‘The Anointed One’ takes behind-the-scenes look at Guinn

John Ralston

Saturday, Oct. 7, 2000 | 3:04 a.m.

Editor's note: This is the first in a series of six excerpts from the new book, "The Anointed One," by Sun political columnist Jon Ralston. This series, exclusive to the Sun, will run daily through Friday.

On the surface, "The Anointed One" is the story of how Kenny Guinn, a man who had never before run for office, became governor of Nevada in a 1998 election landslide. But the underlying story concerns the handful of skilled fund-raisers and campaign operatives, with their close ties to the gaming industry, who control the political system in Nevada. These are the men who ultimately decide who runs for office and who doesn't, often crushing undesirable interlopers along the way.

In dissecting the Kenny Guinn campaign and election, "The Anointed One" takes a hard look at Nevada's ruthless and lethal anointment process. The first excerpt in the series is from Chapter One, titled 'Kenny of the Thousand Days Is Born.' It discusses how Guinn, nearly three years before the election, was embraced by the powers that anoint, virtually locking up the governorship long before many of his opponents-to-be had even considered running.

Uncertainty

Kenny Guinn shifted in his chair and looked plaintively at the man sitting next to him, Sig Rogich. Uncertainty was etched on Guinn's handsome visage, his physiognomy a portrait of tentativeness, his large frame rigid. Rogich, who like his friend had retained his good looks into his mid-50s, squirmed slightly, too, feeling Guinn's eyes upon him.

The pair of Republicans were sitting next to each other in a conference room inside Rogich's office suite, ensconced on the fifth floor of a bank tower a few blocks from the Las Vegas Strip. A few days earlier, Rogich, one of the state's foremost political consultants, had announced Guinn's candidacy for governor. The occasion for Guinn's present discomfort was a question I had posed about his stance on abortion. For several seconds, the room was silent as Guinn stole glances toward Rogich, his eyes pleading for guidance. It was unclear who would answer, as if they were straining to make a telepathic connection, to respond as one.

Finally, Rogich spoke. "I think he feels about that the way we all feel," he began, elaborating that he and Guinn were pro-choice. Guinn, almost with a sigh of relief, nodded, his body momentarily relaxing. Anyone witnessing the scene would have been hard-pressed to discern which man was running for governor and which man was his confidant. They even looked alike. Both men had turned completely gray; both were distinguished and fit. Guinn, the former football player, was beefier than Rogich, but either one could have posed for a portrait of a prototypical governor.

Nearly every question I asked of Guinn, Rogich tried to answer. And he didn't have to interrupt Guinn, who seemed all too willing to defer to his handler. Both men talked in the first-person plural, and Guinn answered a question about why he was running for governor by motioning to Rogich and declaring, "We didn't see anyone with our beliefs and our principles."

Guinn had insisted that Rogich sit in on the meeting and asked that it take place at his longtime friend's office -- Guinn would later move his office into the Rogich Communications Group warren, his name on the door below the company principal. Both men wanted Rogich there that day for a reason. Guinn, the candidate for governor of Nevada, had little grasp of issues and needed Rogich to run interference.

Issues, it turned out, had little to do with why Guinn was seeking to succeed Democrat Bob Miller, who would be term-limited after an unprecedented 10-year tenure. He was, he said that day, more concerned with "day-to-day operations, management more than philosophical debates." A pragmatist, not a philosopher. He sounded much like a Rogich client of yore, George Bush, who was similarly all about his resume and often had trouble with syntax. Most importantly, Guinn asserted, after years of being wooed and years of flirting with elective office, "For the first time, I'm willing to be seriously considered."

In other words, it was his turn. He had spent three and a half decades in Las Vegas preparing for this moment -- serving Republican and Democratic governors as chairman of blue-ribbon panels, appearing on television as the helmsman of various bond campaigns for more schools and policemen, and achieving financial security after stints as chairman of a utility, Southwest Gas, and a bank, Nevada Savings. He had cultivated an amiable and dedicated persona, one that seemed to reflect the motto of the bank he once served -- Big, Safe, and Friendly.

He may not have been prepared for questions or well-versed on too many issues, but Kenny Guinn was ready to be governor. And the men who could make it happen, led by Rogich, were ready, too. The date was Feb. 29, 1996. The election was still more than two and a half years away. But that week, a plan was set in motion that would attempt to eliminate all elements of chance.

Kenny of the Thousand Days was born on that Leap Year Day. The quadrennial calendar event heralded a process that had become de rigueur in Nevada politics, occurring in one form or another in every election cycle. Leap Year Day 1996 it may have been, and November 1998 may have seemed far off. But this felt like an a priori coronation, with one small step from here for Guinn to arrive at the mansion.

A company state

You've heard of company towns. Nevada is a company state. Here politics is much like any table game offered by the casinos. But nowhere is the deck more stacked; and, in the long run, the house always wins.

This state of affairs has remained relatively unchanged for decades, despite an influx of tens of thousands of new residents that has dramatically affected Nevada's demographics, though not its politics. The mob may have lost its grip, but the corporate titans who run the Las Vegas Strip maintain a stranglehold over the political system that the capos of La Cosa Nostra would envy.

Despite the state's phenomenal growth, power continues to repose in a handful of men, who through their access to the Strip and its economic and political might are able to anoint -- and un-anoint -- candidates for public office. And they do so now at a time of unparalleled external threats to the state's economic well-being, from a federal gambling inquisition and Indian gaming in California to the real possibility that the Las Vegas boom is about to go bust.

Never was their exercise of power as blatant as it was with the anointment of Kenny Guinn. And, at the time, he seemed like the perfect vehicle. Guinn was the epitome of the Nevada establishment. Not only was he a regular honoree as man of the year for some civic group, but he was a board member of Boyd Gaming and Del Webb, representing the most powerful (gaming) and second most powerful (development) industries in the state.

When Guinn decided to enter the fray, the powers who anoint assembled behind him. This is the story of how they cleared the way for Guinn using a potent synergy of ruthless and relentless fund-raising and the harnessing of the best talent available in an attempt to make the election result inexorable in November 1998. This is the story of who these men are and how, through their talents and the state's incestuous power structure, they were able to take a tabula rasa and graft onto his candidacy their hopes and dreams -- for the state and for themselves. And, as you will see, this is not a new story. While the names of the candidates change, the process and those manipulating and exploiting it are nearly immutable.

Same lifestyle

Guinn maintained his lifestyle as if nothing had changed. Despite his candidacy, he continued to serve on those two prominent boards -- Boyd Gaming and Del Webb. Guinn felt he didn't have to give up serving on those boards, thus relinquishing the sizable yearly fees, until he officially became a candidate in 1998. In fact, he even took on another board duty in September, when he agreed to become a director of Norwest Bank of Nevada. A couple of months earlier, Norwest had merged with Guinn's former employer, PriMerit Bank.

Guinn occasionally surfaced when he gave speeches, which were not getting the most flattering reviews, even from his friends. He almost always rambled, and occasionally took bizarre positions.

One such instance, and the first that received any newspaper coverage, occurred on Oct. 17 when he addressed a Nevada Development Authority forum at the Rio Hotel. In introducing Guinn, the moderator read his long resume and concluded by intoning his name and adding, "who I'm told is the next governor of the state of Nevada."

In a serpentine speech to the high-level group of business executives, Guinn proposed taking 5,000 acres of federal land in Southern Nevada and giving them to private developers as a way to help ameliorate growth problems. Growth was -- and remains -- the single most pressing issue in Las Vegas because of the skyrocketing population. Every growth-related problem has manifested during the last decade -- clogged roads, worsening air pollution, and commercial encroachment into residential areas, to name a few.

What seemed strange about Guinn's proposal was that he was suggesting that vacant land from the Bureau of Land Management be developed. And while it would create millions of dollars in property-tax revenue as the land was put onto the rolls, which could be used to offset growth costs, it could also conceivably cause even more crowded roads, polluted air, and haphazard zoning.

Guinn also didn't specify whether he thought the BLM should donate the land or whether it should be purchased, which is how the process usually works. The moderator's immediate assessment of Guinn's speech -- "sounds like the next governor" -- belied how amateurish it was. It was not an auspicious beginning to Guinn's political speaking career.

The Nevada Development Authority had given the event some advance publicity. It turned out that Guinn was one of two speakers at the forum touted in the flier for the event. In fact, the pair was listed as though they were an inseparable act. And, indeed, they were. The other speaker on the forum announcement was Guinn's shadow campaign manager. Sig Rogich got top billing. "

The Anointed One," by Jon Ralston is available for $17.95 from all major bookstores in the greater Las Vegas area; it's also available directly from the Las Vegas-based publisher, Huntington Press, at (702) 252-0655.

MONDAY: By the end of 1996, Sig Rogich had recruited all the best campaign talent to help Kenny Guinn. The next task: Locking up the money.

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