In Modesto, the Doubts Remain

On the night of the big interview, downtown Modesto turned into a circus, the suburbs yawned and the farm fields hurtled into the frenzy of the annual grape crush.

A good chunk of this Central Valley farm country--people who go to bed early and get up before the sun rises--stayed up late to watch their congressman try to redeem himself on national TV.

After viewing the interview, a number of Modesto residents--Democrats and Republicans--expressed disappointment in Gary Condit’s answers. Many criticized his lack of candor and his evasiveness in discussing his relationship with Chandra Levy.

Wendy Crabb, 29, who works for an engineering company, said she voted for Condit in the last election, but will not vote for him again.

“He embarrassed me and my community by not answering the questions tonight,” she said.

John Mensonides, 37, a financial advisor, said he hoped to hear “some humility tonight.”

“What I heard instead was arrogance,” said Mensonides, a registered Republican. “From top to bottom, he was being evasive. He’s going to have to do more to redeem himself.”

One Condit supporter, however, still backed the congressman after the interview.

“I still want to give him the benefit of the doubt. . . .,” said Kevin Sudberry, 39, a Modesto flooring installer who was wearing Wrangler jeans and elephant skin cowboy boots. “I’ve asked for forgiveness in my life and I’ve gotten it. I’m going to do the same for Condit--as long as he’s not involved in the murder.”

For townsfolk caught in the spillover of the Condit-Levy story, this has been a summer defined by media intrusions, concern for a local woman missing and questions about a leader once beloved and now sullied by scandal.

The craziness since Levy disappeared May 1 led up Thursday to a day and night of lunacy.

“It’s a madhouse here,” said former Modesto mayor Carol Whiteside, surveying the media scene outside her downtown office.

The muck-a-mucks, as well as everyday people, were gathered at the Doubletree Inn for a town hall meeting set up by one of the television networks. They were looking for instant analysis of how Condit had fared in his first public interview about his relationship with Levy, also from Modesto.

The tape-delayed interview had been conducted a short time before by ABC News correspondent Connie Chung, who walked from the Doubletree about 6:30 and stepped into a limousine.

“I asked every question I planned to ask,” Chung said. When asked if she thought Condit answered them all, she shook her head and smiled, “No.”

Twelve miles away, in the middle of a grenache vineyard, Bill Berryhill was busy yanking off 48 tons of grapes headed for crushing, wishing he were at home in front of the tube instead of tending to the cool evening harvest.

“I’m just sick about missing this,” he said.

“I’m no fan of Gary Condit,” the longtime Republican said, “but the guy is a pro, and there’s a chance he can pull it off. I wouldn’t rule out anything when it comes to Condit.”

Levy’s parents, Dr. Robert and Susan Levy, watched the ABC interview at their home in Modesto, said Judy Smith, a spokeswoman for the family. The anguished parents have themselves become familiar figures through television interviews and almost daily appearances in their driveway to plead for their daughter’s safe return.

When Levy’s disappearance in Washington, D.C., went unsolved for weeks, attention focused on Condit, who reportedly acknowledged to police that the two had an affair, although he refused to confirm or deny it in Thursday’s interview. The Levys kept pressuring him for answers, and the resulting publicity created a media competition that saw television trucks and news reporters patrolling the city and camping out at the Levy and Condit homes. Suddenly, Modesto residents could hardly go about their day without someone asking for a sound bite.

But as reporters scrounged for quotes Thursday, much of the San Joaquin Valley thrummed with more important business: the harvest.

Farm workers spent the day shaking almonds off trees and picking grapes and tomatoes. California 99, the central artery of farm country, was strewn with blood-red specks of tomatoes that had fallen off trucks headed for the canneries. The wispy white skins of garlic drifted across the highway.

As the media trucks double-parked in front of Condit’s office, Whiteside, the former mayor, honored 12 people who volunteered during the past year to teach impoverished residents computer programming and other skills.

A few privileged people received an early feed of the interview, but most residents had to stay up past bedtime and watch the broadcast or be content with a letter Condit had sent to his constituents.

Joanne Tittle, a neighbor of the Levys’, was extremely disappointed in the letter.

“The letter is lacking in every way,” she said. “I’m sending it back and I’m asking everyone I know to do the same. . . . He sounds like a little boy whose hand was caught in the cookie jar.”

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Times staff writer Miles Corwin contributed to this story from Los Angeles.