UPDATED  Well, they do call it the Independence Party. It turns out the party’s candidate in the 3rd Congressional District race, David Dillon, has donated a considerable sum of his own money to his campaign through Sept. 2: $122,000. That’s 81 percent of his campaign’s $150,513 war chest, which according to a fresh report from the Center for Responsive Politics’ opensecrets.org, makes Dillon the eighth biggest self-funding candidate for the U.S. House or Senate this year, by percentage of total money raised.

That may seem nuts in a Minnesota election season in which it’s alleged that some candidates don’t even buy their own clothes, but consider that the Excelsior entrepreneur is competing in a contest that’s said to be among the most competitive (and expensive) in the country, with money pouring into the campaigns of the other two candidates — Democrat Ashwin Madia and Republican Erik Paulsen — from national groups. The latest poll shows Dillon’s a factor in the race. And it’s not like he isn’t asking for help with a donation form at his campaign Web site.

UPDATE: Where is the money going? Campaign manager Bruce Anderson tells the Minnesota Independent that radio ads for Dillon will air as soon as Thursday, or by next week at the latest. TV ads aren’t out of the question, Dillon tells MnIndy; he likes the idea of seeing his black-and-white “Subcommittee on Homeland Blues” Bob Dylan spoof spot – filmed on location in a Dinkytown alley — during the evening news. 

Of the self-funding total, Dillon says he considers $100,000 of the $122,000 to be a loan to his campaign. Was that the funding plan all along? “It’s all very abstract until you start getting $50, $100, $500 checks,” Dillon says, conceding that despite being a longtime policy and economics wonk, politics is new to him. “Did I hope to do more [fundraising]? Yes. But it could be worse.”

For whatever naivete he professes, Dillon said he knew even at the outset what he was butting into: a bare-knuckled, two-party struggle to replace Ramstad. The Independence Party’s ban on special interest donations wasn’t going to cut it, he realized. “Otherwise it’s like I’m going to a gun fight with a knife,” he remembered thinking, despite a previous aversion to the concept of special interest money in politics.

As it turned out, the party’s ban doesn’t extend to federal races. But Dillon’s descent into tainted special-interest cash didn’t last long anyway, and therein lies a story that explains in part his high ranking on the self-funding list.  

In January, Dillon traveled to Washington, D.C., for Homeland Security work related to federal anti-counterfeiting efforts. His business is printing, so he decided to hit up the Printing Industry of America (PIA), a trade group, for a campaign donation.

The PIA brought along representatives of a half-dozen other organizations to meet Dillon — a random group of prospects that might find his family business CEO/entrepreneur profile appealing. “The Thorasic surgeon folks were there,” Dillon recalled. So were insurance industry people — who, it turned out, held contradictory goals on whether reimbursements should go up or be held down.  

The result was the group gave Dillon of a list of 100 more prospects … and a $1,000 check. The PIA attached only a single string: It let it be known that they did not want to see the introduction of a national do-not-mail list along the lines of the national do-not-call list.  

Dillon took the check and left the room, telling himself, “Well, I’ll be damned. This is exactly how it works.” It was his first and last special interest donation, he says. He set aside the list of prospects.  ”I just couldn’t do it again.”