For Hahn, New Office, New Image

The descriptions that dog James K. Hahn are so commonplace they’ve almost become permanently affixed to his name: Reserved. Mild-mannered. Dull.

But those close to Hahn, who will be inaugurated today as mayor of Los Angeles, argue that he underwent a subtle transformation as he campaigned for the job.

He loosened up. He told jokes. He showed a pugnacious, competitive side.

The ultimate race of Hahn’s career was also a growth experience for the 50-year-old city official who began the campaign looking almost bored with the process and ended it on election night with his arms flung open and a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

In the last two years--and particularly the final frenetic months--Hahn learned how to better communicate with the public, according to his advisors, friends and even some critics. He relied heavily on his political instincts and honed his prosecutorial skills during often-combative debates.

And he revealed a politician who enjoys a tough contest.

“He really came into his own as a speaker and as a candidate,” said lawyer-lobbyist Lisa Specht, who once ran against Hahn for city attorney but served as co-chair of his mayoral campaign. “He showed strength and intensity and focus. I don’t think those are words that before this I would have used as adjectives to describe him.”

Hahn still isn’t someone who would be labeled charismatic, with his deliberate speaking style and understated manner.

But in a campaign dominated by the memory of his father, the late county Supervisor Kenneth Hahn, Jim Hahn allowed people to see more of himself.

Even outgoing Mayor Richard Riordan, who backed Hahn’s opponent, Antonio Villaraigosa, noticed the change.

“He seemed to get more confidence in himself as the campaign went on and to be stronger in the way he articulated issues,” Riordan said.

Hahn’s toughness did not arise out of thin air in the mayor’s race. Indeed, some confidants say two events in recent years seemed to harden and mature him: Hahn faced a tough challenge to hold on to his post as city attorney in 1997. And then, in October of that year, his father--a dominating presence in Jim Hahn’s personal and political life--died at age 77.

Still, the mayor’s race forced Hahn to campaign under greater scrutiny, and against a tougher field, than ever before.

“I would say Jim didn’t change in this process, but like the Lakers in the playoffs, he stepped up his game,” said friend George Kieffer. “This was a long race, and there was a tremendous amount of exposure and a tremendous amount of opportunity to develop. Jim just got better and better and better at being himself.”

Hahn agreed, saying that all of the public scrutiny that accompanied the mayor’s race “hadn’t really existed before.”

At First, Hahn Seemed Disengaged

As the mayor’s race kicked off last year, Hahn didn’t seem to relish the public requirements of campaign life. During the first debates, the then-city attorney would often pull his chair back from the table and watch his five opponents quizzically. At times he appeared disengaged from the process.

Eventually, after months of placidly answering questions in the candidate forums, Hahn let the prosecutor in him come out.

He offered a glimpse of his aggressive side backstage at UCLA’s Royce Hall minutes before the last debate among the six mayoral candidates on April 4. Surrounded by television cameras, Hahn challenged rival Steve Soboroff to ask the Republican Party to disclose the source of funding being spent by the party on the businessman’s behalf.

Caught off guard, Soboroff angrily tried to respond. But he was unable to get in much of a reply as Hahn calmly but persistently pressed him. Soboroff finally stalked off, sputtering with annoyance.

Then, in later debates with runoff opponent Villaraigosa, Hahn began jabbing at his rival, calling him a “Sacramento politician” and attempting to assign him some blame for the state’s energy crisis.

Specht, who helped Hahn in debate preparations, said she noticed the difference between his first practice sessions and those later in the campaign.

“He was more relaxed to be aggressive or to have a wry sense of humor,” she said.

Hahn developed his own arguments to use during the debates, advisors said. As the campaign wore on, he seemed more comfortable with the public forums, often walking out in front of the lectern to address audiences before Villaraigosa did.

He remained unfazed as Villaraigosa racked up endorsements from organized labor, the state Democratic Party and other weighty groups. In fact, advisors said that Hahn became more focused and driven as his rival’s political assets piled up.

“I think it’s a great thing in life to be underestimated,” Hahn said recently with a smile.

“I never thought of myself as a very competitive person through my whole life, but I think I just hadn’t been in the right competitive format,” he added. “I like this competition. I like showing that I know what I’m talking about, that I can handle tough questions, that I can respond.”

On April 10, when Hahn placed second to Villaraigosa, some of his supporters began getting nervous. But Hahn, they say, was not flustered.

“The week after the primary, I think it would be fair to say there were a number of people in L.A. who were assuming Jim Hahn would not ever become mayor,” said Bill Wardlaw, chairman of Hahn’s campaign. “And Jim showed unbelievable clarity of purpose and toughness and courage and never wavered.”

At one point, when some top supporters questioned the direction of the campaign, Hahn stood up to them and defended his approach, according to some campaign insiders. And when Riordan endorsed Villaraigosa, that, too, caused concern within the Hahn camp that the candidate did not share.

That night, after Villaraigosa and Riordan had made a triumphant bus tour of the city, Hahn attended a fund-raiser where donors and staff expected he would be upset about his opponent’s latest coup. Instead, Hahn appeared energized.

“One can be disappointed or one can be ready to fight,” said consultant Kam Kuwata. “And he was ready to fight.”

On the Offensive Against Villaraigosa

Hahn developed a sharp line of attack against his rival and did not apologize for it, repeatedly hammering at Villaraigosa’s voting record on crime. Many analysts credit Hahn’s offensive on the subject of public safety--and Villaraigosa’s failure to respond to the charges--for winning over key swing voters.

When Villaraigosa complained about the nature of the criticism, Hahn offered a pithy, unrepentant comeback: “Campaigns are not prom dates.”

In the final months of the campaign, the famously private Hahn also began to explore new ways of connecting with audiences.

Once inclined to hang near the edge of a crowd, waiting to be noticed, Hahn began to wander straight into the crowd, ditching his note cards and speaking from memory.

“I think he got much better at trying to express his point of view, what he would like to do as mayor, and was better and better at connecting with audiences,” said campaign consultant Bill Carrick. “He was able to do that without changing who he is. It was not something that was a handler-driven artifice. It was Jim Hahn being Jim Hahn.”

He began telling people that he got interested in public service after volunteering in college to help battered women get restraining orders. He spoke of his childhood growing up in Crenshaw, attempting to divert some of the attention from Villaraigosa’s dramatic trajectory from an Eastside barrio youth to speaker of the state Assembly.

“I’m straight from the heart of L.A.,” Hahn told reporters after a debate in late May. “We were just on different streets growing up.”

As Hahn became more combative, he also began to loosen up with humor.

During their last public face-off on May 31, Hahn and Villaraigosa waited quietly on stage at the Museum of Tolerance for the debate to begin. The two had been bitterly arguing in the media for the previous two weeks, and a tense audience watched them expectantly.

Suddenly, Hahn turned to his rival casually and said: “So, what have you been up to lately?”

The room erupted in laughter.

That was near the end of the race, when polls showed Hahn holding a solid lead.

As the final numbers came in, he gave himself over to the moment, revealing a side that took even some longtime friends aback.

It was late on election night, as he waited for Villaraigosa to concede. Before a happy crowd, eagerly awaiting the moment, Hahn danced on stage at the Westin Bonaventure, bobbing up and down to Randy Newman’s “I Love L.A.”

Suddenly, in one last, uncharacteristic gesture, the soon-to-be mayor closed his eyes, scrunched up his face and thrust out his arms widely in triumph. The startled crowd laughed and cheered.

But for anyone concerned that this was an entirely new Hahn, he offered one more nod to his old nature.

“I know it’s going to be a long night of partying here, but I just want to make sure you know, I’m still the city attorney,” he warned, only half in jest, as people danced in the ballroom.

“We want you to be safe out there,” he said. “Find out who your designated drivers are.”