Thursday, Oct. 12, 2000 | 11:34 a.m.
Editor's note: This is the fifth 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.
A couple of months before filing for office opened in 1998, Kenny Guinn seemed to have a lock on the governorship. The only problems were within his own party, which was sponsoring a paycheck protection initiative and coddling an obstreporous outsider named Aaron Russo. Both issues would come to a head at the Clark County and state Republican conventions. The following excerpt is from Chapter 6, "The Making of a Race." *
The Guinn team had some concern about the portrayal of their man as an issueless front for the power elite. They had hoped Guinn's late January speech about education would help dispel that notion, but it had proved to be a one-day non-event. They needed more to show that there was substance behind all the money and consultants.
On March 16, the campaign issued a news release announcing a "major policy speech by Republican gubernatorial candidate Kenny Guinn addressing the needs of Nevada's senior citizens two days hence. The proposal, though, turned out to be anything but major.
Guinn, speaking to a seniors group in Las Vegas, suggested expanding a 25-year-old program that allows certain senior citizens with low incomes to receive property tax rebates. This undertaking would cost about $3 million, insignificant compared to the general-fund budget of $1.6 billion. Even so, Guinn couldn't tell reporters where he would find the .002 percent of the state budget, and he ludicrously referred to the bite-sized plan as "priority one."
As the county convention neared, the Guinn forces continued to feel confident about their delegate count. For one, they had Steve Wark, their grass-roots coordinator and an expert in organizing party conventions. A decade earlier, Wark had used the power of the Christian right to take over a Republican convention and get himself elected state chairman.
Guinn's forces had another reason for optimism, too: They were buying delegates.
On March 24, Guinn sent a letter to all the delegates to the Clark County Republican convention and made them an offer: "I know that this weekend may be an inconvenience in time as well as finances. I would like to make it easier financially for you to participate in the convention by having the Guinn campaign take care of your ($25) registration fee. This is just a small token of our gratitude for the selfless giving of your time."
Aaron Russo was apoplectic -- it seemed like a constant condition for the California carpetbagger -- about what he saw as Guinn trying to buy the convention. But as the Clark County faithful convened the weekend of March 27, the Guinnites weren't worried. They had left little to chance. Sure, a few party crazies, a few Russo rabble-rousers, would attend. But they would get their people elected as delegates to the state convention, so they could control that gathering, too. Everything was under control. Or so they thought.
On Friday night, the convention erupted into bedlam as Russo and his backers complained about a vote on a key parliamentary measure involving the seating of delegates. Guinn backers accused Russo's adherents of pushing and shoving, even spitting.
When Guinn's top advisers heard about the scene late that night, they were mortified. They were supposed to have had the convention wired. "When you've got the presumptive nominee for governor not having control of his convention, that's pretty bad," political consultant Billy Vassiliadis remembered.
At about 6:30 on Saturday morning, Vassiliadis' phone rang. It was Guinn, telling him that he'd wanted to punch Russo in the mouth, he was so incensed. Vassiliadis advised Guinn not to return to the convention and forgo his speech. Guinn fretted that he would appear to be timorous, intimidated by Russo. Vassiliadis said that he would rather see news stories about Guinn not showing up than about a physical set-to between the governor-to-be and Russo or his supporters. Fifteen minutes later, Sig Rogich had joined the conversation. He immediately agreed with Vassiliadis' assessment. Vassiliadis advised Rogich to attend in Guinn's place to keep an eye on the proceedings.
The scene Saturday was even worse than the previous evening. Russo gave a 15-minute speech lambasting Guinn as a "counterfeit Republican" and intoned his rhyming campaign mantra: The choice was between "the status quo or Russo."
Guinn campaign operatives marched around the convention floor, wearing Team Guinn T-shirts and hats, along with headphones. They looked like an army trying to quell a popular uprising. The Guinn delegates sat passively in rows in the back of the banquet room, waiting for orders from the floor generals. Eventually, Clark County Chairman Milton Schwartz threatened to evict Russo. After his acolytes surrounded Russo, making a human wall, Schwartz called for security.
Beyond the chaos that enveloped the affair, though, was more evidence for the Guinn team that the enemy was within: not just Russo and his followers, nor Mason and paycheck protection, but Sheldon Adelson, the casino mogul and Republican Party donor.
Adelson had made his mark in Nevada politics two years earlier by funneling hundreds of thousands of dollars to a Clark County Commission candidate through the party to evade campaign finance laws.
His plan had been facilitated by then-party finance boss George Harris, still a GOP activist, but now also on Adelson's payroll.
Since then, Adelson's influence in the party had become pervasive. At the convention, one of his lawyers had filed a brief questioning the seating of Guinn delegates. In addition, Milton Schwartz made sure that Adelson's right-hand man, Bill Weidner, was kept abreast of all convention-related developments.
Adelson was furious that Guinn was against paycheck protection because he was determined -- his critics would say obsessed -- with restricting the power of the Culinary Union. He and his minions, though, while flirting with Lt. Gov. Hammargren, a friend of Harris, didn't seem to have a clear plan. But they obviously wanted to hurt Guinn at the convention and beyond.
Dull convention
The state Republican convention in late April proved to be boring compared to the county carnival. Russo actually extended an olive branch to Guinn, the speeches were uneventful, and the Establishment forces rebuffed Russo's attempt to oust Mason as party chairman.
The main speaker, though, was a reminder of the disharmony just below the surface. J. Patrick Rooney, the prime mover behind the California ballot proposition on paycheck protection, showed where the party insiders still stood. They cared about the issue, believed in it, wanted it passed.
But a general spirit of unity prevailed. Guinn gave one of his better speeches of the campaign. Russo and his followers didn't create a scene. The biggest news of the convention instead revolved around Hammargren, who all but announced his gubernatorial candidacy during a speech to the faithful. But that was of little concern to the Guinn folks and received scant coverage from the media.
Filing for office opened a few days after the convention climaxed. On May 7, State Sen. Joe Neal filed for governor, insisting the gaming industry had too much power over politics and government and should pay more into the state treasury.
In his report of Neal's filing, Review-Journal reporter Sean Whaley mentioned that a variety of Democratic Party officials, including Sen. Harry Reid, had announced they would not support his campaign.
Reid, who had been unsuccessful in finding an alternative, later asked for a retraction, saying he had "not taken an official position on Neal's candidacy." Unofficially, though, he was at the end of his rope, settling on a last resort, state Sen. Mike Schneider, an ambitious legislator who had no chance to defeat Guinn, but who probably could knock off Neal and be a placeholder for the Democrats in November.
On May 13, 1998, Kenny Guinn filed for governor, stating he had raised $3 million and would spend a maximum of $3.5 million. He reaffirmed his opposition to paycheck protection, saying it represented government intrusion into private business, and invoked education as his main priority. He was still relatively unknown and had not defined himself through an early TV campaign, as had once been contemplated by his advisers.
But they had abandoned that strategy once Del Papa dropped out and Las Vegas Mayor Jan Jones decided not to run. Why waste money defining Guinn for a non-race? If Guinn couldn't defeat Aaron Russo, Lonnie Hammargren, or Joe Neal, then he didn't deserve to be governor, they felt.
In only five days filing would be over, and with Guinn's war chest, his grass-roots and institutional support, and the major Democratic candidates cleared out of the race, the rest of the campaign should be a breeze.
Friday: In the final installment of the series, Guinn takes all of his firepower into the election against a surprise last-second opponent.
"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 252-0655.
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