By Christiana Dominguez '01
That CMCers pursue elected office at nearly every level is no surprise, considering the College’s mission to educate future leaders. A walk through Collins Dining Hall any day reveals students intently arguing politics and public policy. And if the life of a politician can at times be grueling, it still holds allure. Explains government professor Jack Pitney, “Politics can be fun. It’s poker, chess, and the World Wrestling Federation all in one.”
Eleven CMCers, from local school board representatives to members of Congress, share their thoughts about running for public office—the challenges and motivations, the risks and the rewards.
Geoffrey Baum ’85, former CMC assistant vice president of marketing
and public relations, and now director of public affairs for USC’s Annenberg
School for Communication, was elected last fall to the Pasadena City College
Board of Trustees. The board guides and manages the two-year community college,
which serves 30,000 students from Pasadena, Calif., and the surrounding foothill
communities, with an annual budget of more than $100 million.
Baum says the experience of working in higher education at CMC and USC helped lead him into his first bid for public office. But even more than the management skills he learned as a college administrator, Baum says, he values the lessons he learned at CMC and from his family that leadership begins with responsibility to the community. “To those whom much is given, much is expected,” he says.
“CMC played a big role in my campaign,” he added. “Support from alumni like Bill Podlich, Bob Lowe, David Mgrublian, and Ray Remy was very encouraging, and along with some kind words from David Dreier, I was able to win 51 percent of the vote in a hotly contested election against three other candidates.”
Is this a jumping-off point for other offices? “Not right now,” says Baum, “but I believe we all share responsibility for our neighbors, our schools, and our communities.
“The best way I can plan for the future is to work hard today on behalf of Pasadena City College.”
Cheuvront says he decided to pursue public office eight years ago because “Arizona did not reflect my views, and I needed to participate.” But even in childhood, he was being primed for public ofice. “In 1972, I can remember being glued to the TV, watching election returns until 2 a.m.,” Cheuvront recalls. “I thought to myself, ‘This is my life!’ I was an armchair political guru by age 11.”
But realizing his guru potential did not come without sacrifice.
“You have to give up a tremendous amount of personal time to be at the forefront of issues,” Cheuvront says. “I lost a relationship of six years because of the time commitments to the job. It’s hard to balance priorities to make time to focus on another person. And there’s a real challenge with privacy.”But sacrifice comes with the life, he says.
“Life without politics,” Cheuvront says, “wouldn’t be as fulfilling.”
“Some days I wonder,” he admits, laughing. “There definitely are days when you come home and think, ‘Wow, I did something great for the state of Arizona.’ But most days you come home frustrated that it’s so hard to make change, and that every day is a battle to do good. When you are arguing bills at 3 a.m., it’s also physically exhausting.”
May, who doubled-majored in psychology and politics, philosophy, and economics (PPE) at CMC, ended up in the legislature because he knew he wasn’t ready for Congress, but he was ready to serve.
Cheuvront says May’s motto should be, “No issue is too controversial to take on.” May first appeared on the public scene in 1999 when, as a young legislator, he fought against the U.S. Army’s policy of mandatory discrimination against gay and lesbian soldiers. Publicly acknowledging his homosexuality (rather than adhering to the Army’s “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy) nearly cost May his commission as an Army Reserve lieutenant because of comments he made during legislative debate in 1999.
“Regardless of the specific position, we all face the same challenges,” May says. “The sheer difficulty of getting anything done is surprising. The American system is designed to maintain status quo.”
May and Cheuvront agree on the pressures facing all candidates. “Who cares about a state legislator?” May wonders aloud. “Well, it turns out that lots of people do. I am surprised how many people listen to what I say. Any offhand comment can result in a flood of calls and letters. There are no secrets at the state capitol.”
“If you want to stay in this game,” he says, “you have to have a big enough ego to believe you are making a difference.”
Campaigning in Big Sky Country can be challenging: “I chose to campaign in a state that spans 186,000 square miles and has as many cattle as people,” says Steve Bullock ’88, who lost his 2000 race for Montana attorney general. “A week’s travel alone was brutal.”
Bullock has seen both sides of the action, thanks to an earlier stint running another candidate’s campaign, and says his biggest surprise in 2000 was the difference between being a manager and being the one managed. “When day after day the product you’re selling is yourself, it is a humbling yet all-consuming affair,” says Bullock.
Bullock, who spent three years as his state’s assistant attorney general, decided to get into the race himself because, he says, “there was still so much work to be done.”
Like his peers, Bullock finds the scales of public service and family frequently dipping to one side. “There is no calculus for figuring out the balance between the desire to serve and the obligations of service,” he says.
Ironically, Bullock says, amid all the frenzy and excitement of a campaign, it can also be lonely. “Still, I can’t tell you how many notes I received saying, ‘I never thought I would give money to a Democrat, but…’ That reminded me that friendships and shared foundations are more important than political labels.”
“I had been teaching the kids not to be afraid to fail, to get involved in what you believe in,” recalls Salinas, seated in his paneled office. “You have to step up and give people the sense that they can believe in a system, and then they will participate.”
And Salinas steps up often. Prior to his first campaign, he was a plaintiff in a case that ended the community’s practice of at-large elections, which he claimed were disadvantageous to minorities. His voter registration efforts increased Latino voters by 1,000, increasing turnout in the district and helping him become the city’s first Hispanic city council member.
Every so often, he says, a cynical inner voice pipes up about public service and its demands, and his mind drifts back to teaching. “There are nights when you drive three hours home and think, ‘What am I doing?’”
Staying realistic helps counteract the doubt. “When you’re able to accomplish something,” Salinas says, “you can make the community better than when you first ran.”
Taylor moved to Duarte, Calif., in 1991, and began attending city council meetings when she noticed that the city, bordered by potentially flammable foothills, permitted the sale of fireworks.
With the support of her spouse, Ernie Silva, Taylor decided to run for the council. The small pool of voters, combined with the nature of the race, led the couple to a pact: campaign expenditures would be minimal. The resulting $150 they invested was so minor it was exempt from all but the simplest campaign finance reporting requirements.
Taylor chose a grassroots campaign approach. Standing in front of the local Target store and going door to door supplanted glossy mailers and yard signs. “We just started showing up places, and in a city that small, people start to notice,” Taylor says. Of course, the occupational hazard is that you’re also more likely to see your opponents at the grocery store, “so it’s best to keep things friendly.”
One hundred votes shy of a win, Taylor went on to become a community services commissioner. Two years into the position, she was approached to run again for the city council. She was concerned about adding the strain of running for office to the rigors of chasing a 2-year-old, but wanted to set a good example for her son, so gave it another chance. Though Taylor fell short of victory, she says the desire to serve remains.
Like Cheuvront, Taylor remembers watching party politics as a child. “The first person I supported was Hubert Humphrey.”
“As long as I am in the building,” says Gonzalez, “they better not get rid of that room.”
Working for then-California Assembly Speaker Curt Pringle, Gonzalez, who is married to alumnus Tony Gonzalez ’85, requested a place to nurse her newborn once she returned to work as Pringle’s policy director.
She first campaigned alongside her husband during Bruce Herschensohn’s 1986 U.S. Senate race. “Tony would come home enthused about policy issues, excited because he loved his job. I wanted a job like that,” says Gonzalez. “So when Curt Pringle had an opening in his two-person Capitol office, I became a legislative aide.”
Like Elenor Taylor, Gonzalez was encouraged to run for office by fellow community members because she was a parent well-versed in public policy. When her 1998 Sacramento County Board of Education campaign was over, she decided she wasn’t the public office type. “Races are so invasive, and so hard on families,” she says.
As chief of staff for Sen. Charles Poochigian (R-Fresno), she has the luxury to affect public policy “in an intense and personal way without losing privacy.
“Balancing the demands of career and family is interesting for me as a conservative, Republican woman,” Gonzalez says, “but this job is flexible.”
Claremont mayor and local attorney Paul Held ’72 enjoys public service. “You have to get something out of it,” he says. “You’re brought up to think it’s important.”
Held spent a dozen years on the local school board after parents approached him to represent their interests. The position required fewer personal sacrifices than other levels of public service, with most commitments scheduled for evenings and the occasional Saturday. But when Held made the transition to city council leader five years ago, the commitment increased, with daily office hours at City Hall and as many as 15 meetings a week.
“It can be a 25-hour-per-week job, with day and evening events—many ceremonial,” he said. The pay is about $400 a month. “You don’t do it for the money,” he says. “You do it because you enjoy it, and because you get a lot out of it.”
Held hasn’t considered moving to a different level of service. “I respect the David Dreiers of the world immensely,” the mayor said. “But I don’t think I could do what he does. I don’t enjoy fund-raising, and wouldn’t care for the constant campaigning.”
Held expresses a joy about holding public office that some officials are more hesitant to express. “I would urge anyone to go for public office, at least local office. It’s enjoyable, and you get a lot of satisfaction.”
For the younger Dreier, the road to political victory was short. A 1975 cum laude graduate, Dreier was working in the College’s development department and living in Phillips Hall when he won his party’s nomination at 25. Although he lost the election, Dreier later upset a three-term Democrat in 1980 to become the youngest congressman in the Western states.
In 1999, Dreier became the first Californian to chair the House Rules Committee, and last year was elected to preside over the state’s Republican congressional delegation. Dreier says he has no interest in state-level government, nor any plans to pursue the United States Senate. “With my seniority, it’s better for California for me to stay in this position than to be a freshman senator,” he says. And while living a public life is admittedly “tough,” Dreier doesn’t describe it as a sacrifice. He enjoys his work, and says leadership satisfies his intrigue with politics and government, and his desire to influence the direction of the nation.
After more than 20 years in Congress, Dreier says his priority now, aside from enthusiastically tackling the public policy issues of the day, is to encourage others toward lives of service. A believer in the Madisonian spirit of representative government, he follows Burke’s philosophy that “your representative owes you not only his industry, but his judgment, as well.”
Mendoza, who served as commissioner of corporations under Gov. Pete Wilson, credits his wife and two teenage sons for making the necessary sacrifices of time and money during his race. Having studied economics at CMC and enrolled at Yale for graduate studies, Mendoza exudes confidence in his abilities and speaks proudly of his public service background under the previous administration. His success arguably helped bridge party lines. “Consumer protection,” Mendoza says, “is not a partisan issue.”
Mendoza views his potential new job as an opportunity to become a leader in his party, and looks forward to involving traditionally underrepresented communities. “I think I can help broaden our base. We need to pull in Latino voters. If we can’t do that, Republicans won’t have a future in this state, they’ll only have a past.”
In December 1999, Zach Courser ’99 and a few friends gathered on a balcony on the west front of the United States Capitol. Sipping cranberry juice and watching the sun set over the Lincoln Memorial, Courser was living large and enjoying his life as systems administrator for J. Dennis Hastert, Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives.
But by the time he’d gotten his feet wet as a staffer in the Capitol, sitting on the sidelines was no longer enough. Courser wanted to be in the game, and a statehouse race, he says, was “one of those times when desire met opportunity,” with a seat opening in his hometown of Vancouver, Wash. So he left his comfortable office with the large desk and credenza, and moved home to run at the ripe old age of 23.
Armed with self-confidence, faith in his abilities, and the support of his family, Courser won an uncontested Republican primary, and squared off against an established, older Democrat in the November 2000 general election. In a district targeted by both parties, the race cost one-third more than the average House race, and the campaigning was intense.
Courser lost the race, but intends to try again. “It was very disappointing,” he admits, “but it makes you that much more desirous of office.”
And while his age might have presented the biggest challenge in the campaign, he says it also helped him bypass the hurdles often faced by more traditional candidates. “One of the reasons I was so eager to run was because it was a unique time, and I could devote all my energy to the race,” Courser says. “It was a challenge that I hope to mount again some day. I don’t regret running so young because it gave me invaluable experience.”
CMC government professor John J. Pitney Jr., author of The Art of Political Warfare, says many factors prompt candidates to leap into the fray. First, he says, candidates must think they can win. Then there’s the fun factor. “In CMC courses, you learn that politics can be fun. People get involved because it’s a clash of ideas, and if you love to watch and work with vivid, strong, or eccentric characters, there is no better calling than politics.
“And then there’s patriotism,” Pitney says. “Behind all the maneuvering is the real reason for seeking office, which is the serious business of serving the country.”
Elizabeth Spalding, director of CMC’s Washington Program, has seen firsthand the sincerity CMC Washington interns bring to their various public policy roles.
“Last fall, despite—or in some respects, because of—the terrorist attacks and the war on terrorism, five or six of the program students said they intended to run for political office in the future. There seemed to be a new commitment to public service,” she says.
The Washington Program, now entering its 31st year, frequently draws students to the nation’s capital over studying abroad because they know it will deepen their understanding of government and the political process.
“They know in advance that they will leave here fulfilled, but also exhausted, after an unforgettable experience,” Spalding said. “Congressman Dreier is CMC’s most prominent example of the connection between doing the Washington Program and serving in office, ” she says, emphasizing the close ties between a public service-based education and the desire to serve the public even after graduation.
Many CMCers fall asleep at night designing their mailers, counting lawn signs, and seeing precinct maps. Somewhere in Claremont, a sophomore is charting her life, wondering how to balance parenting and candidacy.
One alumnus paused recently to wonder whether a race might be in the cards. Will redistricting and demographic changes make the seat easier or more difficult to attain? Idealism is a motivator, but the restrictions of a part-time legislature cause hesitation.
Drawing on his inner resolve, he said, “If those of us who do believe in the system don’t work within it, then the system will cease to work.”For CMCers, that seems to be the best motivation of all.