No Gloating, Just Sadness--and Some Lessons

When Assemblyman Tom McClintock thinks about the rise and fall of Insurance Commissioner Chuck Quackenbush, his mind alights upon the words of Thomas Jefferson.

“Whenever a man casts a longing eye on public office,” said McClintock, paraphrasing the founding father, “a rottenness appears in his conduct.”

The quote’s vintage is 18th century, but witnesses to the dizzying collapse of the insurance commissioner’s career say it could not be more relevant today. Somewhere along the way, Quackenbush chose to neglect his duties as a public steward and put his own political interests first.

McClintock, who served on a committee investigating the commissioner, sums it up this way: “The seductive quest for power overwhelmed his ability to say no.”

On the eve of the toughest questioning yet about his role in the scandal swamping his department, Quackenbush, 46, chose to resign Wednesday, stepping off a political stage he once roamed with cheerful confidence and poise.

Those who know him say it was an agonizing decision for a man whose future once looked so bright. As one of just two Republican officeholders elected statewide, the telegenic Quackenbush claimed a mantle that made him a formidable candidate for higher offices down the road.

Now, his epitaph will be far different, that of a politician whose legitimate accomplishments--first as an assemblyman, then as insurance commissioner--were blotted out by the enduring stain of corruption.

“Unlike students, who get graded on a curve, politicians get graded on a pass-fail system,” said Senate Minority Leader Jim Brulte (R-Rancho Cucamonga). He didn’t complete the thought, but the implication was clear: When test time came, Quackenbush flunked.

Quackenbush has denied any wrongdoing, although he said he made mistakes in judgment. Because the commissioner has made few public remarks, it is difficult to unravel precisely how he landed waist-deep in California’s biggest political scandal in years.

Analysts, however, say the simplest explanation can be summed up with one word--hubris.

“It takes a very special person to keep clear what their values are and keep them in front of them as a guide,” said Stanley Renshon, a political scientist and author of “High Hopes: The Clinton Presidency and the Politics of Ambition.”

“It’s easy to be pushed off the road as you get higher and more powerful and face more pressure to sell out to the best bidder.”

Ray McNally, a GOP consultant who worked on Quackenbush’s first Assembly campaign, sees those pressures pervert decent politicians in small ways all the time.

Once elected, he says, “you’re surrounded by people who on a daily basis tell you how great you are, how special you are, how you are the center of the universe. There’s a danger that you’ll start believing it and start believing the rules don’t apply to you.”

Unhealthy Dynamic

Several lawmakers said that while the commissioner’s conduct cannot be excused, the office he held made him particularly vulnerable to impropriety. An elective post, the commissioner relies on campaign contributions, which, in the case of Quackenbush, came mostly from the insurance industry he was sworn to police.

That unhealthy dynamic “creates a system that is engineered to fail,” said McClintock, who, among others, favors making the office the appointed post it once was.

Less than two years ago, Quackenbush--a likable, outgoing father of three--was on top of the world. He had won reelection to a second term--surviving the Democratic juggernaut of 1998--and was poised for bigger and better things. The San Jose Mercury News said his star was “on the rise,” quoting analysts calling him a “standard-bearer of the Republican Party.”

A former Army tank commander who also flew helicopters in the air cavalry, Quackenbush’s political dream was to go to Congress and serve on the House Armed Services Committee. Friends say he hoped to jump from there to an appointment as Army secretary or secretary of defense.

His first step toward those goals was a run for the Assembly in 1986, a race he won, thanks in part to a campaign war chest filled with money he and his wife made off the temporary employment agency they owned in the Silicon Valley.

During four terms in the lower house, Quackenbush became known for his crisply ironed shirts, expertly coiffed hair and independent voting streak. While he championed traditional GOP issues such as tax cuts, he also proved a reliable vote in favor of abortion rights and broke ranks to support a controversial ban on assault weapons.

Some say his tenure as insurance commissioner had the seeds of trouble right from the start. Though he once vowed not to take money from the industry he was elected to regulate, he reneged on that pledge. In the 1994 campaign, contributions from insurance companies accounted for about two-thirds of his fund-raising.

“He was elected basically as an agent of the industry,” said state Senate President Pro Tem John Burton (D-San Francisco), “and now here we are.”

Assemblyman Fred Keeley (D-Boulder Creek) sat on the committee investigating Quackenbush and devoted considerable thought to how the quagmire that swallowed the commissioner evolved. He says the scheme at the center of the scandal was part of an ongoing fund-raising drive to position Quackenbush for a future run for higher office.

“The evidence in front of us was that they chose to use the powers of the office of commissioner to extract contributions to . . . engage in a perpetual campaign,” Keeley said.

As the investigation into his department widened, Quackenbush adopted various strategies in his struggle to contain and cope with the fallout. Initially, his tactic was silence. Then came an admission that he made mistakes. Next came defiance, and accusations that the inquiry was a political witch hunt by Democrats.

Near the end, as he became increasingly isolated by his onetime GOP allies, Quackenbush became depressed, desperate and alone, friends said. While his wife, Chris, continued to rail at the media and trumpet her husband’s innocence, the commissioner called one political consultant and begged him to say something nice if questioned by a reporter.

When it was finally over Wednesday, there was no partisan glee, no gloating over the fate of the outgoing guy many called “Quack.” Assemblyman Jack Scott, the dignified Altadena Democrat who ran the investigative hearings on the scandal, urged his colleagues to take heed of lessons learned.

“The story of Mr. Quackenbush is a cautionary tale for us all,” Scott said.

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Times staff writers Eric Bailey and Timothy Fields contributed to this report.