A Politician Governed by a Sense of Decorum

SACRAMENTO--He is the governor of the most populous state in America. He oversees an economy so expansive that if the Golden State were an independent country, its output would rank sixth among nations. Outside of Washington, few if any politicians have more sway over major policy issues ranging from HMO reform to the future design of automobiles.

Yet even as he presides over 35 million people, Gov. Gray Davis stands alone. He has few political allies and even fewer friends--and that seems to suit him fine. Comfortable with a style of leadership that supporters and critics alike describe as aloof, Davis wants less to be loved than to be respected. And reelected.

“We’re all who we are, and at the end of the day, people want their governor to solve problems, get the job done and move us forward,” Davis said in an interview. “It would be wonderful if in addition to that, he was a spellbinding orator and the most charismatic person on the planet. Fortunately, in California, we are not lacking for charismatic people.”

In 1998, Davis became the first Democrat to capture California’s governorship in 16 years with a sweeping victory over Republican Dan Lungren, completing a long climb up the state’s political ladder. From assemblyman to state controller to lieutenant governor, Davis meticulously moved up, sometimes against the odds and without the early blessing of the Democratic establishment.

It certainly was not personal charm that carried him to the top: Davis is uncommonly bland. A fan of the familiar, he sports a seemingly endless wardrobe of blue shirts and boring ties, drinks thick tofu shakes nearly every morning, and eats turkey and broccoli with a glass of water nearly every afternoon. His only conceit is the game of golf, which he plays well but with great particularity, according to those who have watched him waggle and pace before he putts.

Davis’ sharp sense of how to appeal to the vast middle of California’s electorate--and a gift for raising gargantuan sums of money--have distanced him from the competition. His tendency to succeed on his own, detractors and supporters say, has molded an insular approach to governing that has defined and limited his four years as governor.

“He is not a warm and fuzzy guy,” said Wayne Johnson, the president of the California Teachers Assn., which poured millions into Davis’ 1998 race but has had a dysfunctional relationship with him since. “He can be charming at times, but he can also be very cold. That’s just the way he is.”

Though he began his tenure with a heavy-handed demand that legislators advance his agenda in lock-step, Davis has come to assume a more hands-off posture--too far off, according to legislators and others who are critical of his leadership. They say his reluctance to tackle thorny political problems, coupled with his ideological distance from the liberal Democrats and conservative Republicans who dominate the Capitol, complicated last year’s energy crisis and this year’s budget debate.

Davis often does not step into the governor’s office until nearly noon, although he participates in a conference call with his political team nearly every morning. Legislators and leaders of special interest groups grumble that on the rare occasions when he does meet with them, he is usually late and often uninformed.

That mode has only fanned the belief in Sacramento that even the smallest acts of governance in Davis’ first term have been geared more toward political gain than public benefit. This is a governor, after all, who spends countless hours collecting campaign cash--how many is not clear because he will not release his full schedule. So far, he has raised more than $60 million since taking office, the largest war chest of any governor in American history.

If no action is politically advantageous, critics assert, Davis will do nothing, even if inaction will only make a pressing matter worse.

“The governor is the personification of inaction, and I don’t know why,” said Assembly Republican leader Dave Cox (R-Fair Oaks), who faulted Davis for failing to participate in recent talks on the state’s $24-billion budget shortfall. “Davis is not interested in policy as much as politics. My judgment is his leadership ... is always late in coming.”

Davis sounded far from indecisive shortly after taking office in 1999. In what backers now describe as an overzealous bid to establish control, Davis came off like a potentate when he declared during a San Francisco Chronicle interview that the job of the Legislature was to “implement my vision.” The new governor quickly backpedaled, espousing a more cooperative approach with the legislative branch. But it was clear where all others stood in his idea of the state’s political universe.

The now-infamous remark rankled sensitive egos and worsened a relationship that was already made difficult by his ideological differences with the more liberal Democrats in the Legislature, whom Davis needed to fulfill his campaign promises. “I never asked him what his vision was, but I guess he should have told us, since we’re supposed to implement it,” said John Burton (D-San Francisco), the Senate president pro tem. Burton has since become a liberal thorn in Davis’ side, repeatedly pushing legislation that forces Davis to take sides on politically tender issues.

From the beginning, Davis sought not only a tight hold on legislators but also on his own far-flung administration. He informed top appointees and Cabinet members, in no uncertain terms, that they were not free agents. He never wanted to read about a Davis administration decision they made that did not fit his worldview, he bluntly told them, because he, not them, would be accountable.

Davis’ views were molded by his experience as chief of staff to Gov. Jerry Brown, who allowed what Davis somewhat critically calls a “let a thousand flowers bloom” approach among those he named to top offices.

“I know it sounds a little self-serving, but only one person gets elected,” Davis recently explained. “And people reasonably expect that my appointees will reflect the philosophy I expressed in my campaign. I would suggest that I would do a disservice to the voters if I were to put people out there that were totally out of step with the views I expressed to them. They would say, ‘This is not the bargain I struck with Davis when I voted for him.’ ”

Like many top politicians, Davis has a reputation for demanding perfection from his staff, and exploding angrily when they fail to perform up to his standards. But unlike many others, Davis lacks the bedside manner to smooth things over after the screaming stops, say current and former members of his administration.

“Willie Brown could yell at you, but the next hour he would be inviting you to dinner,” said one former high-ranking administration official, who spoke on condition of anonymity. “Gray Davis does not have that kind of way with people.”

Davis and Democratic legislators accomplished much in the frenetic first year of his administration--landmark legislation included a right to sue HMOs, a ban on assault weapons, and domestic partner status for gays and lesbians--but any hopes of a prolonged honeymoon were quickly dashed.

In part, that was due to circumstances beyond Davis’ control. After so many years of Republican rule, unions and other left-leaning groups quickly grew disenchanted with the governor’s centrist stands. At the same time, the small cadre of Republicans left in the Capitol--a generally conservative lot--were in no mood to work with him.

Davis’ few political confidantes said he had always anticipated a rough ride with the Legislature. But Davis said he was stunned at the degree of animosity and arm-twisting he encountered so early in his tenure.

“I went home to my wife one time and I said, ‘I can’t believe the pressure to act immediately on just scores of different matters,’ ” Davis said. “And she listened to me for about 10 seconds and said, ‘Snap out of it! You’ve spent your whole life trying to be governor. Now enjoy every moment.’ From then on, I just accepted it as part of the deal.”

Far from articulating a vision for others to implement, Davis became increasingly withdrawn from the nitty-gritty of Sacramento politics after his first year in office. Most disturbing, he began ducking the more difficult policy questions, according to lobbyists, legislators and state officials. That would directly affect the two key dramas of his tenure, the energy crisis and the budget morass.

In 2000, California’s private utilities began to see wildly escalating electricity prices, the first signs that something was horribly wrong with the state’s nascent attempt at energy deregulation. San Diego consumers were the first to feel the heat, and many inside and outside the Capitol worried that the problem would pose a serious threat to the state’s economy.

Republicans called for a special session of the Legislature. But Davis demurred. At a private summit with executives from Southern California Edison and Pacific Gas & Electric, Edison board member and former U.S. Secretary of State Warren Christopher not so subtly challenged Davis to lead. Burton, who was there as well, threw a dollar in Davis’ direction, reminding him where the buck stopped. According to others in attendance, Davis replied that the money landed closer to a PG&E; executive.

Davis was eventually forced to declare a state of emergency in January 2001 as the utilities reached the brink of bankruptcy--PG&E; did wind up in federal Bankruptcy Court--and he had to authorize an emergency program to spend billions from the state coffers on electricity to stave off mass blackouts. The Public Utilities Commission also had to authorize a financial rescue of Edison, funded by ratepayers.

But Davis does not regret his reluctance to act sooner, citing subsequent disclosures that strongly suggest Enron Corp. and other electricity companies may have illegally manipulated the market.

“What do you think acting soon enough means? [It means] I didn’t raise your rates 400%. That’s exactly what all these utility chieftains and energy CEOs wanted me to do,” Davis said, adding: “I knew something was wrong. People kept telling me there is Bobby Joe this and Billy Joe that as CEOs [of energy companies], and I knew I had better take a closer look at this one.”

About the time the energy crisis darkened corners of the California, the stock market started to cool off, and the dot-com tax profits that had fueled record state surpluses began to dry up. Instead of quibbling with legislators over how best to spend the state’s new riches, as he did during his first two years, Davis was suddenly thrust into the politically undesirable position of proposing what to cut.

He did not embrace his new role. Former Republican Gov. Pete Wilson, who faced his own debilitating deficits during the early 1990s, tackled the problem with relish by familiarizing himself with the issues and convening numerous meetings of the so-called Big Five, the chief executive and party leaders from each house. Davis held far fewer such sessions.

Davis loyalists defend the governor’s approach, and insist that contrary to public perception, he is tremendously engaged in the state’s problems. Though Davis may no longer convey the image of a micromanager, internally he continues to be a phenomenal nag, say current and former members of his staff.

If the governor does not attempt to master the intricacies of every issue, he enjoys making sure his underlings do.

“Different people in politics have different MOs,” said Davis’ chief political advisor, Garry South. “I used to work for an Ohio governor who would go home every night with seven binder books full of Post-it notes. Gray is not like that. He learns what he knows by asking probing questions and testing people.”

What Davis is especially wary of, perhaps because of his days working for Brown, is having the wool pulled over his eyes.

Cabinet Secretary Susan Kennedy, the primary liaison between the governor and his department heads, said Davis reads every single piece of legislation that arrives on his desk, a claim supported by several others.

The governor said that is slightly exaggerated, but he confirmed that he spends a lot of time reading measures, and asking his staff a similar set of questions about every one.

Aides roll their eyes when asked to recite the list, which includes explaining--in layman’s terms--exactly what a bill does, who is on opposing and supporting sides, how much it costs taxpayers, and what other states have done.

The perception persists, however, that it is not the merits but the money that matters to Davis. The capital teems with stories of special interests who felt squeezed by Davis for campaign checks as he considered issues affecting them.

One of the most damaging complaints came this year, when Johnson, the teachers union president, revealed that during an education discussion inside Davis’ office, the governor blurted out: “I need a million dollars from you guys.”

“We just sat there in silence,” Johnson recalled. “There was this pregnant pause that lasted like 15 to 20 seconds, and he just went on. I think he had been expecting us to respond.”

But aides insist that Davis, who said he does not recall that incident, does not always side with the politically powerful.

Kennedy recalled counseling Davis to veto legislation that would have closed a loophole to guarantee better working conditions for sheepherders. She feared others would see a precedent.

Davis told her there was no way he could do that, because he had met sheepherders in a swing through the Central Valley and was moved by their stories.

Davis claims he has given up worrying about his public image.

“When I first got into politics, I would obsess about these kind of things. But the truth is that I don’t even read the papers anymore,” he said. “I can’t control what people think of me. I can control what I do.”

Yet other politicians say Davis cares deeply how people view him. Assembly Speaker Herb Wesson (D-Culver City), a gregarious man, said he has found a more personable side to Davis because he has forced the governor to “be a human being with me.”

During a Martin Luther King Day parade this year, as the two politicians coursed through the streets of Los Angeles in the same float, Wesson began to “raise the roof,” a celebratory hip-hop gesture in which a person holds his arms upward as if lifting the sky.

Davis was intrigued, and with some prodding from Wesson, began to raise the roof as well--albeit stiffly. It elicited a hearty response from the incredulous crowd, and has become a signature move for the governor--a piece de resistance of sorts for urban appearances. It even got him a humorous mention on “The Tonight Show With Jay Leno.”

“I’m loosening up a little bit. I’m trying,” Davis said, smiling. But he quickly added that no one should expect too much change in a second term.

“The power of my ideas and the sense that I will be steadfast and purposeful are traits that Californians have responded positively to. They know I am not a movie star.... I have to convince people that my argument is more compelling than the opposition’s.”

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About This Series

This week, The Times began a series of articles on the lives of the two major-party candidates for governor, Democratic incumbent Gray Davis and Republican businessman Bill Simon Jr.

Thursday: Davis’ upbringing and his tour of duty in Vietnam.

Friday: His two-decade climb up the political ladder.

Today: His first term as governor.

A parallel series of articles on Simon will begin next week. State elections will be held Nov. 5.