Sunday, June 18, 2006 | 7:42 a.m.
Fewer than two months before the Democrats nominate their choice to be a penniless underdog to Rep. Jim "I have $3 million" Gibbons in the general election, it's hard to imagine the post-Aug. 15 scene where the primary loser endorses the winner.
Henderson Mayor Jim Gibson and Senate Minority Leader Dina Titus now feel about each other the way opponents often feel but usually much closer to an election: Mutual, palpable loathing.
That was evident during an hourlong debate taped on "Face to Face" on Friday in which Titus portrayed Henderson as a hellhole presided over by a Mephistopheles who putts and plots with evil henchmen (i.e. developers), and Gibson portrayed Titus as a failed legislator whose signature bill (which failed) would have made housing unaffordable and who relies only on character assassination.
In all of my years moderating debates, this was the most frustrating. I wanted to get the candidates to spend some time on growth and Titus' criticisms of Gibson's stewardship of Henderson.
But what I did not count on was the clever trap Titus laid every time I tried to move onto something else.
The good senator is a rhetorical Gatling gun, and she used that talent to great effect during the debate. She would make a charge about Gibson's mayoralty, and as soon as he had answered and I tried to follow up with her, she would rotate and fire another round on a different Henderson topic. Therein lies the Catch-22 for your poor moderator: If I move on, I don't follow Titus' agenda; but if I don't move on, I don't let the mayor respond and leave the allegation hanging out there.
So the debate, at least during the first half-plus, was fought on the issue Titus wanted to talk about, which surely was an advantage for her because Gibson, who can barely contain his animus toward her, had to defend himself.
In fact, what struck me was that Titus, while she had a sulfurous aside or two, was nonchalant most of the debate while Gibson fairly seethed as he essentially turned his back to her from the beginning and could not conceal his disdain.
Not that I didn't apply a little petrol by asking Titus about this quote from a release last week:
"He wants to sell the governor's office to the developers, and I want to give it back to the people of Nevada."
When I began by asking her if she really believed it, no powder keg exploded, no acid rain sprang from her lips. "I absolutely believe it," she calmly declared. "If the shoe fits. ... Just look at the contributions ... it's that old pay to play."
Gibson retorted: "I have never sold a vote, I will never sell a vote. If she has evidence that I have been bribed or sold a vote, she should present it or stop talking about it."
Of course, Titus doesn't have that evidence, or we would have seen it.
But she has enough where-there's-smoke-there's-fire stuff from Gibson's relationships, contributions and zoning votes - just as she would with many local government officials - to create an ugly appearance.
Gibson did his best to parry her barrage of allegations of conflicts of interest and developer coziness, but he seemed more comfortable in a discussion of Titus' signature nonaccomplishment, the ring around the valley bill of 1997.
She is correct in saying that measure changed the debate on growth, but the boundary ring also was seen as fraught with unintended consequences. Titus' ability to frame the issue so simply - I want to slow growth, he is with the developers - frustrated Gibson as he tried to explain the potential for soaring land and home prices.
It's not clear who won the debate because perception, cemented by the coverage, determines the impact. But what is apparent, especially after the candidates argued after the debate was over whether scenes in a Gibson ad actually were shot in Utah, is that this Democratic primary may leave more blood on the ground than can be washed away by November.
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