Insurers’ Backing Tarnishes Image Won in Gun Vote

The defining moment of Chuck Quackenbush’s legislative career came in 1989, and it was a doozy. The nation’s first ban on assault weapons was before the state Assembly, and Quackenbush, a relative greenhorn, was poised to cast the deciding vote.

Until then, the Republican from Silicon Valley had been viewed as an intellectual lightweight, a fun-loving rich guy with crisp shirts and wholesome good looks.

But then he voted for the gun ban, morphing overnight into a free thinker--willing to defy fellow Republicans and the powerful National Rifle Assn. to do what he felt was right.

“It was a heroic moment for him,” said former Assemblyman Mike Roos, coauthor of the gun bill. “He had the Republican caucus beating him up one side and down the other. And he hung in there.”

Quackenbush is California’s insurance commissioner now, and his hard-won reputation for independence is looking a little frayed.

His refusal to fine insurance companies that contribute to his political campaigns has prompted some to wonder whether Quackenbush has become too cozy with the industry he was elected to police.

“If the reports are true, it seems way over the line to me,” said former Democratic Assemblyman Richard Katz of Sylmar. “The commissioner’s office was supposed to be a consumer watchdog, not an industry lap dog.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” added state Senate leader John Burton (D-San Francisco). “He was always a pretty independent guy, and this sure ain’t independent.”

Leaders of the state’s $62-billion-a-year insurance industry say Quackenbush, 46, is getting a bad rap. They call the commissioner a tough overseer who has socked them with millions more in fines than did his predecessor, Democrat John Garamendi.

“It’s very ironic to see him painted as too friendly to industry,” said Dan Dunmoyer, president of the Personal Insurance Federation of California, a trade group representing about half the industry. “He’s a straight shooter. But he never hesitates to beat us up.”

Relaxed and quick to crack a joke, Quackenbush has always been well liked in the capital. Dubbed “Quack” by some colleagues, he is tall and impeccably groomed. Friends swear they have never seen a hair out of place or a bead of sweat on his brow.

A father of three, he tries hard not to miss his son’s peewee football games. Friends say he’s a guy who, despite his rising prominence in politics, remains a down-to-earth soul who prefers Diet Coke and burgers to more uptown fare.

Raised a military brat, Quackenbush joined the Army after earning a degree in history at Notre Dame. After a stint as a tank commander, he flew helicopters in the air cavalry.

While serving in Alabama, he married his wife, Chris. In the late 1970s he left the Army to help her run the couple’s temporary employment agency serving Silicon Valley. That company and a software spinoff ultimately made millions for the family before the firms were sold in 1989.

Quackenbush made his first foray into politics in 1986, spending heavily to win an Assembly seat. During four terms, he kept his moderate constituents content with an abortion rights, fiscally conservative record and a legislative emphasis on education.

Though he had a reputation for being somewhat shallow and naive, former GOP Assemblyman Curt Pringle said that was unfair: “There’s this superficial air about him because of his looks, but there’s a lot of substance there.”

Democrat Roos agrees that Quackenbush is “thoughtful, wonders about the world, doesn’t assume he has all the answers.” During the bitter fight over the assault weapons bill, Quackenbush “took pains to understand every single aspect of the issue before he made his decision. And once he did, his word was golden; he never tried to slide out from under his commitment.”

Captivated by politics but facing term limits, Quackenbush toyed with the idea of running for a House seat or the state Senate. Instead, in 1994 he made a bid to become California’s second elected insurance commissioner, a post with the power to approve rate hikes, investigate abuse and shut down insolvent companies.

During the 1994 campaign, Quackenbush promised to end the anti-industry rhetoric of Garamendi, who liked to call insurance companies “pigs at the trough.” Quackenbush also vowed not to take contributions from the industry, once declaring that “if you take money from the insurance industry, you are dead meat.”

He went on, however, to take millions from insurance companies, money that accounted for about two-thirds of his 1994 fund-raising. In an interview, Quackenbush said he could not have beaten former state Sen. Art Torres without the industry support. But that support prompted one watchdog--consumer advocate Harvey Rosenfield--to describe him as “the best commissioner money can buy.”

Immediately after his election, Quackenbush sent letters to nearly 200 insurance companies, saying: “California is open for business and we want you back.” He also granted rate hikes and rebate deals that slashed policyholder refunds, prompting one activist to denounce him as the industry’s “mail-order bride.”

In the interview, Quackenbush defended his performance, saying he had created “a damn good record” on consumer protection while demonstrating a willingness to crack down on companies that deserve it.

Praise for Quake Insurance Authority

His supporters say that the commissioner deserves credit for creating a thriving insurance marketplace that has led to fair profits for companies and lower costs for consumers, especially for auto insurance.

They also tout his creation of an earthquake insurance authority after the 1994 Northridge quake. Quackenbush says that the move resolved a crisis created when some carriers refused to offer homeowners insurance. Critics call it an industry bailout and said the insurance was unfairly priced.

More recently, Quackenbush won praise for helping Holocaust survivors collect World War II-era claims from insurers. The commissioner backed a bill, signed into law, that penalizes companies refusing to pay such claims.

Despite turbulence during his tenure, Quackenbush has been viewed as a figure with promise in Republican circles. In the 1998 election, he was one of only two GOP statewide officeholders to survive a Democratic landslide.

“The ’98 election gave him stature as a potential candidate for U.S. Senate or governor because he was one of the few Republicans left standing at the top of the ticket,” said Ray McNally, a GOP consultant.

But other strategists predicted that the recent insurance disclosures would dog Quackenbush during any future run for higher office. As one quipped:

“I think what he needs right now is an insurance policy on his political career.”