Columnist Melissa Schorr: Judge by character, not chronology

Melissa Schorr

Monday, Nov. 2, 1998 | 9:49 a.m.

It's funny how a certain age can make you a young upstart in one field, and a has-been in another.

Take the case of Riley Weston, a writer on the new WB hit "Felicity," who was recently "exposed" as an imposter. Her sin? Instead of being the 19-year-old Wunderkind she had purported to be, she was actually 32.

Weston had to lie because, otherwise, youth-obsessed Hollywood execs considered her too chronologically-impaired to relate to the Clearasil set.

On the other hand, in politics, nothing sells like a little gray in the sideburns. And if you're on the underbelly of 30, like the eight (all male) candidates running for state and county office, youth is no virtue.

One Republican candidate, Jeff Knight, 27, was lambasted in a flier distributed by incumbent State Assemblyman Tom Collins for not having "settled down yet" -- for lacking a wife and kids. "(My age) has never been an issue among voters," Knight contends, "only among my opponent."

But the most egregious example of youth-bashing is the TV ad mocking Democratic candidate Dario Herrera, age 25, who is running for an open county commission seat against Milt Doyle, a Republican nearly twice his age.

The ad, funded by Sheldon Adelson's "Committee for Fairness," portrays a pre-pubescent Herrera look-a-like riding a bike and wearing a rainbow-colored beanie, dubbing him "young Dario" and "this kid." Doyle himself has taken additional potshots in print, sniping that "I've been in my district as long as my opponent's been alive."

This tactic has younger candidates fuming. "It's weak to attack someone because of their age," declares aspiring state assemblyman Nathan Taylor, 23, this year's babe of the bunch.

It's also misleading: Herrera, with a term in the state assembly under his belt, is actually more politically experienced than his opponent.

Despite the mud-pie slinging, the high-profile Herrera looks poised to win, having scored the endorsement of both local daily newspapers.

Still, both recommendations use a set of coded adjectives, praising him for his "energetic fresh ideas, and new insight," and his "contagious enthusiasm." One wonders: Is Dario running for a spot on the pep squad -- or the county commission?

Herrera doesn't mind -- he's become inured to the "age" issue: His first week in the state assembly, an anonymous jokester sent him a box of Pampers. Another time, he was mistaken for an intern.

The skepticism of other, older legislators was "not difficult to overcome," says the 1995 UNLV grad, who pored over the previous session's minutes to prepare for his first term. "I recognized that because of my age, I had some disadvantage, and made an effort to work harder."

Besides, he adds, making a point echoed by the other candidates: "I'm not your typical 25-year-old."

That's just the point: Candidates should be judged by their character, not their chronology.

Nevadans are good at judging the quality of wood rather than the rings around the trunk. Almost 100 years ago, they elected a 26-year-old state assemblyman who went on to become one of our most powerful senators. His name? Pat McCarran.

And Herrera's youthful glow probably won't be an issue much longer.

"After this campaign," he says, laughing, "I think I'll have a few gray hairs."