Out of nowhere, "The Body' Ventura puts politics-as-usual in a headlock with a victory as Minnesota governor. The voters' message to Washington? If you act like pro wrestlers, we'll give you pro wrestlers.
IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE HE LAST DONNED TIE-DYE AND A feathered boa and stepped into the wrestling ring, but last week Jesse (The Body) Ventura was again the Main Event. Camera crews camped outside his 32-acre ranch, held off by state troopers assigned to guard Minnesota's new governor. Hundreds of calls and letters went unanswered; Arnold Schwarzenegger was among those who sent flowers. (""Did I die?'' Ventura exclaimed when he saw all the roses.) Governor Body himself was in the barn, braving the 30-degree temperature for a photo shoot. He refused to wear wrestling tights, insisting instead on a size-50 pinstriped jacket more becoming a chief executive. ""I'll do some fun things, but I don't want to cheapen the office,'' Ventura said. ""I'm not about to turn it into some dog-and-pony show.'' In that spirit, he said he had reconsidered an earlier plan to rappel from the capitol dome on a rope. Asked how he wants to be addressed, Ventura's blue eyes blazed. ""Governor!'' he said, puffing on a cigar. ""I like it!''
Minnesotans seem to like it, too. Politics has never been staid in the land of Humphrey and Mondale, but Ventura's unexpected victory blew through Minnesota like an early blizzard, devastating the political landscape. In a season when voters everywhere seemed weary of politics-as-usual, the wrestler turned radio personality became the ultimate symbol of revolt. The message that registered back in Washington: if you're going to act like a bunch of pro wrestlers, we're going to give you pro wrestlers. In beating St. Paul Mayor Norm Coleman and Attorney General Hubert H. Humphrey III, Jesse Ventura drew legions of disaffected and young voters who took up his battle cry: ""Retaliate in '98!'' Now everyone is wondering what life will be like under a governor who casually refers to the good old days with Mr. T and Cyndi Lauper. ""Can you imagine him going to Japan to talk about free trade? He'll scare somebody to death,'' says a local radio host known as Dark Star. ""The question is, is he going to meet people in the middle, or is he going to hit them over the head with a chair?''
Behind the jokes there was real trepidation. Minnesota isn't a wrestling match; it's the 20th largest state in the country, with a $23 billion budget. ""We've elected a governor that people in this state do not know,'' says Roger Moe, the Senate majority leader. What they do know is that Ventura is one of them. He jet-skis and coaches high-school football for fun. He listens to Led Zeppelin and Jonny Lang. His favorite movie is ""Jaws.'' (""Shark bad fish . . . swallow you whole,'' he recites in his best Robert Shaw.) True, he's rich and drives a Porsche, but he still sounds working class, especially when he mauls the English language. Consider this Jesseism: ""My brain is operating at such a level that I don't want to put my foot in it.''
Born James Janos in blue-collar Minneapolis in 1951, Ventura joined the Navy after high school and was trained as a SEAL. Ventura refuses to disclose anything about his missions but says he's a Vietnam veteran. One of his commanding officers in the SEALs says Ventura spent some time in Subic Bay in the Philippines, which was a sort of Wild West. That's where the wiry Ventura, a barroom brawler who didn't like to shower or shave, began pumping up with weights. Honorably discharged in 1973, he rode with a motorcycle club in California, spent a semester at community college and rented out his tree-size arms for security. He did a stint as a bodyguard for the Rolling Stones.
One day in the mid-'70s the soon-to-be Body wandered into the Seventh Avenue Gym in Minneapolis and told the trainer, Eddie Sharky, that he wanted to be a wrestler. Why? ""Why does anybody do it?'' says Sharky. ""They need the money. And it helps to be half-crazy.'' Back then pro wrestling wasn't yet the blockbuster, pay-per-view-driven business it became in the late 1980s, but you could still make a few bucks on tour. Coaches taught body slams and chokeholds in small Midwestern gyms; it was--and is--largely faked and choreographed, though you still take the blows. The goal: to put on a realistic show without too much real bloodshed.
He learned quickly. Ventura picked his new last name from a map (he chose ""Jesse'' because he liked it) and went West. He and his partner, Adrian Adonis, ultimately won the tag-team championship and sold out arenas like Madison Square Garden. He played the villain--a ""heel'' who faced off against more heroic ""baby faces''--and while others were more graceful with the flying head scissors and pile drivers, Ventura was a master showman. ""As a wrestler, he was outlandish, outspoken and off the wall,'' says ""Mean Gene'' Okerlund, wrestling's most famous announcer. Away from the spotlight, though, Ventura was a family man whose wild days were behind him. After matches he would retire to his room to watch movies and call his wife, Terry, while the other guys hit the bars.
Ventura developed a caustic rivalry with Hulk Hogan, whom Ventura accuses of stealing his moves. (Hogan says Ventura's just jealous: ""Jesse's greatest move was to choke people, poke them in the eyes and then run for his life.'') Political by nature, Ventura tried to form a wrestlers union but got nowhere. Later he sued the World Wrestling Federation for video royalties and was awarded $800,000.
It all came to a crushing end in 1984, on the eve of a title match with Hogan in Los Angeles, when Ventura developed a pulmonary embolism. Doctors told him his career was over. But life wasn't, so the agile Jesse Ventura transformed himself yet again, this time into an actor. In his finest hour on film, he teamed up with Schwarzenegger in ""Predator.'' His credits also include TV's ""The X-Files,'' where he wore a black coat and tried to look sinister.
Ventura got his first shot at politics in 1990, when he ran for mayor of Brooklyn Park--population: 60,000--to pro-test the destruction of a treasured wetland. He says the biggest achievement of his four-year term was a drop in crime; just seeing Jesse Ventura walk down Main Street, apparently, is enough to make a city safer. He spent most of his time bickering with the city council.
Next he entered the world of talk radio, where he picked at the same themes again and again: taxes should be lower, marijuana should be legal, JFK's real killers should be caught. Last year, though, he began harping on a new issue: the $4 billion state budget surplus, which he thought should be returned to the voters. Recruited by the local chapter of Ross Perot's Reform Party, an outraged Citizen Ventura arrived at the capitol on an icy January day to announce he was running for governor. Hardly anyone noticed.
For all his comic value, Ventura ran the kind of campaign that other so-called reformers only talk about. He raised cash by selling 6,000 T shirts at $22 a pop. Ventura didn't conduct a single poll or run up a penny of debt. His platform was mostly libertarian--lower taxes, less government--but he relished pointing out that he was the only candidate with a union card. (Never mind that it's for the Screen Actors Guild--not exactly the Teamsters.) He chose as his running mate Mae Schunk, a motherly grammar-school teacher for 36 years.
College students told Ventura they were voting for him because he was ""cool.'' It was the ultimate compliment. ""I am cool,'' he says. ""Mentally, I'm still 21 or 22 in a lot of ways.'' His one concession to slick campaigning: TV ads. They aired in the campaign's final weeks and tried to show just how cool he was. One, featuring music from ""Shaft,'' showed children playing with a Jesse Ventura action figure, who does battle with ""Evil Special Interest Man.'' The doll, which will soon be a household item in Minnesota, was patched together with the body of Batman and the head of World War II Gen. Omar Bradley. (Yes, Omar Bradley has a doll.) The campaign went to dozens of banks before it found one that would lend Ventura the money for the air time.
In the final tally, Ventura's election numbers were staggering--not just for the amount of votes he received but for who cast them. Ventura carried every age group under 60 and every income level under $100,000, according to exit polls. In Anoka County, a blue-collar community outside the Twin Cities, clerks were astounded to see twentysomethings lined up outside polling places, many voting for the first time. ""I voted for Jesse because he was the most honest,'' said 24-year-old Amanda Larson, who heard about him on a classic-rock station. ""If he doesn't know something, he says he doesn't know.'' The rebellious-youth vote was much in evidence at Ventura's victory party at a racetrack, where backers danced in a mosh pit and chanted ""Packers suck!'' for no apparent reason. Ventura told the crowd that a lot of people would now be eating crow. It seems some of his followers took him a little too literally; one of his radio rivals arrived at the studio to find a dead crow on ice.
The upset probably couldn't have happened in most states. For one thing, Minnesota is generous with matching funds for alternative parties. And it allows same-day registration, enabling thousands of students to show up and vote on a whim. Still, insiders found themselves in awe of what Ventura had done. Now they want to know: how will Jesse Ventura govern? Just about everyone agrees that he's decent and quick. ""He's got a lot of street smarts,'' says Jennifer Waters, who was once Ventura's on-air sidekick. ""But he's a lazy reader. He's just not disciplined.'' Business leaders are jittery but hopeful. ""He's captured people's imaginations,'' says Marilyn Nelson, CEO of the $820 billion Carlson Cos. ""If he can use the same skills to mobilize the people of Minnesota, how lucky can we get?''
Ventura isn't planning to lose his common touch. He wants to keep coaching football, and he may do a daily radio show entitled ""Lunch With the Governor.'' He and Terry won't leave their ranch for the governor's mansion, although they may use it for parties. ""I really want to make a good impression,'' Terry Ventura says. What impression Jesse Ventura's victory leaves on the rest of the nation remains to be seen. It's already inspired at least one other candidate: Hulk Hogan now says he'll run for president. ""If Jesse can do that, imagine what the Big Kahuna can do,'' Hogan huffs. Let's all get ready to rumble.
FROM PILE DRIVER TO POL: THE JESSE VENTURA FILESIt's been a strange journey for 47-year-old James Janos, now known as Governor Ventura. NEWSWEEK created a resume for him out of his disparate life experiences. A look at Minnesota's chief executive:
JESSE (THE BODY VENTURA)
(a.k.a. James George Janos)
Birth date: July 15, 1951
Birthplace: Minneapolis, Minn.
Current residence: Maple Grove, Minn.
Family: Married Terry in 1975; teenage son and daughter
Education:
1969 graduate of Roosevelt High School,
Minneapolis, where he was captain of the
swimming team and played football; attended
North Hennepin Community College for one year.
Military service:
Six years in Navy; Vietnam veteran; SEAL,
member, Underwater Demolition Team 12. Made 134
parachute jumps, scuba dived to a depth of 212
ft. Honorably discharged, 1973.
Professional experience:
Competed in Japan with the American Wrestling
Association. Won World Heavyweight Tag-Team
Champion title with the AWA. Retired from
wrestling in 1984 with a pulmonary embolism.
Refereed the World Wrestling Federation's Summer
Slam 1988 tag-team match between Hulk Hogan and
Randy Savage and Andre the Giant and Ted
DiBiase. Worked as a TV commentator for the WWF.
Later worked as a talk-show host at KSTP-AM and
KFAN-AM.
Movie roles:
In the 1987 film "Predator," played Sergeant
Blain, a mercenary soldier, with Arnold
Schwarzenegger. Again with Schwarzenegger,
portrayed Captain Freedom in the 1987 film "The
running Man."
Political experience:
1990, elected mayor of Brooklyn Park, Minn., in
a landslide. Served a four-year term.
Community involvement:
Member, Make-A-Wish Foundation of Minnesota
Board of Advisers; volunteer high-school
football coach; vested member, Screen actors
Guild, American Federation of Television and
Radio Announcers.
Vanity license plate:
UDTSEAL (Underwater Demolition Team SEAL) with a
frame that says "Mess with the best, die with
the rest."
'I'M NOT SOME DUMB WRESTLER'
THE GOVERNOR-ELECT SPEAKS CANDIDLY ABOUT WRESTLING, HIS APPEAL AND HOW HE WANTS TO BODY-SLAM THE STATUS QUO
IN AN INTERVIEW WITH NEWSWEEK, Jesse Ventura spoke out in Body Language:
On his family and the election
I knew it would affect them, but didn't realize how overwhelmingly it would affect them. Now my kids have bodyguards. I guess they need them. But I used to be the one providing the security, not needing it. A guy my size goes wherever he wants.
On wrestling
I haven't wrestled in 12 years. And anyway I'm not some big, dumb wrestler. I know wrestlers who pay more in taxes than most people make. How can they be dumb? Wrestling is ballet with violence. They don't call Nureyev dumb.
On the youth vote
In June I was at the University of Minnesota, and all these kids said, ""We're voting for you.'' And so I asked them, ""Why are you voting for me?'' And the leader of the kids said, "" 'Cause you're cool.'' And I thought, ""Well, good enough. I'll take that.'' I am cool. My kids will tell you that I'm a really cool dad. Mentally, I'm still 21 or 22 in a lot of ways.
On his qualifications
Go to the secretary of State's office. It says: live in the state for a year and be over 25. That's it. I think that's what the Founding Fathers wanted.
On the election
I wouldn't allow myself to think I would win, because the letdown would have been too great . . . it's a case of the politicians' being a bit pompous and arrogant and underestimating the voters. Minnesotans know Minnesotans. You can't take lessons to talk Fargo.
On dignity
I'll do some fun things, but I don't want to cheapen the office. It's a very dignified honor. I'm not about to turn it into some dog-and-pony show. I'm an honorable person.
On governing
I can bring the parties together. I don't care where the bill comes from. It won't matter. If it's good for Minnesota, I'll sign it, and if not, I'll veto . . . As I tell people, there are more Minnesotans than Republicans or Democrats.
On the Lewinsky scandal
Look at Washington. Our country is frozen for over nine months over that? We've got major crises in the world, instability everywhere, nuclear bombs being test-blasted in places, and this whole sordid scandal is what people are spending their time on.
On the Inaugural ball
I might have a private one for the fat cats, and then I'm thinking of having one that's open to everybody. They were the ones that paid for me. I think it would be fun.
ELECTION RESULTS '98: A POLITICAL WEATHER MAPAs the voters reminded Washington, you don't need a pollster to know which way the wind blows. A fat and happy electorate didn't vote to condemn Clinton or absolve him, but they did express themselves on a wide range of other issues:
Lightning strikes in Minnesota: Reform Party gubernatorial candidate Jesse Ventura stuns the political establishment
Clinton supporters weather the storm: Outspoken Sens. Patty Murray (WA) and Barbara Boxer (CA) survive
Initiatives rain on sportsmen's parades: Say goodbye to cock-fighting (AZ, MO), trapping (CA)--and horsemeat sales (CA)
Multiculti turnout creates a high-pressure system: Minority voters proved crucial, especially for Govs. Gray Davis (CA) and George W. Bush (TX)
Low-key Republican low-pressure system holds steady:. Moderate, tough-love governors like Engler (MI), Voinovich (OH) and Thompson (WI) realized they could win more votes by soothing than by scolding
Reaganites get the deep freeze: Two of the last standardbearers of the other GOP revolution went down, as Senators D'Amato (NY) and Faircloth (NC) lost ground among the suburban Catholics and Evangelicals who originally swept them to power
Pro-gambling forces blow opponents away. In both South Carolina and Alabama, pious Christian Coalition-type candidates were trounced by more liberal opponents who said, 'Let the good times roll'
Gay marriage goes down in flames: Voters soundly rejected same-sex partnerships in Alaska and Hawaii
"Bush brothers sunny skies: 'Compassionate conservatism' scores big for Poppy's sons in Texas and Florida
PROPOSITIONS
Voters seemed particularly expansive when it came to ballot initiatives. One theme: sin wins.
Gambling: Riverboat gambling was approved in MO; CA voters OK'd more tribal casinos
Medical marijuana: AK, AZ, NV, OR and WA said sick folks could toke
Abortion: Prohibitions of late-term procedures failed in CO and WA
Other: Go, Broncos! A stadium referendum passed in Denver. And everyone's fave: topless mowing OK'd in ME. Brrr.
GREGORY L. VISTICA