Ed Davis Is Pinning His Hopes on a Cop’s Badge

As Ed Davis tells it, his stormy years as the police chief of Los Angeles in the 1970s gave him the status of legend in California.

“I can get out of a car in a shopping center anywhere in the state, in Chico or Crescent City, and somebody is going to say ‘Hi, Chief,’ ” he says between puffs on his pipe.

With a gleam in his eye and a boyish chortle, Davis explains why people remember and like him. His weekly credit on the “Adam-12” television show helped, plus headlines galore about run-ins with the mayor and the press. “I played you guys in the media like a fiddle,” he recalls, chuckling.

Above all, says Davis: “I’ve hung guys at airports. How many other guys do you know who have hung hijackers at the airport?”

Davis refers often to his most celebrated quote, the 1972 call to erect gallows at Los Angeles International, as he campaigns around California for the U.S. Senate. And, indeed, polls confirm that he is as well known as the other Republicans in the June 3 primary race.

But with a month of hard campaigning left, Davis faces increasing signs that the legend is failing to work any magic on the Republican voters who want a candidate who can beat Alan Cranston.

When his quest began early last year, Davis expected to need $1.5 million to win. He has raised less than half that despite six years as a state senator with a reputation for thoughtful work and high principle. And, if anything, the race has grown more competitive.

Some of the shine came off Davis’ star after he instigated an investigation that led to criminal charges against Rep. Bobbi Fiedler, a rival for the Republican nomination. Fiedler and her chief aide were indicted but charges were dropped.

Straying from party orthodoxy has also robbed Davis of conservatives who would gladly have backed the old Ed Davis with money and votes--before he voted for a gay-protection bill in the state Senate and denounced the religious wing of the Republican Party.

His campaign style also makes some wonder how strongly Davis wants to win.

At 69, Davis--white-haired and soft-faced--is the oldest in the race, and he insists that his staff let him run a bit slower than the other contenders.

Rather than shirk his state Senate duties, which most campaigning incumbents sacrifice in a frantic drive to set foot in as many radio stations and airport meeting rooms as daylight permits, Davis works out of his Sacramento office four days a week.

He has yet to miss a committee session or floor vote, and says he won’t until the final week of the race. “I got elected saying I would do my duty by my constituents,” Davis said.

When he does campaign, usually on weekends with his wife, Bobbie, at his side, he often arrives early and stays late. Candidates often overextend themselves, but Davis’ campaign calendar is seldom full.

He even ordered his staff to schedule a full day off at least every two weekends so he can rest at home in Valencia and “shine my shoes and take care of my shirts. I hate unshined shoes, and I wouldn’t want somebody else to take care of my dirty shirts.”

No campaign manager would advise taking it easy in the final month before an election. But Davis, who finished second in a race for the Republican nomination for governor in 1978, makes all the important decisions. And he is nothing if not insistent, his staff says.

“You start going seven days a week too long and you get empty,” Davis explains.

A Matter of Taste

Personal taste, it seems, also blocks Davis from acting as though he wants to win too badly. At a recent appearance before the Wilshire Chamber of Commerce, Davis sat and calmly ate lunch while other candidates shook hands around the room.

“I would feel I was annoying people if I walked up and said, ‘Hi, I’m Ed Davis, I’m running for U.S. Senate,’ while they’re trying to eat their salad or eat their dessert,” he said later.

But if it seems that Davis is coasting, he begs to differ. He insists that he is in the campaign to win but says he is going to do it his way.

For instance, he hasn’t joined the other candidates in trying to win a contest to be dubbed the “truest conservative.” Davis contends that his mix of traditional conservatism on foreign and economic affairs and surprising moderate positions on other issues is the formula that will let the GOP finally beat Cranston.

He wants to shut off the Mexican border to stop illegal immigration, and agrees with his campaign rivals that President Reagan’s policies have helped the economy. He dismisses David Stockman, the former budget director who recently attacked Reagan’s grasp of economics, as “a snitch.”

“We’ll have to pay the debt off someday, but in the meantime we’re living well,” Davis said during an appearance on the Michael Jackson show on KABC Radio.

Davis is California chairman of a group formed to promote Reagan’s Star Wars weapons initiative. He also backed Reagan’s decision to bomb Libyan targets in retaliation for terrorist acts, saying it was “well justified by the facts.”

Regard for Law

But his long regard for the law--37 years with the Los Angeles Police Department, including his term as chief from 1969-78--is the reason Davis says he can’t join some of his rival candidates in calling for “preemptive” attacks on nations only suspected of aiding terrorists.

“Before you can punish you have to prove guilt,” Davis said in an interview. “Unfortunately, I have that in my system. I can’t see just going in and saying, ‘We are going to make an example of you.’ If we really hope to someday have the rule of the law in the world, then we can’t become terrorists ourselves.”

Davis claims it was reverence for the law, not political gain, that led him to encourage an investigation of Fiedler, whom he accused of offering him a bribe to quit the race. The incident hurt Davis in the polls, but he still refuses to accept Fiedler’s innocence.

As a lad, first in Catholic school then at Fremont High in South-Central Los Angeles and USC, Davis was so enthralled with law that he studied the state vehicle and penal codes on the side.

It was respect for the rule of law, he said, that led him to reject the Catholic Church in his 20s.

Davis, now an Episcopalian, said he couldn’t accept the Papal ban on artificial birth control. He talked it over with some priests. “They said, ‘Edward, you know the rules.’ Well, if I’m going to belong to an outfit, I’m going to obey the rules or I’m going to get out.”

These days the religious discord in Davis’ life comes from the religion-oriented New Right in his own party. Davis dismisses them as “theocrats,” but their disregard for Davis has undercut his conservative credentials.

For instance, some don’t like his position on giving legal status to school prayer: “I think that whole thing is very divisive. If a kid is out of an atheist family, he shouldn’t be forced to pray or take a moment of silence. You can pray all you want at home.” (Davis said he kneels before bed every night.)

Some don’t care much for his abortion stand either: allow abortions in the first three months of pregnancy but make it a crime thereafter.

And some especially don’t like his position on equal rights for homosexuals and other minorities.

If Davis had stopped at casting the key vote on a bill (vetoed by Gov. George Deukmejian) to ban job and other discrimination against gays in California, the fallout might have been less severe.

But Davis also went on the attack, saying that the prejudices of many conservatives against homosexuals and other minorities has cost society valuable talent and ensured the Republican Party of minority party status.

Michelangelo Reference

“Don’t consign people to the rubbish heap just because they’re gay,” Davis said last week, not backing off. “If he’s qualified to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, and his name is Michelangelo, and he’s the best painter, then let him paint it even though he might be gay.

“I think there’s no question I would be the distinct front-runner if it wasn’t for that vote. Now if that means losing the election, then tough . . . I lose the election.

But Davis said he doesn’t expect to lose. When Senate business allows, he plans to focus his campaign on the north, figuring that he will earn a good share of the vote in populous Southern California on his reputation as chief alone.

He chose to be labeled on the ballot as retired police chief, not state senator. The polls, he says, showed more people remember him that way.

To further the police connection, one of his television ads shows Davis challenging Cranston, 71, to a boxing match and ends with the slogan “one tough cop--one great senator.”

He won’t claim that long years in police work will magically make him a better U.S. senator. But he thinks voters cast their ballots on emotion after sizing up the man or woman--checking “the cut of your jib,” he says.

And Davis contends that he looks pretty good these days.

Sacramento lobbyists and other legislators who deal with Davis regard him as one of those rare birds who listens to the merits of a bill more than he weighs its political baggage.

Proud of Reputation

He cherishes the reputation after being written off as a knee-jerk reactionary by critics during his days as police chief.

“I’m not a cinch vote for anyone,” Davis said. “I don’t often agree with the ACLU, but they always have one or two good points. We don’t often agree with the NRA (National Rifle Assn., a powerful pro-gun lobby) but sometimes they have one or two good points.

He can tick off the numerous newspaper stories written about his transformation from arch-conservative chief to well-respected legislator. It’s his secret weapon in the Senate campaign, Davis said .

“There’s never been a bad story in six years,” he said. “I have a very good image up here and its datelined Sacramento, not datelined Los Angeles.”

Since he doesn’t have the money to buy much television, the free media coverage is important. So there has been a news conference with prominent crime victims, including actress Teresa Saldana, and fly-arounds to meet reporters at rural airports around the state.

“My supporters are rock-solid supporters,” Davis argues. “They don’t chip off easily, so I’m not worried about them being seduced by somebody’s 30-second idiot spot.

“They’ll say, ‘Oh, Davis, I know him. He’s that chief of police that used to hang those bastards at the airport.’ ”