Optimistic Robbins Battles to Piece Together a Future : Politics: The ex-state senator is cash poor, he says, and still owes the federal government $4 million in fines and restitution.

Alan Robbins is sitting in a garden of lush bamboo, palm and fern foliage outside his Encino dream home, the one with the koi pond, polished hardwood floors, sweeping entrance--and a “For Sale” sign out front.

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The elegant, half-century-old hillside estate, which has been the former state senator’s pride during the eight years he has owned it, now stands vacant. It is a luxury he can no longer afford.

Things are not yet looking up for Robbins. Even though he spent 20 months in prison for racketeering and tax evasion, he still owes the federal government roughly $4 million in fines and restitution. On top of that are his substantial legal bills.

Once a self-made multimillionaire with a portfolio of real estate holdings, Robbins is now cash poor, he says.

Robbins claims that the drop in the real estate market left him with nothing to turn over to lawyers and federal authorities. But he’s vague about his actual net worth, since it is in his best interest to appear penniless. Robbins is trying to persuade officials to give him back his real estate license, saying he needs it to pay his fines.

This is the latest downward twist for Robbins, who gained local fame and fortune during the 18 years he represented the San Fernando Valley in Sacramento, a job he says he misses a lot. Nonetheless, he remains optimistic.

“People ask me, ‘How can you live in a one-bedroom apartment when you are used to having this beautiful, gorgeous home?’ ” said Robbins in a recent wide-ranging interview. “When you are accustomed to living with nothing, you develop an appreciation for every little thing.”

For now, he is busy chasing down his adversaries, the former business partners Robbins said denied him profits while he was incarcerated and who now find themselves the targets of numerous lawsuits he has filed.

“There’s been a lot of people trying to take advantage of me, the last being my tenant in this house who took the last thing I had left, my furniture,” he said. But Robbins is philosophical. “There’s an old Greek saying: If it doesn’t kill me, it makes me stronger.”

While residing in his tiny Westwood apartment, Robbins, 51, spends much of his time at the offices of a local law firm working on his own cases. This is vintage Robbins; acquaintances say he was never one to let the opportunity for litigation pass by.

He has won one of his suits, obtaining a $500,000 judgment in his favor--handed down before he was released from a halfway house in Hollywood earlier this month. He says he has three or four other “major litigations” pending against people “who helped themselves to fairly large pieces of my net worth,” plus “a few minor” suits to collect smaller debts.

As for life beyond the lawsuits, Robbins said, his future is an open question.

“I’m still in the process of trying to figure that out,” Robbins said. “I thought I had it figured out but, to be honest, I was thrown for a loop.”

What caught him off guard was the recent revocation of his real estate license by a state commissioner who determined that Robbins “had lost his moral compass” and had not demonstrated he was rehabilitated.

Now, Robbins plans to appeal that ruling, may try to regain his law license, and is examining a business proposal involving setting up a new phone network.

No longer appearing as gaunt and anxious as he did while incarcerated, Robbins speaks acceptingly of the lessons he learned in Lompoc Federal Prison Camp, where he was visited frequently by his son, 23; daughter, 21, and 82-year-old mother.

“I used to take it for granted that someone else would mop the floors and do the cleaning. Now I no longer do,” he says. In prison, his jobs included washing dishes, mopping floors, scrubbing toilets.

Robbins says he also learned to accept punishment for his actions, which included extorting nearly $250,000 from a San Diego hotel developer, laundering money and using his office to extort cash and campaign contributions from a number of sources.

He blames himself for letting power go to his head. “In Sacramento, everybody bows and scrapes and laughs at your jokes. After a short while, you start to believe there was some reason other than just luck that you arrived there. You start to believe you have a right to expect people to attend your fund-raisers.”

Indeed, toward the end of his legislative career, Robbins had developed a reputation as having an inflated view of himself. “There were a number of legislators who would have said I could have used a strong dose of humility,” he said.

While in prison, Robbins read about 100 books, mostly dogeared paperbacks ranging from the out-of-date pop psychology books “I’m OK, You’re OK” and “Passages” to whatever escapist best-sellers were on hand.

He says he was the target of animosity from other inmates who refused to believe he was an ex-state senator, not a former United States senator, and was not responsible for the federal laws that landed them in the work camp.

Robbins, who pleaded guilty to his crimes and cooperated with federal authorities’ prosecution of other Capitol figures, said he never hit a truly low point during his sentence. “You prepare yourself as best you can, but it was a stark reality, nevertheless. I think the fact that I had made the decision to (plead guilty and serve prison time) made it easier for me,” he said. “I didn’t spend my time being angry. I didn’t spend my time trying to figure out why I was there.”

Other legislators caught in the FBI’s long-running Capitol corruption probe have had a difficult time accepting their convictions.

Former state Sen. Paul Carpenter (D-Downey), found guilty of racketeering and money-laundering after Robbins testified against him, fled the country rather than face sentencing. And former Assemblyman Pat Nolan (R-Glendale) has tried to convince supporters that he is innocent in spite of his guilty plea last month to using his office to obtain campaign contributions illegally.

“Every man and woman has to figure out how to deal with a situation,” Robbins said. “I don’t think I’m in a position to fault Assemblyman Nolan for the way he’s dealing with it, or Sen. Carpenter for the way he’s dealing with it. I dealt with it in the way that was right for me.”

Robbins’ initial way of dealing with his accusers was to fight. It was only after two years of investigation by the FBI and Internal Revenue Service that Robbins resigned under pressure in late 1991, acknowledging that he used his office for personal gain. During that period, Robbins spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on legal fees in an attempt to dodge federal prosecution.

What’s important to Robbins these days is that his conviction not overshadow what he considers the good deeds he did for the Valley’s 20th Senate District. Chief among them, he said, was obtaining state funding for government projects and the annual San Fernando Valley Fair.

“The state buildings I built are still there. The courthouses I built are still there,” he said. “Some of the freeway sound walls I built are still blocking out the noise.”

Other legislative accomplishments Robbins hopes to be remembered for include his crusade to end court-ordered busing and replace it with voluntary desegregation, which he says has been more successful. In addition, he authored a law to protect victims of rape from having their prior sex lives brought up in court.

But many in Sacramento say he is also likely to be remembered as a manipulative legislator who often withheld his votes until the last minute to ensure that lawmakers and special interests were beholden to him for his support.

The public may also recall Robbins as the defendant in a 1981 sexual misconduct probe. In that case, he was acquitted of having sex with two underage girls he met in the Capitol, but was left tarnished by an embarrassing trial.

To those in Sacramento who have tried to distance themselves from Robbins since his conviction, he sends a message: “I think they would be well-advised to look at what they could do to clean up their own house.

“If they looked at what they really did, they would recognize that No. 1, they could be prosecuted and No. 2, if the whispered conversations between legislators and lobbyists were recorded, they wouldn’t feel very good about their kids listening to them.”

In fact, those hushed hallway exchanges were recorded--by Robbins. After federal authorities convinced the Democratic senator they could slap him with a lengthy prison sentence for his role in extorting bribes, Robbins agreed to wear a wire.

For four months, he secretly taped everything anyone in the Capitol said to him. And now, he strongly believes those tapes--only a portion of which have been released--should be made public. After all, he reasons, the Watergate tapes were eventually made available.

Asked whether the unreleased recordings contain damaging material, Robbins replies: “I think that would be an understatement. I assume there are people in the state of California who will wish those tapes will never be released.” There is little chance the recordings will be made public, however, while the FBI’s investigation of influence-peddling in the Capitol continues.

As for political corruption, Robbins said he believes the problem still exists. He advocates reforms to prevent lobbyists from doling out dollars to lawmakers.

The secretary of state’s current effort to extract promises from lobbyists to refrain from pledging campaign contributions is a start, he said, but a weak one.

In some Capitol quarters, Robbins is spoken of disparagingly by those who now regard him as a tattletale. But Robbins takes pride in the role he played in exposing the corruption of others, even if jurors said he did not strike them as credible. One juror called him a scumbag. And attorney Donald H. Heller, who represents lobbyist Clayton Jackson--whom Robbins’ testimony helped to convict--routinely labels the ex-senator “an extortionist” and a liar.

“I think the federal prosecutors were surprised with how high my level of commitment was,” he reflects. “I meant it when I said I was going to cooperate. I felt it provided a unique opportunity for the people of California to look at a slice of what really goes on in the Capitol.”

It also provided Robbins with an opportunity to reduce his five-year prison sentence to two.