In the annals of Mobile political history, few defeats have been as spectacular—or as expensive—as Reid Cummings’ 2010 bid for the District 6 City Council seat. The real estate executive and University of South Alabama professor did everything conventional wisdom says a candidate should do. He raised more money. He outspent his opponent by a factor of two. He assembled a professional campaign operation. And on Election Day, he got crushed.
The final tally was brutal: Bess Rich, the former councilwoman who had held the seat from 1993 to 2001, captured 4,099 votes to Cummings’ 2,474. That’s a 25-point margin. In a district where every vote mattered, Cummings lost by nearly two-to-one.
But here’s the part that still makes political insiders wince: Cummings spent $123,108 on his failed campaign. That wasn’t just a lot of money—it was the most money ever spent on a Mobile City Council campaign since the county began keeping electronic records in 1997. It more than doubled the $59,700 spent by Rich, whose campaign budget ranked fifth in the modern era. Cummings outspent his opponent by more than $63,000 and still lost by 1,625 votes.
This wasn’t just a defeat. It was a masterclass in how not to run for local office—and a cautionary tale that still echoes through Mobile’s political landscape.
The Candidate Who Had It All
On paper, Reid Cummings looked like the perfect candidate. He wasn’t some political novice stumbling through his first campaign. He was a successful real estate executive with decades of experience in development, leasing, management, brokerage, financial consulting, mortgage lending, and construction services. He had served as Chair of the Alabama Real Estate Commission, Chair of the Mobile Housing Authority, Chair of the Mobile Board of Zoning Adjustment, and President of the Mobile Area Association of Realtors.
He was an academic too—an assistant professor of finance and real estate at the University of South Alabama and director of the USA’s Center for Real Estate and Economic Development. He had graduated from Leadership Alabama, Leadership Mobile, and The Buckley School for Public Speaking. He had the résumé, the credentials, and the connections.
But credentials don’t vote. People do.
The Money Machine
Cummings’ fundraising operation was impressive by any measure. He raised a total of $89,429 in cash contributions as of his most recent campaign finance report before the election. But the real story was what happened behind the scenes—and it’s a story that reveals the seamy underbelly of Alabama’s campaign finance system.
According to records, Cummings received two contributions of $1,000 each from a political action committee called Alabama Citizens for the Environment, or ACE-PAC. But here’s where it gets interesting: nearly all of ACE-PAC’s funding in 2010—$155,000—came from the Jones Campaign Fund, the political vehicle of then-Mayor Sam Jones. The rest came from a company owned by Clarence Ball, a longtime Jones supporter. Larry Wettermark, the mayor’s attorney, was listed as chairman and treasurer of ACE-PAC.
In other words, the mayor’s political operation was funneling money to Cummings through a pass-through PAC—a practice that the Alabama Legislature would vote to outlaw in December of that same year.
Cummings claimed he never directly solicited money from the mayor, though he did ask Wettermark for support. He said he was “probably aware” at some point that the money had come from Jones, but that he hadn’t thought about it since the election. “I like the mayor. I think he’s done a good job and he’s been good for this city,” Cummings said. “I didn’t ask any money from anyone I wouldn’t be proud to be associated with.”
Those words would come back to haunt him.
The Timing Problem
Here’s where the campaign finance system failed voters—and where Cummings’ campaign exploited a loophole that should have been closed long ago.
Under Alabama law at the time, candidates had to file two finance reports before the election: one 45 days out and one between five and 10 days before the vote. But the comprehensive annual report didn’t have to be filed until January 31—months after the election was over.
This created a massive transparency gap. Late contributions could be hidden from voters until long after they’d cast their ballots.
According to Cummings’ final report filed in January, he received the first ACE-PAC contribution on October 29—just four days before the election. But ACE-PAC’s own report showed the first contribution to the Cummings campaign was made on September 30. That’s a nearly one-month discrepancy—a discrepancy that only became public after the election was over.
Cummings’ campaign denied sitting on any checks to avoid disclosure. But the optics were terrible. A candidate who had raised nearly twice as much as his opponent was taking money from the mayor’s political machine through a pass-through PAC, with contributions timed to avoid pre-election scrutiny.
It looked like exactly what it was: a cynical manipulation of a broken system.
The Spending Spree
The $123,108 that Cummings spent wasn’t just the most money ever spent on a council campaign—it dwarfed every other campaign in the modern era. To put it in perspective:
- The second-highest spender, Mabin Hicks, spent $78,655 in 1997.
- The Cummings-Rich race combined spending of $182,808.
- District 1 Councilman Fred Richardson spent less than $70,000 across four successful campaigns.
Cummings spent more than some candidates spend running for Congress. And for what? A city council seat that pays a fraction of what he spent to win it.
Even Cummings was shocked. “We overachieved, even my greatest expectations,” he said. “Not that it did any good.”
That last line—“not that it did any good”—is the epitaph for his entire campaign.
The Endorsement That Wasn’t
Cummings faced an uphill battle from the start. He was running against Bess Rich, a familiar name in Mobile politics who had represented District 6 from 1993 to 2001 before running for mayor. Rich had name recognition, a track record, and the backing of the establishment.
In September 2010, Mobile County Commissioner Connie Hudson—the very woman whose seat Cummings and Rich were both seeking to fill—endorsed Rich. Hudson had won her bid for the County Commission, leaving the District 6 seat vacant. Her endorsement of Rich was a significant blow to Cummings’ campaign.
Cummings was also facing a three-way race. John Burns, a retired Coast Guardsman and Mobile Aerospace Engineering employee, had joined the contest. While Burns was unlikely to win, his presence in the race could have split the anti-Rich vote—though in the end, it didn’t matter. Rich won in a landslide.
The Mayor’s Shadow
The connection to Mayor Sam Jones was a double-edged sword for Cummings. On one hand, it gave him access to money and political infrastructure. On the other hand, it tied him to a mayor who had his own political baggage.
Jones had been elected mayor in 2005 and was seeking re-election in 2009 (he won). But his administration was dogged by questions about campaign finance and political patronage. The ACE-PAC arrangement—which funneled $155,000 from Jones’ campaign fund to a PAC that then gave money to Cummings—looked like exactly the kind of backroom dealing that voters were sick of.
Cummings tried to distance himself from the controversy. He said he didn’t solicit the money directly and that he would “probably” have turned it down if he’d known where it came from. But the damage was done. In the minds of voters, Cummings wasn’t his own man. He was the mayor’s man.
What Went Wrong?
So how did a candidate with all the advantages—money, connections, credentials—lose so badly?
1. He confused spending with winning. Cummings raised and spent more money than any council candidate in history, but money doesn’t vote. He was outspent by his opponent on a per-vote basis: Rich spent about $14.57 per vote (based on $59,700 for 4,099 votes), while Cummings spent about $49.76 per vote ($123,108 for 2,474 votes). That’s not efficiency. That’s desperation.
2. He lacked a compelling message. Cummings was a businessman and academic. He had plenty of ideas, but he never articulated a vision that resonated with District 6 voters. Rich, by contrast, had a simple message: I’ve done this before, and I can do it again. Voters knew what they were getting with Rich. Cummings was an unknown quantity.
3. He was tainted by association. The ACE-PAC controversy hung over his campaign like a cloud. Even if Cummings had nothing to do with the PAC-to-PAC transfers, the appearance of impropriety was enough to sink him. Voters don’t like the smell of backroom deals, and Cummings’ campaign reeked of it.
4. He underestimated his opponent. Rich wasn’t some political neophyte. She had served on the council for eight years. She knew the district, she knew the issues, and she knew how to win. Cummings may have thought he could buy the seat. He was wrong.
5. He ignored the intangibles. Local politics is about relationships, trust, and personal connections. Cummings had the résumé, but Rich had the relationships. She had knocked on doors, attended community meetings, and built a network of supporters over years of public service. Cummings was trying to build all of that in a few months. It wasn’t enough.
The Legacy of a Landslide Loss
Cummings’ defeat didn’t end his career in public service. In 2016, Mayor Sandy Stimpson appointed him to the Mobile Housing Board. He continued to teach at the University of South Alabama and remained involved in real estate and economic development.
But the 2010 election remains a cautionary tale for anyone thinking of running for local office in Mobile. Money alone doesn’t win elections. Connections alone don’t win elections. What wins elections is a combination of message, organization, and trust—and Cummings had none of those things in sufficient quantity.
The $123,108 he spent wasn’t just a record. It was a monument to political hubris—a reminder that you can’t buy your way into the hearts of voters. You have to earn their trust, one handshake, one conversation, one vote at a time.
Cummings learned that lesson the hard way. Whether future candidates will learn from his mistakes remains to be seen.
Epilogue: The System That Enabled It
It’s worth noting that the campaign finance system that allowed Cummings to spend six figures and hide contributions until after the election has since been reformed. The Alabama Legislature outlawed PAC-to-PAC transfers in December 2010. The transparency gap that allowed late contributions to escape pre-election scrutiny has been partially addressed.
But the underlying problem remains: money in politics corrupts the process. Cummings’ campaign was a textbook example of how a wealthy candidate with establishment backing can try to buy a seat—and how voters can reject that attempt.
In the end, Reid Cummings spent $123,108 to learn a lesson that should have been obvious from the start: you can’t buy respect. You can’t buy trust. And you certainly can’t buy a seat on the Mobile City Council.
All you can buy is the most expensive loss in the history of Mobile municipal politics.