Running on the Edge

If Pia Jensen somehow manages to become governor of California, here’s what her first official act will be:

“You know all that lawn around the state Capitol? I’d tear it out and put in drought-tolerant and edible landscaping.”

Admitting her plan “may sound crazy,” Jensen said it would symbolize “what we can do to feed the homeless and save water.” It’s one of many ideas bubbling out of her unusual campaign, which she launched with a 12-day fast to show dedication to the race and achieve “clarity” about her goals.

As the days before the June 2 primary dwindle, California’s most prominent candidates for elective office are mobilizing phone banks, spending a final million on TV ads and flying around the state in a last-minute hunt for votes.

Meanwhile, a far greater number of more obscure candidates--Democrat Jensen among them--are firing off campaign literature from living room fax machines, angling for two minutes on late-night radio shows and hoping for a miracle. A miracle that, in most cases, ain’t gonna happen.

Stuck in a system that favors contenders with fat wallets or proven political achievements, “minor” candidates are the longest of longshots. Pundits and pollsters tend to count them out before their campaigns get off the ground. As a result, they get no attention and no money to take their message to the masses.

“It’s a vicious circle,” said Israel Feuer, 68, of Los Angeles, who is making his fourth bid to become secretary of state. “I haven’t got the big bucks . . . so it’s very difficult to break through.”

Most Political Parties Since 1938

This year, California has produced a bumper crop of wannabe public servants. In addition to the four leading candidates for governor, there are 13--thirteen!--others, including one Green, one Libertarian and two women representing the Peace and Freedom Party.

Ten contenders are vying for the attorney general’s job. Nine want to be state treasurer, and a dozen are sparring over the seat Democratic Sen. Barbara Boxer hopes to keep.

All told, eight political parties have qualified candidates for the primary ballot--the highest number since 1938.

“For those individuals who complain that we don’t have choices, I say take a look at the ballot,” Secretary of State Bill Jones said.

Some minor candidates are extremists, peddling views far outside mainstream thinking. Others are joke candidates, and a few are certifiable kooks. Still others are perennials--candidates who never saw a ballot they didn’t want their name on.

Many, however, are decent, thoughtful people who may lack political experience but possess ideas that some voters might well endorse. Despite such promise, they often are ghettoized in the category of “nonserious” and can’t raise the cash they need to mount a meaningful campaign.

“I like to say that hope springs eternal in the political breast,” said Darry Sragow, campaign manager for Democratic gubernatorial aspirant Al Checchi and a veteran Democratic strategist. “But in the case of the minor candidate with no resources, the dream of victory is pretty much an illusion.”

So why do it? Why take leave from a job, drain the bank account and stress the spouse when the chance of victory is so remote?

The reasons vary. Some, like Pamela Pescosolido of Visalia, run not to win, but merely to get their party’s name on the ballot.

Pescosolido, 37, is a single parent who works two jobs and owns an art gallery. A Libertarian, she agreed to run for state controller after party officials begged her to do so, but she set some conditions: She will spend no money and she will not campaign (except for a few Kiwanis Club breakfasts, time permitting).

Why controller? “Because I’m a bookkeeper for 20 citrus ranches, so they figure I’m good with numbers.”

Her opinion on the incumbent? “Frankly, I don’t know who that is. I’m sure he or she is doing a fine job.”

And what if she wins? “It would be a horrible thing for me. I just built a new house, and I’m a little busy to be dashing off to Sacramento.”

Other candidates are somewhat more engaged and, like state lottery players, believe they can hit the jackpot despite the daunting odds.

‘I Do Think It’s Possible’

Take Jane Bialosky, 49, candidate for secretary of state. A Santa Barbara resident, Bialosky represents the Natural Law Party, which offers a richly detailed platform but is best known for its advocacy of transcendental meditation to reduce social stress.

A teacher of TM for 20 years, Bialosky is a very nice woman. But she has no political experience--”not even in high school”--and no campaign staff. She finds fund-raising distasteful and has recruited only one volunteer. She is banking on “word of mouth” to win.

“I do think it’s possible,” said Bialosky, who dislikes “anything adversarial” and praises the incumbent secretary of state, Jones, as “a very courteous” man. “But I realize that it will take a change in collective consciousness for me to do so.”

Some minor candidates used to be major candidates. Dan Hamburg of Ukiah, running for governor on the Green Party ticket, is a former Humboldt County supervisor who also served a term in Congress as a Democrat. Disillusioned with the Democrats’ failure to push a “progressive agenda,” he switched parties and is having the time of his life.

“As a Democrat, I often found myself an apologist for policies I didn’t think were defensible,” said Hamburg, 49. “It’s very liberating to be able to speak directly from my heart.”

Bright and politically savvy, Hamburg knows he will not be taking the oath of office as governor come January. But, he said, “there are many ways to define winning.”

For the Greens, success will be measured in their ability to energize the party’s faithful and increase its number of registered voters, which now stands at 90,000.

Hamburg’s candidacy--and that of the nine other Greens running in the primary--also helps publicize the party’s platform, which includes universal health care, an end to the death penalty and stricter environmental protections.

Criticism of the Media

While his big-money opponents travel the state by private jet, Hamburg and his wife, Carrie, chug around in their Toyota Corolla station wagon. Hamburg’s campaign manager--a volunteer--is a cheesecake baker by trade. And although he has raised more money than most minor candidates--about $25,000--the amount is dwarfed by the $30 million spent by Checchi, the richest of his gubernatorial foes.

As they march onward toward election day, the longshot candidates encounter common frustrations--and are rallied by stories of legendary underdogs who scored an upset win.

Most irksome, they say, is their inability to attract media attention, the key to name recognition and, consequently, to votes.

John Pinkerton, a Democrat from the High Desert community of Pinon Hills, aims to knock off Boxer in the primary. He launched his campaign on Christmas Day 1996. But until today, he had not received a single mention in any of the state’s major newspapers, including The Times.

“I’m not normally a whiner or complainer, but doggone it, this is a primary, and the media act as if Boxer has already won,” said Pinkerton, 40, who has no political experience. “That fuels conspiracy theories. It makes people think the big media and government are out to get them.”

To overcome media indifference, many minor candidates maintain World Wide Web sites, troll for votes in places like college campuses and try novel campaign approaches. State treasurer candidate Mervin Evans is trying to woo voters by pushing a ballot initiative to crack down on bear poaching and preserve wilderness.

“When the animal rights groups and wilderness lovers find out about my ballot measure,” said Evans, 45, a Los Angeles Democrat and author, “they’ll punch their ballot for me.”

Beyond the absence of media coverage, minor candidates must contend with skeptics who may like their campaign goals but figure that supporting them means wasting a vote.

Squaw Valley resident Steve Kubby, 51, the Libertarian candidate for governor, said voters’ hesitancy is discouraging.

“It’s frustrating because before I can even talk about the issues, I have to deal with this objection,” Kubby said. “But what I tell them is this: ‘What could be more of a waste than voting for someone who doesn’t represent your philosophy?’ The lesser of two evils is still evil.”

While the state’s political experts focus on the front-runners and dismiss the minor candidates as irrelevant, at least one Californian--ex-Irvine Mayor Larry Agran--watches their struggle with a mix of nostalgia and pride.

In 1992, Agran mounted an against-all-odds bid for president, campaigning as a Democrat on a platform of massive defense cuts. Considering the circumstances, Agran did quite well--raising enough money to qualify for federal matching funds.

But as an outsider in a world crafted for political insiders, he endured innumerable indignities. The worst? An arrest in New York for protesting his exclusion from a presidential debate. The resulting court battle took Agran four years and $40,000 to resolve.

“If you’re not a mainstream candidate,” Agran said, “you put up with a lot.”