Contrasts Shed Light on Candidates

Gregarious and irrepressible, state Sen. Tom Hayden works Los Angeles one handshake at a time. He cruises the city in his mini-school bus, jumping out to distribute his own leaflets. And he warms to the sight of a microphone, speaking without notes, with little prompting and with no evident restraint.

Mayor Richard Riordan is a different kind of candidate. He prefers personal interviews to press conferences and seems more comfortable with small children and senior citizens than vocal activists. He sometimes stumbles on names, keeps a far lighter public schedule than his opponent and prefers to handle political business as business, not politics.

“Some people don’t think I’m a great political rhetorician,” he acknowledges. “But I’m a doer.”

Riordan, a moderate Republican, and Hayden, a liberal Democrat, are as different on the stump as they are ideologically or temperamentally, and their differences speak volumes about the kind of mayor each seeks to be: the brash would-be healer vs. the thoughtful, deceptively incisive deal-maker. For Hayden, the campaign is a moving opportunity, a platform from which to air ideas and engage in debate; for Riordan, it is a necessary inconvenience in the business of governing, a process that is growing on him but one that still detracts from his main interests.

It even shows up in their advertisements: Hayden’s are biting, sometimes snide, attacks at the incumbent mayor “and his corporate raider partners.” Riordan’s television spot is lavish and full of optimism. It makes no mention whatsoever of his opponent, whom Riordan aides view more as a pest than a genuine threat to unseat the mayor.

The contrasting approaches of Riordan and Hayden illustrate the deep gulf that separates the two men, one raised in the public conflict of left-wing student politics, the other schooled in the backroom art of venture capitalism. They also reflect the status quo in the campaign, which has Riordan polling well ahead of his rival. And most importantly, they offer a window into the personalities of the two men who vie to lead Los Angeles and whom voters will consider on April 8.

It is a sweaty Friday around noon, and Tom Hayden is looking for voters where there are few--a council district where turnout historically has been low. Most residents here are Latino, and Hayden is trying out his Spanish as he offers bilingual leaflets to shoppers in a supermarket parking lot.

“Hola,” he says, “soy candidato para alcalde. Abril ocho.” (“Hello, I’m a candidate for mayor. April 8.”)

Many shoppers seem surprised to run across a mayoral candidate, much less one greeting them in Spanish. Some stop for a moment or two to chat. As always, Hayden is running late. He walks twice as fast as everyone in his entourage, but then gets behind by talking at length.

“Every parking lot a precinct,” he declares. That’s true on the Westside, where voters turn out in large numbers. But for Hayden, it’s also true in Highland Park, today’s stop.

“That doesn’t mean it’s unimportant,” Hayden says. “As a mayor, you have to have a moral and political standard, and [mine] is that the neglected communities need attention.”

After a few minutes distributing leaflets, Hayden runs out. He pulls a $20 bill from his wallet and sends an aide off to a copy shop. The aide returns with a new stack, but they’re in English only, not much help in this predominantly Spanish-speaking neighborhood. Undeterred, Hayden campaigns on.

He stomps across a deserted parking lot to speak to someone sitting in a car, then spies a worker sitting far away, at the back of an empty store. Both get fliers and a talking to from the man who would be mayor.

Most stops find Hayden accompanied by at least a modest press contingent. He is running on a shoestring budget compared to the incumbent, and Hayden has welcomed press coverage.

One day, he sits for an interview with the Lesbian News, the next with Newsweek. He accepts invitations from any radio or television talk show that asks. He speaks to groups as small as six and as large as 600, and he shows up at residents’ association meetings, college and high school campuses and political clubs. He drops in at bowling alleys, goes to synagogue every Friday evening, and attends church every Sunday morning.

Day after day, he sprints through commercial districts, visiting merchants and patrons, interrupting meals in outdoor cafes and stopping mall traffic to sign autographs, pose for pictures and answer questions.

Because he entered the race so late, his schedule is also sprinkled with fund-raisers--house parties where he drones on as a few dozen supporters sit on the floor wondering whether he has even the smallest chance.

But the signature of Hayden’s “grass-roots” campaign is simply walking the streets. Several times a day he jumps off the bus, a stack of leaflets in hand, and struts out to meet the people.

“It’s nice to see you out talking to people,” Alfredo Bacera says to Hayden as the senator approaches him behind the counter of his deserted vitamin/herb store on Figueroa Street. “That other guy, he was here, but he just took some pictures. He didn’t talk to anybody.”

In fact, Riordan does his share of talking too. But he picks his forums differently, emphasizing businesses and schools as compared to parking lots and bowling alleys.

Those choices partly reflect Riordan’s interests--he is a lawyer and investor with a gift for business, but also one who warms visibly in the presence of children and who seems comfortable giving comfort to senior citizens. In addition, his choices reflect a political reality: Riordan is winning, commandingly, over Hayden. Barring a mistake of huge dimensions, little seems to stand between the mayor and reelection.

So while Riordan is not sitting silently on his lead, he is not deliberately putting it at risk.

One result: Rather than press his campaign into uncertain territory, Riordan stumps where he is most at ease. He tours factories that his staff has helped lure to Los Angeles or talked out of relocating. He visits schools that have benefited by his personal philanthropy. He unveils technology in fire stations and greets cops at roll calls. He welcomes delegations of visiting dignitaries.

Between stops, he takes a couple of quick puffs off his pencil-thin cigars and keeps abreast of city business using the cellular phone mounted in his fire-engine red Ford Explorer. Asked to reflect on running for office, he says he has come to appreciate the process more, that he likes its discipline, that he enjoys getting out of the office and meeting people.

Still, it’s not his passion. “I think roller-blading is more fun than campaigning,” he says.

On the phone and in private, Riordan is sharp, fiercely intelligent and insightful. In public, he can be shy and occasionally wooden.

Appearing at Chatsworth High School to inspect a robot built by a group of students there, Riordan tosses off a couple of one-liners about the machine belonging to Hayden, jokes that draw a few chuckles from the press corps but no response from the rest of audience. Then he stumbles in his remarks, having to glance at a school emblem on someone else’s lapel to recall what the school’s mascot is. Later that same day, he visits a Sun Valley factory and introduces the company president as “Karen.” Her name is Karina.

Still, the mayor exudes curiosity, charm and humor. He probes workers and managers alike about their products, speaks with them about their market niche and their needs of city government. He swaps stories about airplane parts with a factory floor worker and compares investing notes with a vice president.

And everywhere he good-naturedly poses for pictures. Taking one man by the arm, he gathers him in and suggests with a smile: “Let’s look at the camera and pretend we like each other.” Everyone laughs. As Riordan prepares to go, the man shakes his hand again and pledges his vote.

The next day, Riordan is at it again, this time delivering the 8 millionth meal for the St. Vincent Meals on Wheels program near Koreatown. Martha, the 87-year-old woman receiving the meal, brightens as the mayor enters. She welcomes him by telling him she voted for him in 1993 and plans to again.

As she looks over the crowd gathered to mark the occasion, Martha mutters: “I don’t know how to thank you. I’m not an important person.”

“Oh, yes you are,” Riordan responds, then pauses, a smile forming. “Particularly if you are going to vote for me.”

She nods, and as Riordan prepares to leave, Martha leans over and gives him a hug: “Mayor,” she says, “you are wonderful.”

“Thank you,” he says. “God bless you.”

If the campaign trail offers glimpses of the real Hayden and Riordan, their advertisements present their most scripted selves. As with the candidates, the ads are a study in contrast--one set is all bluster and confrontation, the other smooth and careful.

Buoyed by an overflowing campaign fund, Riordan already has begun advertising on television. His debut ad opens with applause as the camera pans an adoring crowd until locating the mayor at its center.

“L.A. is coming back, and Mayor Dick Riordan is leading the way,” the narrator proclaims. The ad cites 2,000 more police officers, new police stations, a new “job-friendly” approach at City Hall that it says has helped create 30,000 new jobs and a youth commission to “make sure L.A.’s children grow up healthy, safe and strong.” All, the ad notes, “with no new taxes.”

“A good start for our great mayor,” the ad concludes. “And he works for us for just a dollar a year. Mayor Dick Riordan, turning Los Angeles around.”

Nowhere is Hayden mentioned. Riordan himself does not speak, preferring to let his image blend with pictures of safe streets, friendly cops and healthy children while someone else touts his accomplishments.

It is a reprise of one of the most successful ads in the history of American politics, Ronald Reagan’s “Morning in America” spots that featured the avuncular president amid adoring admirers. Julio Ramirez, who manages Riordan’s reelection campaign, acknowledges the similarities to the Reagan ad, but says they were coincidental.

“We wanted to show what the mayor has done for the city,” Ramirez said. “The way we explain his accomplishments created some similarity. . . . It just gives that feeling of morning in Los Angeles.”

Hayden’s ads, a series of radio spots on the subject of city charter reform but nonetheless dedicated largely to knocking Riordan, convey a far different impression.

One features a scheming Mayor Riordan conniving to rewrite the city charter, the Constitution and the Bible, all to consolidate his own power. Another is set in quiz-show format, which plays out with a host and contestants trading questions and answers intended to show that Riordan is working with “former corporate raiders and junk bond kings” to plow under neighborhoods and clear the way for big-money development projects.

Each of the three spots ends with Hayden speaking directly to the audience, urging votes against Riordan-supported candidates. “This isn’t philanthropy,” Hayden warns in one. “They’re doing it to make a fast buck. Don’t let Mayor Riordan and his corporate raider partners sell off this city.”

The ads are so relentlessly anti-Riordan that they do not even suggest who voters should support, just that it should not be anyone backed by the mayor.

On the day the radio ads first hit the air, Riordan aides shot off a fax to reporters covering the campaign. In huge letters, it read: “Santa Monica Senator Tom Hayden today launched the first negative ads of the campaign. Just thought you’d like to know.”

Unable to afford high-priced ads, the underdog Hayden campaign is relying on cheaper means--lawn signs and leaflets--as well as what he calls the “parallel campaigns,” efforts by unions and neighborhood groups to bad-mouth Riordan’s charter slate.

Hayden often mentions the 500 Mexican truck drivers in Long Beach who are walking precincts and displaying signs on his behalf in the southern parts of the city. And one of Hayden’s campaign slogans has received extra mileage from Robbie Conal, a well-known artist who has produced a caricature of Riordan surrounded by the words “tunnel vision.”

Can any of that overcome a popular mayor who is riding a tide of apparent public satisfaction and strong poll numbers? Hayden concedes it’s a challenge, but he is no stranger to a political fight.

“We can’t work miracles in a month,” he said. “But we can go door to door. We can leaflet.”