Richardson elusive as a presidential candidate

By Michael Mishak

Saturday, Sept. 15, 2007 | 7:46 a.m.

Do you remember that indelible moment when you finally got an inkling your crush didn't really like you?

The light goes from their eyes. They can't seem to make time for you. Oh, sweet former ambassador, one-time energy secretary, erstwhile congressman and current New Mexico governor, what have I done?

Last winter, I was assigned to cover presidential candidate Bill Richardson. Although not considered a member of the Democratic top-tier, he was the only true Westerner in the race, which meant the Las Vegas Sun wanted to give him special attention.

And so my courtship began.

I began calling and e-mailing, asking his handlers for a chance to spend quality time with him: a day on the campaign trail in Nevada, a visit to the New Mexico governor's office and, most important , an interview to go beyond the snappy answers candidates give at news conferences.

We were willing to go anywhere.

Can't do it now, Richardson's people said. Later. Maybe next time he's in Nevada.

That was in March.

It's now September, a hundred disappointments hence. Somewhere between then and now, what was once an inkling of indifference toward me hardened. This year, Sun reporters have had meaningful interviews with Sens. Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton and former Sen. John Edwards. Not Richardson.

But I'm getting ahead of things.

My first encounter came Jan. 28. He had just declared his candidacy and his campaign granted me a phone interview. At just under 30 minutes, it was lengthy by campaign standards - and perhaps too long for Richardson's handlers, as the governor quickly slipped off script. (Off the record: When Richardson goes off the record, his language gets a bit salty.)

We talked Vegas: championship fights, George Strait, Rod Stewart, the Eagles.

Richardson told me that he would outwork his better-funded rivals by running a grass-roots campaign, and that Nevada provided him with an edge. ("I'm a Westerner. I have a horse. I'm a hunter. What else can I say?")

We jousted over the authenticity of ostrich-skin cowboy boots, and he told me he looked forward to meeting me on the campaign trail.

It was the only time I got beneath the veneer.

First, I was promised 10 minutes alone at a "block party" in late March at Richardson's Las Vegas headquarters. But he stayed busy with another reporter. I watched as he talked and ate, pieces of hot dog bun flying from his mouth.

Josh McNeil, Richardson's Nevada press aide, told me I was next. Then, in a flash, a reporter from New Mexico stole my slot. McNeil looked at his watch. The governor had a plane to catch.

"How about one question," McNeil asked. "We'll take care of you next time."

I asked Richardson how he intended to catch the front-runners. "This race isn't about money," he said, turning to sign autographs and pose for pictures. End of interview.

A month passed. I kept calling, offering to go most anywhere for an interview. Richardson returned to Las Vegas, this time to speak to Culinary Union members.

Alas, time was short, I was told.

May came and went. Then, in June, an earthquake.

An extensive profile by the New Republic was posted online June 12. Titled "Paper Candidate," it was a lengthy analysis of Richardson's famously varied resume and what the writer, Ryan Lizza, deemed a disconnect between the candidate on paper and the candidate in reality.

"Richardson has again and again created the impression that he doesn't know the basics," Lizza wrote, chronicling a series of inconsistencies and verbal gaffes on the campaign trail. And, of course, the awkward moment, captured at an Iowa AAA baseball game, of Richardson "tickling" the scalp of one young woman and then reaching for another before stopping.

The piece sent a chill through the Richardson camp. McNeil said the campaign was now skittish about granting interviews.

The next week, on June 17, Richardson returned to Nevada. I had been promised 15 minutes in a vehicle with the governor. But I was late, called away for another story.

I caught up later, following Richardson on his official Nevada "canvass kickoff" (knock on two doors of two houses for the cameras, race off).

I chased to his next event. "No time," McNeil said.

The campaign did say I could see the governor speak to a class of Hispanic immigrants learning English. I trailed Richardson down a long hall of the Flamingo Road branch of the Clark County Library, watching as McNeil dropped his Black Berry and Richardson crushed it underfoot - never breaking stride.

Richardson spoke to the class in Spanish, then appeared to wink at me before leaving for a fundraiser.

"Next time," McNeil told me. "Next time."

As July came, the profile took on more urgency. Richardson was gaining ground. He hit double digits in some state polls. His Nevada fund raising numbers topped all Democrats' in the second quarter.

And then, a break: a tentative promise to let me spend the day with Richardson on a coming Nevada trip, and some one-on-one time in New Mexico, in August.

But soon after came word that New Mexico must wait. The governor was traveling too much. (He did manage to pose for a Playboy magazine portrait in New Mexico in August.)

The promised Nevada meeting was to be in Reno on Aug. 22. But it dissolved into an impromptu news conference in a hallway at the Grand Sierra Resort, crowded by a television crew. Richardson hurriedly told me that the Republican-rich rural parts of the state would propel him in Nevada's Jan. 19 caucus es .

He was heading to Fernley, about 30 miles east of Reno, later that day. I pleaded for a ride-along.

McNeil agreed. I could follow Richardson , but only in a campaign "chase car," not riding with the governor. "That's when he does his New Mexico business," McNeil said. "In between events."

I accepted. To get my ride, I was to meet the chase car at the Reno Telemundo station at 5:30 p.m. At 5:20 p.m., I made a left turn into the parking lot and nearly smashed into Richardson's caravan - leaving early for Fernley.

I maneuvered around Richardson's SUV and his caravan zoomed off, leaving me behind. I shouted and waved. I called McNeil. The chase car circled back to pick me up.

"I'm sorry," McNeil said. "We forgot."

We arrived in Fernley an hour early, surely enough time for an interview. But Richardson was nowhere in sight. Neither was McNeil.

I spied Richardson giving interviews to local reporters in another room.

"Is the governor doing one-on-ones?" I asked an aide.

"You'll have to talk to Josh about that," came the answer.

Before I could find him, the event started.

Richardson gave his "I am a Westerner" speech and descended into the crowd, literally shaking every hand. At one point, he put a hand on my shoulder and looked down in what seemed a silent acknowledgment of the game this had become.

"Stop corporate greed," one man shouted.

"We'll do our best," Richardson shot back.

Now there was a plane to catch.

McNeil made an offer: I could walk the governor to his car. I declined.

Still another chance came last week, as Richardson spent a full Saturday in Southern Nevada. I watched Richardson at the Clark County Democratic Central Committee. The speech, as usual, was peppered with cheesy jokes and more than few verbal gaffes.

With that, he disappeared for a few hours before emerging for the opening of his second Las Vegas headquarters. In between, McNeil called with an offer. My interview finally came through - but not on this trip. Next time, he said. Next time.

On Oct. 2, to be precise. McNeil said Richardson will sit for a 25-minute interview and grant a ride-along and access to two private meetings.

I wasn't going to bank on that. I drove 326 miles round-trip that day to see the governor in Pahrump. After a speech, I watched him work the crowd in one of his Herculean hand-shaking drives. He was a hit.

"I think we're in store for a warmer, gentler country with him in the White House," Jim Gallagher, a retired DJ, told me.

"I think this guy has a lot of the solutions."

And maybe time for an interview Oct. 2?