A new podcast chronicles GOP strategist Mark Block's journey through five decades of political upheaval, encompassing everything from dorm-room campaigns to legal battles, viral advertising, and wellness ventures.
The story begins in 1973, just after the 26th Amendment dropped the voting age to 18. In Wisconsin, this extended to both newly eligible voters and candidates. Mark Block, then a student and activist at the University of Wisconsin–Oshkosh, seized the opportunity and launched a campaign for Winnebago County Board.
Mark Block from his X profile.
He ran it from his dorm. His campaign volunteers were classmates. His outreach was unconventional.
“We ran the whole thing out of my dorm,” Block says. “We had people handing out joints with flyers. It wasn’t what you’d call traditional voter outreach.”
Block secured victory by a mere 29 votes. Just a few weeks later, he was sitting in a boardroom filled with political veterans, some in their 60s and 70s. Long-haired and politically untested, he introduced a resolution to implement welfare work requirements. It did not go over quietly.
“It was a room full of 70-year-olds,” he recalls. “And here I come in with long hair, no experience, and a welfare reform bill. The unions hated it. That’s when I first learned what it meant to step on a political landmine.”
The early tension between young outsider ambition and entrenched political institutions would come to define Block’s career.
By the time Block was 17, even before his official campaign win, he had already entered the orbit of national politics. He was appointed the Nixon campaign’s campus chair at UW-Oshkosh in 1972 and quickly got a crash course in how the Republican machine actually operated.
“Roger Stone handed me stacks of $100 bills,” Block says. “He said, ‘Use this to organize. Do whatever you need.’ And I did.”
This formative experience taught Block that political infrastructure was about more than public statements and press conferences. It was about field organizing, precinct-level outreach, and a firm grip on local power dynamics.
In the following years, he worked closely with legendary Wisconsin GOP strategist John MacIver, a behind-the-scenes operator who helped elevate a generation of conservative leaders in the state.
“If you wanted to run for governor in Wisconsin in 1985, there was one name you needed—MacIver,” Block says. “Today, there’s no one like that.”
Block's perspective, deeply influenced by these relationships and his traditional training, held that electoral victories were not determined by party platforms. Instead, he believed success belonged to those who mastered systems, networks, and leverage.
One of the pivotal events in Block’s career came in 1997, when he managed Wisconsin Supreme Court Justice Jon Wilcox’s reelection campaign. The stakes were high: if Wilcox lost, Wisconsin’s school choice law would likely be overturned.
“We ignored TV,” Block says. “We focused on door-knocking, phone calls, […and] talking to voters directly. We had the ground game. They didn’t.”
Wilcox emerged victorious, but this triumph was overshadowed by a politically charged investigation, which Block now sees as a prototype of contemporary lawfare. Then–Attorney General Jim Doyle, a Democrat and rising star, pursued the case aggressively. State regulators accused Block of illegally coordinating with an outside group, alleging violations of campaign finance laws. Block was never criminally charged. But the state imposed a $15,000 civil fine and a three-year ban on political activity.
Privately, even some insiders questioned the legitimacy of the case. “He got screwed,” recalled George Dunst, the Board’s former general counsel. “They really did a number on him.”
Block puts it more bluntly: “I wasn’t convicted—but I was bankrupted, blacklisted, and banned.”
The consequences were devastating. He lost his consulting business. His home went into foreclosure. At one point, he was working night shifts at a local Target just to stay afloat.
“It was the lowest I’d ever been,” he says. “I had to decide whether to disappear or keep going.”
What came next wasn't just a comeback through the usual political channels; it was a whole new way of doing things. Block eventually accepted an invitation to speak at the Harvard Kennedy School. In a memorable moment, Democratic Governor Jim Doyle was publicly acknowledged before a bipartisan audience.
“It was a small thing,” Block reflects, “but it reminded me there was still space to rebuild.”
The experience didn’t undo the damage, but it reshaped his path. Block re-entered the arena—not through party channels, but by building a parallel movement infrastructure. He had learned, in exile, what most operatives never do: how to fight without institutional protection. And that would define everything he built next.
Block didn’t return to party politics. Instead, he helped build something new: a conservative counterstructure to match the organizing power of unions and left-leaning institutions. He first founded the Wisconsin chapter of Americans for Prosperity (AFP), where he served as state director, and later went on to form the Wisconsin Prosperity Network.
“We didn’t have what the unions had—structure, civics education, communications,” Block says. “So we built it.”
AFP served as a hub, allowing various conservative nonprofits to fundraise, message, and coordinate without relying on the state GOP. One key project was Prosperity 101, a civics workbook Block’s team distributed to business owners to educate employees on public policy.
“We probably distributed tens of thousands of those,” he says. “It was civic education—but with teeth.”
Then came the Tea Party.
“I could smell the Tea Party coming,” Block states. “John MacIver used to say: the best way to get people to vote is to make them upset.”
The network Block helped build was ready. AFP-Wisconsin organized multi-city rallies. At one early event in Madison, they expected 800 people. Over 8,000 showed up, overwhelming the transportation plan.
“That’s how I met Scott Sidney,” Block explains. “He showed up, told me everything we did wrong—and I hired him. He became our logistics chief for the Cain campaign.”
The rallies continued. Block orchestrated six events across Wisconsin in July of 2009, traveling by donated private plane to each city on the same day.
“It was social media without Facebook,” says Block. “Every person who showed up went home and told 10 others.”
By the 2010 midterms, Wisconsin's Tea Party network was not only active but also operating at scale. What had begun as a reactionary protest movement had, under Block’s coordination, evolved into a disciplined, mobilized machine. It was fast, message-driven, and unencumbered by party bureaucracy. This experience was about to launch Block back into national politics, propelling him onto a presidential campaign that would challenge everything he had learned.
Block’s reputation was rebuilt and the Tea Party network was in full swing, allowing him to step back onto the national stage. This time, he was chief strategist for Herman Cain’s 2012 presidential campaign. Cain, a former CEO of Godfather’s Pizza and political outsider, wasn’t taken seriously at first. But Block saw an opening: a candidate who could ride the wave of populist energy without being tied to the party elite.
Mark Block “Smoking Man Ad”
“Cain thought I was crazy,” Block remembers. “He said, ‘You’re out of your effing mind.’”
Block laid out thirteen specific milestones Cain had to meet before committing to a run: donor benchmarks, team structure, polling momentum, and, most importantly, grassroots enthusiasm. Cain met every one of these. On May 21, 2011, at a packed event in Brookfield, Wisconsin, he officially declared his candidacy.
“We packed the place,” Block says. “Fifteen thousand people came to Olympic Park. That’s when we knew it was real.”
Fueled by town halls, talk radio, and earned media, the campaign that followed was one of the most unorthodox in recent history. A now-infamous campaign video became a turning point in political advertising. Filmed spontaneously outside the Wynn Hotel in Las Vegas, the video featured Block himself. Cain was unavailable for a supporter message, so Block stepped in.
“Chris Bergard and I just stepped outside the Wynn,” Block says. “I thanked our supporters. Then I lit a cigarette. That was it.”
The “Smoking Man” ad quickly went viral online. Cain’s campaign emailed it to supporters. Then MSNBC picked it up. Then Fox. Then late-night comedians. The ad went absolutely viral.
“We raised $9 million in two days,” Block notes. “National polling jumped three points. NBC called it the third most iconic political ad in U.S. history.”
The ad cost just $40 to produce. It didn’t follow any conventional rules. It had no talking points, no policy agenda, and no polish. But it hit a nerve.
“It tapped into something in America: don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” he says. “That’s what it said. ‘I’ll do what I want.’”
Herman Cain led national Republican primary polls for nine consecutive weeks, achieving this without relying on traditional consultants, significant advertising expenditures, or establishment backing. Block’s approach was simple but effective: move fast, stay unpredictable, and own the message before the media can spin it.
In an era that still prized polish over authenticity, Block’s strategy was ahead of its time. And for a moment, it worked.
After Cain’s campaign ended and years of political warfare, Block stepped away from politics. Then came another challenge: cancer. The diagnosis was serious, and it forced Block to reassess his life.
“After five decades in politics—and a cancer diagnosis—I didn’t retire,” he says. “I launched a health company.”
Mother Nature's Trading Co. offers a range of products, including those crafted from cranberry seed oil and hemp-derived CBD. Block now applies the same tactics from campaign life to product marketing: email strategy, influencer outreach, and field testing.
Visit Mother Nature's Trading Company here.
“The same way we used influencers in politics—we’re using them now in wellness,” he says. “Because people trust people. Not brands.”
He also credits the 2018 Farm Bill with enabling companies like his to flourish, noting how politics and wellness regulation have become strangely intertwined.
“It’s all connected,” Block says. “Policy affects the ground game—even in health.”
Campaign Now’s podcast, Conversation with Mark Block, provides insight rather than nostalgia or vindication. Across three episodes, it tracks how one operative moved through six political eras by staying one step ahead of the system and, when necessary, building his own. Block’s story isn’t clean, and it’s not meant to be. It’s a window into how American politics actually works when the cameras are off and the consultants are gone.
“Don’t trust anybody,” Block says near the end. “That’s the one thing I learned.”
From dorm room campaigns to presidential war rooms, from courtrooms to CBD startups, Block’s arc is less about redemption than adaptation. The series offers a playbook rather than seeking agreement. For operatives, organizers, and anyone navigating today’s fractured political terrain, it’s a blueprint drawn in cigarette smoke and field maps.
And it makes one thing clear: the system didn’t break. It evolved. Just like the people who learned how to survive it.
Listen to the Conversation with Mark Block here.
Watch the Conversation with Mark Block podcast here.