Columnist Jon Ralston: Lousy mayor fools the masses

Friday, Jan. 31, 2003 | 4:28 a.m.

Call him a lock for re-election. Call him a nonpareil performer. Call him a media magnet.

Call him Mayor Bobblehead.

Oscar Goodman filed for re-election last week as a certifiable phenomenon, living proof that you can indeed fool all of the people all of the time (or close enough) by having a sense of humor if not a sense of duty, by pretending to be one of the village people while behaving like the village idiot and by showing that personality is really all you need for popularity.

Goodman will swat away a few gadflies to win in a landslide despite being the politician whose words mean less than any politician I have covered. He doesn't shoot from the hip, speak his mind or any of the other cliches a fawning media heap on him. He opens his mouth without thinking, often without sensitivity and frequently aware he is dissembling.

It's not just that this emperor has no clothes; in fact, it's reverse of the famous story. Most of the cognoscenti see him naked and don't take him seriously; they chuckle at his antics or manipulate his lust for the spotlight to their advantage. But the benighted masses are fooled, cheering Goodman on as if he were a man of the people when he is looking out only for one person; they see only the cloak of charisma.

Since succeeding Jan Jones, Goodman has accomplished almost nothing, save one nearly impossible, truly impressive feat: He has taken a relatively unimportant job and found a way to diminish it even more. But it doesn't seem to matter, despite how much has changed since he ran four years ago:

The candidate who defended his prowess in keeping rich thugs on the street to commit murder and mayhem by saying, "I've represented people by upholding the United States Constitution," now is the mayor who spits on the basic human rights of the less fortunate.

The candidate who vowed to force developers to pay more in impact fees, and later declared that "City Hall is not giving anything away," has become the mayor who agreed to pay whatever ransom developers demanded to build downtown.

The candidate who said "I just can't kiss people's rear ends" has been puckering up for every gaming posterior he can find so he can finance his campaign and ensure he has no opponent.

The Irreverent One has become The Anointed One. He can do no wrong even though he has done much wrong. If any other politician had used his public position to funnel money to his wife's private school, or had advocated changing the law so he could make money in an area he controls, or suggested turning a prison into a quarantine camp for the homeless, or accepted a free Cadillac from an industry he regulates, or repeatedly tried to hawk his government's credibility to the highest bidder, or flip-flopped on dozens of issues, even within the same news conference, he would be political carrion.

But not Goodman.

Four years ago I thought he would get bored with the mind-numbing meetings. Instead, I marvel at how the public has failed to lose interest in his shtick, the longest running lounge act in politics, with about as much lasting significance.

The amateur psychoanalyst in me once believed the mob mouthpiece was in it for redemption, to give back to the town whose seamy past he had exploited to become a millionaire (crime does pay well). Instead, he has turned City Hall into his personal playground, using it to cavort with marginal celebrities, pant after national media coverage and find ways to advance his favorite cause: Oscar Goodman.

I suppose it could be worse -- some of his ideas might have become reality. The city could have prostituted itself by selling its seal to an Internet gaming site. It could have taken longer than two years to realize that the master developer Goodman hired, one which builds minor league stadia, actually wanted to (surprise) build a minor league stadium downtown. And he might have given away the whole store -- not just half of it -- to coax a furniture warehouse and a discount mall downtown.

Goodman is incredibly fortunate the gaming industry is distracted, and the protean mayor has conducted a Strip suck-up campaign -- "Really, I'm sorry I said all those inane things, guys" -- that has born high-six-figure fruit.

A real opponent might wonder what he has accomplished, save continue projects started by his predecessor and see others come to fruition that are more the product of the blood and sweat of staffers he probably has reduced to tears.

Goodman could have channeled his unprecedented popularity into productive pursuits, rather than fanciful follies and momentary caprices. But he has no interest in anything that doesn't promote the Cult of Oscar.

Goodman has insisted that Las Vegas is a major-league city. But if you want proof that this is a minor-league metropolis, where class is secondary to crass, where flash trumps substance and where personality is paramount, the evidence is right before your eyes:

Just look at the mayor.