Columnist Jon Ralston: Guinn builds nest egg for 2002

Saturday, Jan. 6, 2001 | 2:57 a.m.

Jon Ralston, who publishes the Ralston Report, writes a column for the Sun on Sundays and Wednesdays. Ralston can be reached at 870-7997 or through e-mail at ralston@vegas.com.

In late November 1996 gubernatorial candidate Kenny Guinn's agents were in a frenzy.

A deadline loomed for campaign contribution limits to be reduced to $10,000 from $20,000, so they had to move expeditiously. And did they ever. Chief money man Sig Rogich dialed a bunch of casino executives, most of whom were only too eager to open their vaults to help stoke the Guinn for Governor Express. Then-Circus Circus Enterprises Chairman Clyde Turner agreed to an unprecedented $300,000 contribution -- $20,000 from 15 companies -- right before the deadline. Thus were the seeds watered of a soon-to-be flowering anointment.

If at first you succeed, might as well try again.

As a 30-day cutoff approached Friday for the governor to raise money in advance of a legislative session, Rogich was putting in his 35 cents to call gamers -- and asking for slightly more than that, up to six figures from major companies, for Guinn's campaign coffers. Rogich was not available, but a few gaming insiders confirmed his solicitations on Guinn's behalf.

"With the legislative session approaching, they're looking during this little window," Nevada Resort Association Chairman Mark Dodson, a Park Place executive, said Friday. How much is Guinn 2002 asking for? "As much as they can," Dodson wryly replied, saying his company had not yet decided whether to cross the six-figure bar this early.

Another gaming executive was more blunt in confirming what was happening: "Sig has been out on a fund-raising rampage."

The politics are elemental: Raise a vault full of money early, scare off any challengers and spend the money on a gaggle of consultants rather than commercials, if you can. It worked, with a few hitches, when Kenny of the 1,000 Days announced in February of 1996 and Rogich immediately began clearing the fund-raising decks. If then-Mayor Jan Jones hadn't filed on the last day in 1998, Guinn wouldn't have even had to pay for ads. As it was, he won easily after a few missteps.

The Guinnites clearly have unpacked the old blueprint and are starting anew -- this time he's Kenny of the 650 Days. But Team Guinn shouldn't need as many days -- it should be easier to raise money. If his surrogates are asking on behalf of the governor, instead of a candidate, the gamers know the entreaties are coming from the man who regulates them. Hard to say no to the governor.

Rogich & Co. also know that if they wait until after the session, any potential opponents (such as they are) would be starting from the same point on the track. And it could be pushed even further back if there is a special session for reapportionment, although that looks doubtful. So why wouldn't the Guinnites try to emerge from the session with a substantial nest egg to start the anointment again?

The only downside is that this could appear as if the gamers were trying to purchase the governor's favor in advance of a session where they, as always, have myriad issues, including taxes, to consider. Someone might suggest it is unseemly to take hundreds of thousands of dollars from one special interest right before a Legislature convenes -- or anytime, perhaps. Add in the spice of Rogich and gubernatorial confidant Pete Ernaut affiliated with Park Place and some wag might suggest renaming the mansion Guinn's Palace or maybe affix the Hilton logo above the doorway.

What does the governor have to say about this pre-legislative fund-raising binge? Nothing. He offered no comment through a spokesman.

But what could he say? Consider his choices:

A. "I don't know what Sig might be doing."

B. "What do you mean Park Place might not give six figures."

C. "You missed the point. I want to get the money before I screw the gamers on tax policy."

D. "Hey, the anointment worked once. Why not do it again? And this time the Democrats have nobody who has even a remote chance of beating me. Let the dough pour in, baby."

None of this money must be disclosed until early 2002, which is another reason it's so irresistible for the Guinnites. But it's the overall formula that is tried and true:

Raise money quietly, put out the word how much you've taken in, maybe even adding to the total to make it sound even better. And then watch the prospective opponents cower.

It worked once.