Minnesota Takes Unlikely Road to Ventura

The governor-elect of Minnesota wasted no time in returning to his roots Wednesday, scarcely eight hours after his improbable victory.

Jesse “The Body” Ventura, former professional wrestler, was back on the air, co-hosting a live sports-talk radio show from a jampacked bar.

“Jesse, I am super, super happy, yah!” said an enthusiastic caller from deep in the state’s wintry farmland. “You even got my father-in-law to vote, and he hasn’t done that in a long time.”

Ventura cheerfully, if vaguely, accepted the acclaim in his gravelly Midwestern honk. But when asked if his theatrical background would prevent him from being taken seriously as governor, he bristled.

“A joke? I don’t do anything as a joke,” he said, glowering. “I didn’t take professional wrestling as a joke. It’s a business, and I learned to perform whether injured or sick. It’s not a joke to run this state. I take that seriously, and I will.”

A surprising number of Minnesotans took him very seriously indeed. Thought to be among the Midwest’s more buttoned-down voters, people here are now giddily contemplating their already famous governor-elect, whose victory over two respected veteran politicians caused one CNN election analyst to blurt, “This is the most bizarre result of the evening.”

Totally Unpredictable Victory by Maverick

No one, no poll, no pundit and not even wishful-thinking volunteers on Ventura’s campaign predicted his win. A respected state political newsletter generously predicted that, running as a Reform Party candidate, he would poll between 10% and 16%. In fact, he won 37% of the vote. His victory had political professionals here and around the country reeling, searching for some deeper meaning.

“The key to his appeal is aimed at people’s anger at managed politics,” said Harry Boyte, a senior fellow at the Hubert Humphrey Institute of Political Affairs at the University of Minnesota. “He aimed at the feeling that political advertising was condescending, that Democrats and Republicans were condescending to the people. ‘He is like us, and we are not as stupid as they think,’ is the message the voters were sending, and not just to Minnesota.”

Ventura, 47, now joins Maine Gov. Angus King, an independent, as the nation’s only two governors not of a major party.

How shocking was his victory? To borrow imagery from his former profession: Ventura took on an established political tag-team, hoisted his opponents over his head, twirled them around the political ring and slammed them headfirst to the canvas. Only this time the blood was not fake.

Ventura defeated Norm Coleman, the popular Republican mayor of St. Paul, who had 35%, and Hubert H. Humphrey III, the Democrat-Farm-Labor candidate, whose name evokes a beloved political legacy. The state attorney general, one of the leaders in the nationwide campaign to win a monetary settlement with big tobacco, received 28% of the vote in an election that spurred unusually high voter turnout, especially among formerly apathetic younger voters.

At various junctures, Ventura advocated eliminating state property taxes, spoke in favor of legalizing marijuana and prostitution, backed abortion and gay rights, and sprinkled mildly foul language into the bland public dialogue.

Without a specific platform, he successfully alluded to fiscal conservatism and social moderation. His own campaign practiced such a philosophy. As a Reform candidate, Ventura asked for money from the party founder, billionaire Ross Perot, and was refused. He made do with a $500,000 budget, compared to his opponents’ coffers of more than $3 million.

Ventura’s plain talk and populist ideas brought a near-stampede to the polls, many of whom told exit pollsters they voted only because “Jesse” was in the race. How exactly Ventura managed this is still being dissected.

Ventura thrived as a stealth candidate who hid behind his spoiler mantle. Setting himself as outside the mainstream, he nonetheless came across as an Everyman and had broad appeal across class and party lines.

“He effectively presented himself as a contrast to politics as usual,” said Chris Gilbert, political science professor at Gustavus Adolphus College in St. Peter. “In debates he pointed at [his opponents] and said, ‘Look at them bickering. This is what my campaign is a rejection of.’ When they attacked each other, his stock rose. They did not energize a strong base. He energized a base. Strange as it sounds, he ran the best campaign.”

Humphrey believed Ventura to be so benign that, early in the campaign, he refused to debate Coleman unless Ventura was included. It proved to be a great gift to Ventura. And his ease in front of crowds contrasted with the front-running Humphrey, who, like his dad, has a penchant for windy speeches.

On the stump, the 6-foot-4, 250-pound Ventura is funny and has a showman’s sense of timing for a deadpan put-down, honed during 11 years as the “bad guy” in pro wrestling’s morality plays. During Wednesday’s on-air banter, he taunted political operatives and others who gave his campaign no chance, singling out a conservative Republican who bills himself as Mr. Right.

“Mr. Right, I hope you are listening now, Mr. Chicken Neck,” Ventura said, accompanied by hoots from the live audience. “I’m renaming you ‘Mr. Wrong.’ Well, son, you can stick it where the sun don’t shine.”

Many in the throng were wearing Ventura’s black campaign T-shirt bearing the slogan “Retaliate in ‘98, Ventura for Governor,” a reference to the backlash precipitated by Gov. Arne Carlson’s failure to refund to Minnesotans a $4-billion budget surplus earlier this year. Ventura says he’d give back budget surplus funds and calls them a sign of overtaxation.

Minneapolis Native Served as Navy SEAL

The governor-elect was born James George Janos in Minneapolis. Soon after graduating from high school, he enlisted in the Navy, where he served four years as a SEAL. He returned to Minnesota, met his future wife at a biker bar, and the two set out for California. He adopted the name Jesse because he liked it and Ventura because of the California city.

He wrestled professionally for a decade as a bad guy, wearing pink tights and fluttering feather boas. When he retired in 1984, he launched his acting career and has appeared in action films such as “Predator’ and “Batman and Robin.” He also continued in wrestling, serving as a commentator with broadcast partner Gorilla Monsoon.

Wednesday, he was asked to talk about who might join his Cabinet and about his transition plans. He said he hadn’t thought about it. During the campaign, he didn’t hesitate to admit he didn’t understand some issues, intimating that he was not another slick politician.

But, in fact, he is no political neophyte. A zoning dispute activated him to beat an 18-year mayor of suburban Brooklyn Park in 1990. However, his tenure received mixed reviews. He was out of the office about 20% of the time, working on movies, he said.

His next government job will likely be more difficult. With two legislative bodies each led by a different party, the governor will have few political allies to call upon.

“I’m not here to fight anyone,” said Ventura, who has already changed his nickname from “The Body” to “The Mind.” “This is about compromise. . . . This is serious work; we all work for the people. They voted for me, and I can do it.”

Times researcher John Beckham in Chicago contributed to this story.