Did You Say Jerry Brown--<i> Shudder!</i> --Started Out This Way?

“I tell you folks, all politics is applesauce.”-- Will Rogers

Candidate Bob Bowen held no illusions about his place in the Election Night scheme of things.

Sitting by himself on his living-room sofa in a short-sleeved shirt, jeans and socks, he spoke to the sole reporter sent to his campaign headquarters--his couch.

“What sin did you commit to get this assignment?”

A conservative Republican who winces when folks say, “Has anyone ever told you? You look exactly like Bill Clinton,” Bowen was arguably the most obscure candidate in the least sexy race in one of the lowest-turnout elections in the history of Los Angeles.

And he lost.

He was visibly saddened when the outcome of the race for the seventh seat on the Community College Board of Trustees became clear. He was frustrated that the post office had failed to deliver 22,000 targeted mailers he’d sent out. He also had a ball.

“I’m approaching my 45th birthday, and I got a whole bunch of free lessons on life,” Bowen said, his mouth in a small, sincere smile. “Not a bad deal.”

As the big-race candidates fired off sound bites and the red-and-blue helium balloons rose into the black night Tuesday, Bowen and his wife, Lani, stayed at their home on a hill in Woodland Hills. They drank hot tea from unmatched cups and quietly tended the flickering flame of the citizen politician.

“You almost wish every citizen could do it once in their life,” he said. “There are a lot of places in the world where you don’t even have the chance to lose an election.”

A TV electronics engineer and realtor, the gray-haired Bowen reads more than 100 magazines a month and quotes the Founding Fathers with patriotic abandon. He can break down the California public education dollar in one sentence and discuss the U.S. motorcycle market in the next.

Politics fascinated, and horrified, him at an early age. By the time he was a teen-ager, Bowen was trumpeting such conservative battle cries as “Less government!” and “Hands off!”

While he was studying political science at San Fernando Valley State College (now Cal State Northridge) during the campus tumult of the Vietnam War, one of his professors dropped his class grade from A to F after he wrote one conservative essay, he says.

He married Lani, a native of the Portuguese colony of Macao on the coast of China, had a daughter, Shannon--who was spending this evening at Disneyland--and bemoaned the state of global, national and local affairs.

Until his 15-year-old challenged him to do something about it.

“When your teen-age daughter says that, and she’s right, you have to act,” he said.

So he ran against incumbent David Lopez-Lee, among the most entrenched--and most liberal--trustees on the community college board. Bowen was concerned about the board’s taking a stand on issues he felt were outside its realm of responsibility--such as opposing Proposition 187--and the controversial purchase of offices that were quickly vacated for lusher digs.

But mostly, this was politics on the level where a 44-year-old middle-class guy with no experience could compete. Not that it couldn’t lead to bigger things. Jerry Brown and Mike Antonovich served there.

Bowen spent about $3,000 on his campaign, most of it handed directly to him or Lani in the form of $20 or $25 checks at civic club fund-raisers.

Reaching one of the spiritual landmarks that has created generations of campaign junkies and Harold Stassen, Bowen observed: “When somebody puts their faith in you, somebody you’ve never even seen before. . . . It’s almost a religious experience.”

Few pundits bothered to comment on Bowen’s campaign, but those who did agreed that the incumbent was as safe as a hereditary monarch. Bowen knew that. One film-industry union to which Bowen has been paying dues for years sent out flyers encouraging members to vote for Lopez-Lee.

The polls closed, the teacups were refilled, and Bob and Lani watched the returns on TV. It was obvious that the voters weren’t the only ones bored with this election. The O.J. trial led one station’s newscast--just as Bowen had predicted. Also as predicted, when the anchors did get around to the voting, there wasn’t a mention of the community college race, much less Bowen.

As Lani pointed out the lights of the San Fernando Valley at night, Bob went into another room to call the city clerk’s office for returns on his contest, then returned to the deck.

“That’s Winnetka,” he said, pointing to a long strand of flickering lights. “And that’s Nordhoff, intersecting it.”

He made no mention of the phone call. Lani finally asked.

“Not very good,” was his reply.

Bowen didn’t expect to beat Lopez-Lee outright in the election, only to keep him from getting 50% of the votes plus one, thus forcing a runoff. But it wasn’t even that close, and he went back inside.

The candidate was quieter now, his optimistic demeanor subdued. “In every election, the stakes are high,” he said, hoisting up his eyebrows. “Even in this little election.”

Lani stood up. “Let’s get the champagne anyway,” she said.

“You have champagne, dear?” Bowen asked.

“It may be a little dusty.”

As she left to search for the bottle, Bob Bowen sat in silence a moment. Then he called out.

“Good idea, dear.”