McDonald makes his mark

Erin Neff

Friday, April 30, 1999 | 11:32 a.m.

Enter Councilman Michael McDonald's office at Las Vegas City Hall and you enter a shrine for Notre Dame football.

Autographed helmets, stadium models, team pictures and a signed Joe Montana jersey all circle the prized possession: a framed photo of storied coach Knute Rockne that McDonald says came right out of the locker room in South Bend, Ind.

But the 34-year-old first-term councilman and former cop has a bit more Rudy Ruettiger in him than Rockne.

Known as a champion of "common man" causes in his ward, McDonald is riding a wave of support similar to that which hoisted Ruettiger to the shoulders of his teammates in 1975 after the overachiever sacked the opposing quarterback in his only 27 seconds of playing time.

With just four years of politics under his belt after an unlikely 1995 election win, McDonald is a bench warmer no more.

He has serious political ambitions, which he is not shy in sharing with those close to him -- his parents, two sisters and childhood friends. Although more circumspect around City Hall, he nevertheless often talks of his goals and the power he already wields.

When asked what will happen if City Councilman Arnie Adamsen -- who isn't exactly a close friend -- wins the mayoral election, McDonald's cheeks rose in the wake of a huge grin before he half-giggled, "No comment."

With that, one of criminal defense attorney Oscar Goodman's ads for mayor flashed on the television at McDonald's kitchen table.

"What about if Oscar wins?"

"It doesn't matter who they put in there," McDonald said, placing both hands on the table, sitting more upright and fixing his blue eyes in a determined gaze as if to say, "Bring it on."

The name Michael James McDonald has been heard around Las Vegas for three decades -- since the time his father, John McDonald, would yell out the window on Carmen Boulevard that it was time for the football game to end and the corned beef and cabbage to be served.

McDonald was a standout flanker on Western High School's football team with dreams of playing at Notre Dame. But after graduation, he shelved the Division 1A dreams and instead went to work at odd jobs -- delivering laundry, clerking at Miller's Outpost and parking cars -- all while attending UNLV.

By age 20, he had risen from valet to director of guest services at the Alexis Park resort. For a while he even considered following his father's footsteps into a career in the casino industry.

At the time, McDonald was more typically found hanging out with fraternity brothers, watching sports and getting into street fights -- one of which led to a broken nose.

So it seemed ridiculous to McDonald when a friend who was a police officer suggested he would make a good cop.

"He told us he was going to go to the police academy and we were just like, 'Yeah, sure you are,' " said Rick Henry, a longtime friend who later served as McDonald's bodyguard and city-paid staff assistant before quitting that job this winter to run McDonald's re-election campaign.

McDonald had been with Metro Police for 10 years until he turned in his badge April 5 -- a month before the primary -- to work full time on city business and his campaign.

"It was like General Patton giving up that star," McDonald said. "Getting that badge was the biggest moment of my life."

McDonald was one of the department's most-decorated officers -- receiving Metro's community service and meritorious service awards for rescuing Juan Lopez from a burning apartment in 1993 and for his work on the highly regarded Community 89109 Project to rid that ZIP code area in south-central Las Vegas of drugs and gangs.

But he had his problems on the force, too.

Metro's Internal Affairs Bureau investigated McDonald for unprofessional behavior as a result of an anonymous letter contending McDonald used his influence to help his friend Rick Rizzolo, owner of strip club Crazy Horse Too.

The letter accused McDonald of encouraging officers to target Little Darlings and Club Exotica -- two clubs that compete with Crazy Horse. McDonald was also accused of spending all of his time at Crazy Horse, which is not in the southeast area he was assigned to patrol.

Metro found no evidence to support either claim and McDonald was cleared. But the department did reprimand McDonald for showing confidential police information on then-Club Paradise owner Sam Cecola to a county commissioner. Cecola accused Rizzolo of trying to use his political influence to get him out of business.

Although some constituents and political opponents have eyed McDonald with suspicion because of his Rolex watch, Italian suits and friendship with Rizzolo, McDonald denies any underworld connections.

"I am not in the mob or tied to the mob in any way," McDonald said. "My opponents want to use anything they can."

While a Metro officer, McDonald was also injured on the job three times, including twice in automobile accidents and once when he chased a man over a brick wall.

He cites the pressures of police work and the difficulty he had balancing both of his public service roles as the reason behind his resignation.

But Steve Miller, McDonald's main opponent for the Ward 1 seat, claims McDonald only resigned as a campaign stunt to rid the "double-dipping" label he's held ever since a judge ruled in 1995 that he could serve as both a councilman and Metro officer.

"He's been bilking the public for four years," Miller said. "Not only has he been double-dipping, but he's been silent on issues important to his constituents because of the conflict."

Perhaps the most-notable recent example of McDonald's abstention on a council vote didn't involve his Metro job -- it involved the friendship with Rizzolo.

McDonald abstained on a vote to approve a Crazy Horse Too expansion that had been granted by the zoning board but was appealed to the council by upset neighbors alleging the expansion violated city code.

Although silent on that issue, McDonald has attacked other sexually oriented businesses and won the praise of residents and the ire of civil libertarians in the process.

The Hot Stuff adult video store sued the city after losing its business license and accusing McDonald of ignoring city codes in applying pressure against it. The city won in U.S. District Court but the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals reversed that decision, saying the city can't use its licensing code to prevent such businesses from opening anywhere in the city.

McDonald vows to fight the issue all the way to the Supreme Court "because the neighbors want me to."

Aaron Gordon, general manager of the company that owns Hot Stuff, was angered to read accounts of the Crazy Horse vote because he says McDonald was secretly behind the expansion. Gordon alleges that Rizzolo wanted to buy out the neighboring 6,000-square-foot bookstore LA Hot, but that LA Hot's owner wouldn't sell.

"Along comes his good buddy, McDonald, and he forces LA Hot out like he tried to do to us," Gordon said.

McDonald denies any involvement and discounts what he claims are "character assassinations."

"It hurts because where I'm from your name means everything," McDonald said, bending down to pet his bulldog, Knute Rockne.

"People say I'm on the take because I drive a Corvette and have a Rolex," McDonald said, pointing to the red car in the driveway of the home he shares with his mom and dad.

McDonald said he worked hard and saved money to buy the Corvette.

"I bought that car in 1989 with dimes and quarters I had rolled myself," McDonald said.

As for the Rolex: "It's my dad's and he gave it to me as a legacy when I made mayor pro tem. People say Rick (Henry) and I look like mobsters because we dress in nice suits. Why is it wrong to dress nice?"

McDonald does admit taking that Corvette up to 140 mph (at the Las Vegas Speedway) and does say he has since "jazzed up" the Rolex by adding diamonds and other elements.

He even purchased a Rolex last year for his mother, Doloris, after he was awarded $181,000 to settle a lawsuit he filed against a movie theater stemming from a 1991 fall that he says caused him a knee injury.

McDonald's "toys" don't end with the car. His office, complete with the sports memorabilia, a Sharper Image telescope, lava lamp and South Park dolls, looks at times more like a frat house than the office of mayor pro tem of the fastest-growing city in America.

When he campaigns in Ward 1 on Saturdays, a black digital watch replaces the Rolex and a rolled-up sleeved T-shirt implies his willingness to work.

He is greeted at the doors by supportive senior citizens who appreciate his battles against Hot Stuff and his work to rid the older neighborhoods of speeding vehicles and graffiti.

"Keep up the good work Mike," Neil Larson tells McDonald when he knocks on the door. "We used to have people speeding through here all the time. You're all right."

McDonald gets a pat on the back at another home for sponsoring youth soccer, baseball, football and hockey teams.

Senior citizens walk to his campaign headquarters on Saturdays to drop off donations -- which McDonald says he refuses -- and offer to canvass neighborhoods for him.

When he was first elected to the City Council, McDonald pledged to donate his $36,000-a-year council salary to senior citizen programs. He bought a television and videocassette recorder for the Sunrise Gardens Senior Center community room and he co-sponsors Christmas dinners and Big Band nights.

McDonald once arranged for children at the Reach-Out Day Care Center to be transported by city van to a nearby park for recreation while their playground was under construction.

But creating the city's Neighborhood Services and Rapid Response teams have brought him the most support.

McDonald is the kind of councilman whose pressure on city staff resulted in a code enforcement sweep of the Twin Lakes neighborhood. Three hundred tickets were issued for violations such as trash and cars parked in front yards.

His background as a cop has sparked most of his council efforts -- from a law requiring ice cream truck drivers to be screened annually by Metro for their licenses to proposing stiffer penalties for graffiti vandals.

"My job's not to sit in an ivory tower and bark orders," McDonald said. "My job is on the streets and we do it as a team."

In 1997, after City Councilman Matthew Callister lost re-election, Mayor Jan Laverty Jones was looking for a new political ally and named McDonald to take over from Adamsen as mayor pro tem. In this position, McDonald acts as mayor in the mayor's absence.

At the time it was described as a "chance for every council member to rotate into the position."

But McDonald was also placed on the board of the Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority -- again replacing Adamsen. The board seat is arguably the most prestigious appointment a council member can have. Bad blood between McDonald and Adamsen has simmered since, although both publicly downplay their relationship.

His higher profile on the council exposed McDonald to bigger-picture politics and increased his desire to hold a higher office.

McDonald explored running for mayor -- and says he has preliminary polls suggesting he was 30 points ahead of Adamsen in any mayoral race. McDonald, however, said he wouldn't run for mayor if Jones sought re-election.

Even though Jones initially said she would run, her change of heart left McDonald feeling stranded.

"That just killed me," McDonald said. "We were all ready to run, to take this thing citywide, and then Jan said she was going to run so I honored my decision not to."

When Jones backed out of the race, McDonald threw his support behind developer and former Clark County Commission Chairman Jay Bingham -- whom McDonald says taught him about political life.

Then when Bingham withdrew from the race citing health reasons, McDonald felt as if he had been dealt another blow.

"I guess it's just fate," McDonald said. "This just wasn't meant to be the year for me to run for mayor."

With a reported 10-to-1 fund-raising edge over his nearest council opponent, McDonald's campaign appears more organized than some of the mayoral ones.

"I notice you have a lot of billboards up, a lot of signs," says one woman, who answers the door in her bathrobe on a recent Saturday afternoon when McDonald comes calling. "I know who you are."

And if McDonald has any say in it, even more people will be able to recognize him soon. He says he may run for County Commission or even lieutenant governor in the future.

"There's a lot of places I would like to go," McDonald said. "But first I'd ask the voters, 'I've finished this job, would you elect me to another one?' "

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