Sure sounds that way from
this reporter's take:
He is almost sheepish, a decidedly un-Dean-like characteristic. The presumed front-runner -- who is leading in some polls in South Carolina -- is being pelted daily across the spectrum, from the Al Sharpton left to the Joe Lieberman center to the Republican right. Dean is evincing the air of a man worn down, if not chastened.
Billy D. Williams, the mayor pro tempore of Florence and a Dean supporter, tries to lead the crowd into a chant of "Dean, Dean, Dean," which draws just a smattering of voices and lasts just a few seconds. Dean musters a forced beam.
But he does not look well. Bloated and fatigued, his graying hair sticks up in the back. His eyes, sharp blue and typically alert, are puffy and red. His maroon tie is crooked. His solid, former wrestler's posture has gone mopey. His cadences, normally brisk, are sluggish.
The crowd of 125 Democratic activists, most of them white, falls short of accustomed levels of Dean-inspired animation. They pick at reheated scrambled eggs, cold hash browns and bowls of unidentified fruit.
[...]
Dean tries to serve up his standard helpings of anti-Bush breakfast meat. During this administration, he says, more jobs have been lost than "since Herbert Hoover was president." He mocks the GOP's tax-break coddling of "Ken Lay and the boys"
Wait, didn't Dean hold secret energy meetings and give Enron a big tax haven in Vermont? Why is he still using this line?!?
But the speech strains with a going-through-the-motions quality. Dean's voice, hoarse from overuse and soft from fatigue, betrays the hesitation of a man who is learning to choose his words more carefully.
Dean concludes his remarks and invites questions. "As we say in New England, rude remarks are welcome as well," he says. His face bears an odd, almost wincing smile, as if he's bracing for a chandelier to fall.
By 9:30 a.m., Dean is talking with a trace of a Southern accent. It's a subtle but discernible evolution, divined by a few members of the traveling news media and the predominantly black audience at a ribbon-cutting ceremony to open the campaign's office in Florence.
"Thank yuh, thank yuh very much," Dean says, slightly Elvis-like.
"Here's this Vermont Yankee, coming down here to get votes in South Carol-lah-nah," Dean says.
"Ev-ruh-body says it can't be done."
He says he wants America to be once again the most respected "coun-trah" in the world.
"We're gonna be working our you-know-whats off in South Carol-lah-nah."
As he speaks, a vehicle passing on North Evans Street honks.
"I guess I have a supporter in that car," Dean says. Better yet, it's a pickup truck. But no Confederate flag.
Whoa.