shrinking Violets
MARY FERTIG, 52
Personal: Fort Lauderdale High School grad; six kids; resides in Idlewild, an upscale Fort Lauderdale neighborhood.
Politics: Activist; Democrat; sits on the Fort Lauderdale planning and zoning commission. She's known for a comprehensive knowledge of issues. Her husband is lawyer Chris Fertig, who took the school board to court for a black parents group co-founded by Ernestine Price, a perennial Magnolia ally.
ELLYN BOGDANOFF, 43
Personal: Law student; former insurance business owner; a native of north Miami; three kids; resides in Rio Vista, an upscale Fort Lauderdale neighborhood.
Politics: Republican; she tells the story of someone expressing disbelief that someone with long children services credentials who is active in Jewish Adoption and Foster Care Options could be a Republican. "You're a child advocate!" Bogdanoff was told. Says Bogdanoff, "Since when do Republicans not like children?"
ALEIDA "ALI" WALDMAN, 48
Personal: Lawyer; Cuban-American; two kids; resides in Coconut Creek.
Politics: Democrat; her great-grandfather was Cuba's president. A pragmatic fund-raiser, she's not adverse to soliciting money from the power elite for candidates they aren't backing -- using the argument that they better hedge their bets. Fund raising for Gov. Lawton Chiles got her named to the state boxing commission in 1994. She laughs telling the story of how naive she was to wear a skirt to a match. When she was introduced to the spectators, she got a storm of whistles and hoots.
Waldman became a thorn in Chiles' side as she sought to oust as executive secretary Mike Scionti, a Democratic fund-raiser and party leader from Tampa whom she saw as an unethical man who harassed women and discriminated against qualified women boxing judges. Chiles "disappointed me tremendously," she says. "I was in tears because I couldn't get (Scionti) fired." A state investigation ultimately found Scionti at fault for "ongoing, improper and/or unethical conduct and misuse of a public position." Gov. Jeb Bush got rid of him and reappointed Waldman to the commission, of which she became chairwoman before stepping down in 2002. Bill McBride, after winning the Democratic primary over Janet Reno, won no points with Waldman when he praised Scionti, who had recently died. The Magnolias didn't call out their network but personally supported Bush.