Ventura Will Leave the Ring

Minnesota Gov. Jesse Ventura came to office four years ago as a gruff, take-no-guff anti-politician, a professional wrestler who was determined to bring straight talk and common sense to governing. On Tuesday, he threw in the towel.

Worn down after a bruising legislative session, fed up with his struggles to balance the budget--and incensed by what he saw as media “jackals” prying into his personal life--Ventura said he will not seek reelection in November.

The announcement marked an abrupt political exit for the flamboyant politician, who had made his name (actually, his pseudonym--he was born James Janos) as a caustic talk radio announcer and a trash-talking professional wrestler in pink tights and feather boa.

After his surprise victory in 1998--propelled by record turnout, especially among young men and first-time voters--Ventura sparked so much excitement that he was frequently mentioned as a possible future presidential candidate.

Known by his wrestling nickname, “The Body,” he also had to be the only state executive in the nation who inspired action figure toys and T-shirts emblazoned with “My Governor Can Beat Up Your Governor.” (Even today, Ventura souvenirs remain hot sellers. One fan Web site reports that its online store is temporarily closed because “our entire supply of Jesse Ventura Bobbleheads sold out in two days.”)

Ventura, 50, achieved a number of his goals as governor, such as launching a light-rail transportation project and overhauling the tax code. With his knack for in-your-face, polls-be-damned comments, he also dominated political discourse in the state.

But his popularity--and his enthusiasm for public life--dimmed in the past year, as Minnesota’s economy sagged and as the budget crisis turned into a nasty and protracted political battle.

Ventura also chafed at the relentless media coverage of his family--including, most recently, reports this week that his son had thrown wild parties that left the governor’s mansion trashed.

“His heart was not in it,” said Dean Barkley, who chaired Ventura’s 1998 campaign and now serves the governor as director of planning. “I think he just got tired of being the person battling the political system.”

Added political scientist Craig Grau: “He never built a party that could compete in legislative elections. So there was no one there to support him.”

From the start, Ventura made it clear he was going to be a different kind of governor. He told reporters early on that he expected to work on state business from 9 to 5 on weekdays, leaving plenty of time for his own ventures. Those activities ended up attracting almost as much media attention as his policies. Ventura took tremendous flak for working as a television commentator for the now-defunct XFL football league, for moonlighting as a referee at professional wrestling matches and for spending state money on his book tour.

He was skewered as well for mysteriously disappearing from the state for two days just as it became clear that the Minnesota Twins were in danger of being eliminated. (It turned out he was in Los Angeles, shooting a film with Dana Carvey; the Twins are still playing in Minnesota.)

A recent Minneapolis Star-Tribune poll found that Ventura’s approval rating, which once peaked above 70%, had fallen to 43%.

Observers said it was not so much Ventura’s antics that did him in as his inability to end the partisan bickering of politics as usual.

“We elected someone to make a difference and he didn’t really make much of a difference,” said Cedric Scofield, who worked on Ventura’s 1998 campaign but split with him when the governor left the Reform Party to form the Independence Party.

Political analyst Harry Boyte suggested that Ventura galvanized support during his campaign and in his first few years in office with a populist call for citizens to get involved in civic affairs, to stick their necks out to make a difference. But that call to action faded this past year as Ventura struggled with the budget deficit and other statehouse fights.

All that was left of the old populist Ventura was his gleeful bashing of the very “career politicians” he had to work with in the Legislature. The legislators certainly resented the rhetoric. And some analysts suggested it was starting to wear thin among voters as well.

“People saw with the budget fight this session that bashing politicians feels good, but it doesn’t make for effective government, especially in times of crisis and turmoil,” said Boyte, a senior fellow at the Hubert H. Humphrey Institute of Political Affairs at the University of Minnesota.

“A lot of [Ventura’s political alienation this session] was that legislators simply got tired of being considered crass politicians and having the dictates come down from the mountains of the governor’s office,” added Bill Morris, a political scientist at Augsburg College in Minneapolis.

Ventura came to politics after a varied career that also included stints as a Navy SEAL and a movie actor. His political experience was limited to five years as mayor of a Minneapolis suburb when he won the three-way race for governor with 37% of the vote. He didn’t know some basic things about his role as the state’s chief executive--not realizing, for instance, that he was responsible for selecting some judges. And he made some much-derided gaffes, such as his suggestion that his wife get paid for her role as the state’s first lady.

Yet Ventura quickly surrounded himself with a seasoned and talented staff from both parties. And he delved into governing with his trademark zeal, starting with the bellowing “Hooo-Yaaaa” he let fly after his inaugural speech.

His agenda blended liberal social positions--such as support for gay rights--with an urgent call to cut taxes and rein in government spending. For the first three years of his reign, until the economy soured, he was able to send out refunds--dubbed “Jesse Checks”--to state taxpayers.

He also managed to offend just about every constituent group with his blunt talk and his tell-all books. He told Playboy that organized religion was “a sham and a crutch for weak-minded people.” He joked that drunken Irishmen must have laid out St. Paul’s crooked streets. He even boasted that, in Navy SEAL tradition, he regarded underwear as superfluous.

At one point, in February 2001, 41% of those polled by the St. Paul Pioneer Press said they considered their governor “an embarrassment to the state.” Still, in that same poll, 59% deemed him “a breath of fresh air.”

Ventura’s road to reelection grew more difficult recently as each of the state’s two major parties chose the more centrist contender in battles for their gubernatorial nominations. The Democrats selected Roger Moe, the leader of the state Senate, and the Republicans picked state House Majority Leader Tim Pawlenty.

But many analysts believed Ventura would have remained a formidable candidate if he had sought reelection.

“I still think he had an excellent chance. He could have come right up the middle and played the anti-politician,” Morris said.

On Tuesday, however, Ventura said he didn’t have the passion for another run. Though he has made his persona as a tough guy--taking as his motto his famous film line “I ain’t got time to bleed”--he said he did not want to spend another four years fending off personal attacks.

“It’s difficult to do these public service jobs when you know your family could be assassinated by the media at any point, deservedly or undeservedly,” he said on Minnesota Public Radio.

Ventura did not say what he will do next; his only announced plan is to take a summertime trip down the Mississippi River on a Minnesota-built jet ski.

“I’m kind of like Che Guevara,” he said. “I lead the revolution, but at some point I turn it over to someone else.”

It’s unclear, though, who is in line to take over. And that may be Ventura’s biggest failing, analysts said.

The Independence Party that he founded has not succeeded in recruiting many candidates for local or statewide office. The Reform Party has been equally ineffective. And Ventura’s personality has overshadowed some of the key issues that motivated many third-party voters, such as campaign-finance reform.

“I’m afraid [Ventura] might have done more harm than good because [his performance as governor] dampened the spirits of people who were enthusiastic about third-party candidates,” Scofield said. “I don’t see much of substance that he accomplished.”

Ventura has hinted that he would like to recruit one of his advisors, former Democratic Rep. Tim Penny, to run for governor as an independent.

Penny, however, has told local reporters that the chances of his running were “very slim.” Ventura’s lieutenant governor, former teacher Mae Schunk, also is unlikely to run.

“I think this is a huge challenge for the third party movement ... whether we can build on this four-year experiment and keep it going or not,” said Barkley. “This is a do or die election for our party.”