Perot Bombshell Greeted by Shock, Sadness in S.D. : Reaction: California backers say the hurt is especially deep because he rekindled their interest in politics.

A small green sign posted in the lobby of San Diego’s Perot headquarters encourages supporters to give the Texas billionaire a taste of his own feisty nature: “Force Perot to Run.”

That’s strategy No. 1.

But, for many who gathered in the wake of Ross Perot’s decision to abandon his presidential quest, Thursday was part funeral, part group therapy and part celebration for the birth of “the biggest third party in U.S. history.”

Across the state, small bands of Perot’s former faithful confronted the new political reality: At a Perot headquarters near downtown Los Angeles, Perot volunteers trashed their campaign office. To the north, in Ventura County, an eight-foot, 350-pound sculpture of the diminutive Texas billionaire came to an undignified end: It was dropped into a Dumpster. In Sherman Oaks, one distraught supporter, tears streaming down his face, had to be escorted into a back room to deal with his grief.

In San Diego, a small but resolute hope blended with distress.

“We’re sorry about Mr. Perot. We feel very bad for him,” said volunteer training coordinator Marilyn Ersland, still holding the glass of champagne she used to toast their yet-to-be-named party. “But we have such an energy of supporters who want to take back the power for the American people, we decided to go forward.”

While Ersland thinks the idea of a third party will come to Perot supporters across the country, there is little direction from above and it is unclear where the group will go from here, she said.

Not everyone shared her optimism Thursday. For others, who have watched the number of San Diego County Perot supporters grow from a meager gang of four in March, to an estimated 9,000, the mood was less than joyous.

“I feel he was the last hope for reform in government,” said 30-year-old Mark Ames, a plumber who left work after he heard the news to call his father and visit Perot headquarters. “I’m grieving. I feel like it was a death in the family.”

His sentiment was shared by other Californians.

The true believers in Ross Perot, who felt that the independent presidential candidate was the answer to what ails America, reacted to the shocking announcement that he was ending his upstart campaign Thursday like jilted lovers left at the altar: with fury, tears, and shock.

“The party is over,” said Ed Haas of Reseda as he sat dejected at the back of the Sherman Oaks storefront headquarters. “Now the hero, the man in the white hat, turns out to be just another (expletive deleted) rat.”

In Visalia, Sam Johnson, a home-builder and nephew of Lyndon Johnson who was one of the earliest Perot organizers in California, said, “We’re all sobbing in our handkerchiefs as the groom is fleeing in his car.”

While most agreed it was the message and not the man that lured them to Perot’s camp, the search for a Perot replacement drew a mental blank. Others said they had already begun to doubt the messenger--even before he quit the race. Perot remained an enigma to many of his own supporters, and some were tiring of it.

“He owed it to us to at least have said what he was all about,” said a flustered San Diego woman who would not give her name.

Others date the seeds of doubt to Perot’s NAACP address, when he offended many black Americans by referring to the delegates as “you people” and “your people.”

“I cringed when I watched him up there,” said Carl, a 45-year-old San Diego importer who wouldn’t give his last name. “I saw it in his face and I said, ‘I think he’s wasting my time.’ I thought I’d give him a week to just say something. “‘

Despite the spirit of commitment San Diego volunteers have generated, keeping that energy focused won’t be easy, Carl said.

“Basically, I’m a pessimistic person. The beautiful part about this whole thing was he brought liberals, conservatives, old people and young people together. He was the catalyst. Are we going to stick together? Or, now that he’s gone, are we going to fall apart? Unfortunately, I think people need a leader. Without the head, the body goes.”

But not all Perot supporters have given up. Some believe this was simply the latest of the maverick businessman’s secretive strategies.

“I don’t know the whole story yet,” said Dave West, a longtime Perot supporter from San Diego. “I haven’t lost my respect for him, not one bit. I think he’s a real straight shooter. Maybe he had a really good reason.”

But San Diego supporters may have to figure out their next step without the infrastructure the Perot campaign provided.

Ersland said the donated phone lines at the Aero Drive headquarters may be disconnected, and while the building’s owner has agreed to let the group stay while they decide where to go from here, the future of the campaign, which has relied on volunteers, is in flux. A meeting has been scheduled for Monday evening to discuss options.

It was the uncertainty, in part, that drew people together Thursday.

Just as survivors of an earthquake or riot find their ways to hospitals or rescue centers, Perot volunteers found their way to local storefront campaign operations, searching for comfort, hugs and, perhaps, a sign that the campaign would go on.

The hurt for the Perot volunteers was especially deep because before the Texan had burst onto the political scene, they said they had been burned out by politics. They were brought to life by the take-charge, get-it-done promise of the plain-talking Texan.

If there were any true believers this year, a year when most Americans are said to be turned off by politics, it was the legions of volunteers who seemed to come out of nowhere, catch the Perot fever, and set up shop in offices and storefronts. Perot campaign officials said that in California alone Perot had been able to attract between 30,000 and 50,000 volunteers.

San Diego County led the pack, Ersland said, rivaled only by Orange County in numbers of supporters.

The Perot volunteers were people like Jose Rios, a 23-year-old from East Los Angeles who got out of the U.S. Army four months ago and had worked relentlessly for the Perot campaign at the office near downtown Los Angeles, called Fort Perot.

So enraged that Perot had given up the fight, Rios faxed a note to the Texan’s Dallas headquarters that said: “My parents taught me respect for my elders, but under this situation, if I was in a room with you, I would kick your ass.”

Other volunteers at Fort Perot reacted even more angrily. They systematically removed from the office anything with Perot’s picture or name on it, stripping the campaign headquarters bare. They even took a bank of about two dozen phones.

Elsewhere in California, Perot volunteers reacted with the same kind of intense emotion, though not all trashed offices.

In Ventura County, Oxnard sculptor Michael Racine had painstakingly fashioned an 8-foot sculpture of the Texan and set it up outside his art gallery. But after hearing the news, he said he never wanted to look at it again. Using a forklift, he dropped the sculpture in a Dumpster behind his gallery, knocking off its head in the process.

In Orange County, like just about everywhere else, many Perot campaign workers said they were not going to give up. The volunteers spent much of Thursday firing off telegrams, letters and FAX messages to Perot’s Dallas headquarters, urging their candidate to reconsider.

Elsewhere, there were reports that many volunteers were on their way to Dallas, by planes, buses or cars, in an effort to persuade Perot to get back in the race.

Whether or not he will is anybody’s guess. But one thing seems certain. Fewer people will be voting come November.

“We’re hearing a lot of angry people saying ‘I’m not going to vote at all, because the existing two parties don’t represent me,’ ” Ersland said.

Times staff writers Jack Cheevers, Nina J. Easton, Bill Billiter, Andrea Ford, Tina Griego, Ron Soble and Aaron Curtiss contributed to this story.