As the big moment arrived, Penny, dressed in his standard-issue suit, waited nervously outside his new protege’s hotel room. He was amazed when Ventura emerged in a size 52 fringed buckskin jacket and pointed snakeskin boots, striding purposefully toward the elevator as if Hulk Hogan were waiting inside. “I see you decided not to change,” Penny said cautiously. “No,” Ventura winked, “I just decided to give ’em what they want.”
Nobody understands Jesse Ventura’s appeal better than The Body himself: he is who he is, and even when he’s wrong, at least he’s real. A year ago, Ventura was a sideshow freak at the political carnival; now he’s beginning to look like the ringmaster. His book is a bestseller. His action figure is hot. A Broadway musical on his life is in the works. And if you want to run for president–and your name isn’t Al, Bill or George–Jesse is The Man To See. Donald Trump calls him regularly. Pat Buchanan has been trying to get a meeting–but hey, the schedule’s tight. Ventura himself could yet be drafted to run, a prospect that terrifies the major parties.
But even blunt talk has its limits, and Ventura appears bent on finding them. The latest example is his explosive interview in the November issue of Playboy, where he shared his views on religion–namely, that it shouldn’t exist. “Organized religion is a sham and a crutch for weak-minded people who need strength in numbers,” Ventura said. He claimed he had been quoted out of context by newspapers, and in fact he had a small point; a caveat at the end of his diatribe seemed to imply that he was talking at least partly about the “religious right.” Even so, Reform’s outgoing chairman quickly called on Ventura to resign from the party. And at a time when Jesse is muscling his way into presidential politics, even some of his advisers had to wonder: is candor in itself a political platform? Or will voters get tired of hearing views, however honest, that seem a little unhinged? “It can get in the way of your larger goals, and I think that’s something the governor is sorting out,” says Penny, who remains an unofficial adviser. “This was not a pleasant experience.”
It wasn’t exactly unfamiliar, either. It’s one of those funny paradoxes about Ventura: when he’s on the phone or in public, he’s often guarded. But put a tape recorder in front of him in a relaxed setting, and it’s almost like a form of therapy. Prostitution should be legal, he told Playboy. So should drugs. People who kill themselves are just weak. So are fat people. (Here he was referring to the former wife of his predecessor.) “It’s good to be the king.” And on and on.
And yet, as is typical with Ventura, his antics overshadowed the interview’s more courageous observations, which are the essence of his maverick political appeal. A former Navy Seal, Ventura articulately decried the draft as discriminatory and said he’d be glad to fight next to a gay man. He criticized politicians for making promises about crime. (“Half these guys wouldn’t know crime if it bit them on the ass.”) And in a playful comment that surely caught the attention of political operatives, he hinted that if he were to get in the presidential ring, he’d wait until next summer, when the other candidates were old news. In fact, Ventura implied the same thing in a recent interview with NEWSWEEK. “By next year, people are going to be sick of [the candidates] because they’ve been shoved down their throats for so long,” he said, riding in the back seat of his Lincoln Navigator. “I could be very influential in it. I’d stand a very good chance.”
By now, Minnesotans have grown used to Ventura’s odd mix of lucidity and volatility. “We realize that Governor Ventura is undergoing a learning process during his first term in office,” the Catholic Archdiocese said, charitably, in a statement responding to his comments on religion. (Ventura himself predicted that religious groups would forgive him, since, after all, that’s what they do.) “People are going to be very forgiving of him,” says Tim Pawlenty, the Minnesota House majority leader. “They love the show. It’s the fusion of politics, entertainment and news. We all enable each other.” In fact, Ventura’s in-state approval rating topped 70 percent in one recent poll. But his popularity also stems from his first-year record, which even Pawlenty admits deserves at least a B-plus. Making good on his chief campaign promise, Ventura oversaw what aides call the largest state tax rebate in American history. He raised education spending to reduce class sizes, and cut taxes. High on the list of his soon-to-be-announced goals: an overhaul of the property tax and his personal quest to create a single-chamber Legislature, a nervy reform aimed at reducing government gridlock. The first he’s likely to get; the second will solidify his credentials as a true reformer, if nothing else.
It’s tempting to dismiss Ventura’s rookie success as a sign of the times. After all, with unemployment at a record low and revenues surging, Stone Cold Steve Austin could probably govern, too. But in fact, by all accounts, Ventura is an effective leader. Some deeply loyal aides compare him to Ronald Reagan. He doesn’t take charge of the details, but he knows what he believes–generally he’s socially liberal and fiscally conservative–and his veteran, nonpartisan staff is adept at getting things done. “Respectable” pols who meet him for the first time invariably come away impressed. “You can’t help but like him,” says former Connecticut governor Lowell Weicker, who’s hardly known for liking everyone he meets. Ventura’s sharpest asset is a quick sense of humor that often disarms opponents before they become enemies. After the last legislative session, he vetoed some 40 bills with a pig-shaped stamp to drive home his point about budgetary pork.
But where Reagan was carefully scripted, Ventura is king of the ad-libbers. It is never dull–but often ugly. Like the time he asked single mothers just who told them to go have kids. Or the moment, after the Columbine shooting, when he suggested more people should carry concealed weapons in schools. (He took that one back.) Ventura can be terribly thin-skinned; he recently declared war on the St. Paul Pioneer Press and canceled his subscription because it criticized his decision to referee a wrestling match.
A lot of Ventura’s controversies seem to stem from his own entrepreneurial ways. Local reports have estimated his outside earnings this year at more than $2 million. He goes after anyone who tries to use his face for profit, including a State House secretary who tried to market Valentine’s Day cards with his picture on them. And he’s been peevish about the state appearances and other duties that his wife, Terry, takes on for free. But then, for calming the frenetic governor, perhaps she should get paid. “She’s probably the only person who can get through to him sometimes,” says Bill Hillsman, a political adviser.
Naturally, it’s this less flattering side of Ventura that gets the most play on the national stage, which is why the Playboy flap could not have come at a worse time. Ventura and his advisers in the Reform Party are trying to seize control from Ross Perot, and possibly Buchanan, too. Writing off the Christian vote was never part of the plan. “Ventura’s important,” says Tom D’Amore, a political consultant allied with Ventura’s camp. “But he’ll become less important if he fritters away his capital and good will on this trivial stuff.”
Ventura is an unlikely–and often distracted–kingmaker. In truth, he’s fronting for a crowd of longtime and serious-minded independents. Ever since former Colorado governor Dick Lamm lost his bid to take the Reform nomination from Perot in 1996, the centrists who backed him have been bent on reforming the Reform Party. Now Ventura is their standard bearer. So far, at least, he’s avoided taking the initiative, but he’s willing to help wherever he can. It’s hard to gauge what Reform’s scattered membership made of the Playboy incident, and it seemed unlikely that Ventura would lose his sudden and formidable clout within the party. But it surely didn’t help his cause. “The governor speaks for himself and not for the Reform Party,” said Jack Gargan, the incoming chairman, who was backed by Ventura.
But even if he remains strong within the party, Ventura’s standing with mainstream voters is another matter. Privately, aides say they truly doubt he’d consider a presidential run in 2000. And that may be a good thing. Before the Playboy blowup, Ventura seemed on the verge of respectability with establishment types who once dismissed him. Now, when he meets with the Harvard faculty this week, he might as well show up in his feather boa. But in these weird political times, it would be a mistake to underestimate Ventura’s personal appeal–or the power of candor. “I tell him, ‘Governor, don’t change. Don’t morph into a politician’,” says Dean Barkely, a key adviser. " ‘Just keep being who you are’." It’s pretty safe advice. For better or worse, that’s all Jesse can be. ^
