Pete’s Curious Campaign

Would someone please tell Herschensohn, Campbell and Bono they can come out now?

It’s safe.

He’s gone.

For seven days in early March, these Republican candidates were rattled by the possibility that Peter Ueberroth would join the Senate primary. They put a brave spin on it, denying that Ueberroth would weaken their candidacies, but everyone understood that the Man With the Golden Resume would have been an instant contender.

So why didn’t he do it?

According to Ueberroth, certain Republicans he won’t name began cajoling him about a month ago “to be a good citizen” and join the race for Alan Cranston’s seat. I don’t doubt this. GOP regulars are hardly dazzled by the Senate field and have lusted after Ueberroth since the Olympics. The pressure kept up for weeks, and finally Ueberroth decided to explore a candidacy.

He attended the state GOP convention, met privately with Gov. Pete Wilson and took out candidate registration papers, just in case. Word of this sniffing about soon leaked. Last week, as the filing deadline approached, Ueberroth became front-page news. Ironically, by then, he had all but convinced himself not to take the plunge.

Ueberroth won’t divulge what Wilson told him. My understanding is that the embattled governor declined to release Ueberroth from a commitment to run a commission on California’s business climate, basically saying: “Nothing personal, Pete, but now is not the time.”

Ueberroth envisioned an unusual campaign. He would vow to serve only one term, refrain from negative comments about his competitors and accept no contributions. His principle campaign vehicle would not be television ads, but twice daily charity fund-raisers. He would speak and the money would go to good causes--a variation of his Olympic torch relay scheme.

“I had a different concept,” Ueberroth says, somewhat glumly, “and without exception every political expert I talked with said, ‘Not only will it not work, it is doomed for failure.’ ” He says he was counseled to raise millions of TV dollars and pound his competition--basic hack political advice.

Other factors reinforced what he calls, in exec-u-speak, “the no-go.” They include his family, the fact that the Senate’s advisory role doesn’t fit his CEO background, and a general discomfort with the game of politics as it is now played.

“In the end,” he says, “my instincts were telling me it wasn’t going to work.”

And his instincts have taken this son of a traveling salesman a long way.

Much of this curious affair was vintage Ueberroth. From the Olympics, to baseball to the U.S. Senate, his pattern has been to set himself up as the courted. He never looks for the job. The job always looks for him. It’s a coy game that enhances his leverage when it comes time to close the doors and cut a deal.

Less in character was the awkward way Ueberroth danced his dance in public. The impression was that he was making an important personal and professional decision on the fly, by impulse. Even some of his best friends were baffled by the clumsiness of the process, and afterward some of his political allies appeared as angry, jilted suitors.

Those dents can be repaired. Far more damage would have occurred if Ueberroth had charged ahead with great fanfare into the race and then blown it--and coming in late, underfinanced, an untested candidate with incomplete ideas, his would have been a campaign ripe for failure.

The stakes are higher for Ueberroth than the other candidates. Tom Campbell, Bruce Herschensohn and, to a lesser degree, Sonny Bono, all are medium-grade professional politicians. Even if they lose, they gain reputation and name recognition that will help them next time.

Ueberroth has all the reputation he needs. As Olympics czar and baseball commissioner, he crafted a national image as a maverick leader and innovator, as someone who tackles big jobs. His critics might call it all a product of hype, cunning or collusion, but the fact remains that Ueberroth enjoys a golden reputation, an image of invincibility that puts his name in play whenever big jobs come open--like U.S. senator.

But the image, while golden, is not bulletproof. If Ueberroth entered politics and faltered, he would lose it and lose it for good. The Time Man of the Year would become one more mortal, the guy who got bumped off by a no-name congressman, or hawk commentator, or Cher’s ex. In that sense, as I’ll bet Ueberroth’s trusty instincts told him, he had more reason to worry about his opponents than they did him.