Campaigning for governor is just a little different from trying to win a bodybuilding title. In the political arena you’ve got to keep your clothes on (most of the time), flex your brain, define your positions and share your ideas with all kinds of people, many of whom might vehemently disagree. Knowing all this, Arnold has poured himself into a brand new mold.
"He’s quite a chameleon," observed one of the King’s colleagues, "and he loves a challenge." He’s traded in his Eddie Bauer clothes for designer suits with loose sleeves and soft-colored ties, and he’s lightened his hair to a less menacing shade of walnut brown. His Humvee ‘s been replaced by a series of hired SUV’s with non-vanity license plates. Gone, too, are his beloved cigars; there’ll be no smoking during this campaign, not in public anyway. To my delight, however, his "pimp ring", the big blue one, is still on his right hand.
Now that he looks like a governor, people are demanding to know his position on things like illegal aliens, gay marriage, workman’s compensation and exactly how he intends to keep businesses from fleeing the Golden State for cheaper places to operate.
To answer them, Arnold had his first press conference, something he called an "Economic Summit", held at the Westin Hotel near LAX. Making the press wait weeks to meet him worked like a charm: When I finally got through security, I thought I’d walked into JFK’s Inaugaral Ball. It seemed like everyone who’d ever been issued a press credential was there, crushing into the lobby--including big guns from CNN, NBC, FOX and E! --4-people thick, all the way to the Grand Ballroom.
I squeezed into the center of the second row and sat near reporters from the L.A. Times, The Orange County Register and Market Watch, all of whom tried to interview me because I actually knew Arnold. "Is he always this late," someone asked, noting he was due almost an hour ago.
Arnold entered the room to no applause and stood at the podium between an expressionless Warren Buffett ("the second wealthiest man in the world", according to reporter Eric Slater at the L.A. Times)) and former Secretary of State George Shultz, a sight which one observer equated to "visiting a Wax Museum". Throughout his speech, which was amusing and expertly presented although still too vague when it came to policy issues—The King appeared in complete control. No problem was too large nor too complex for him to solve. He built up his body, he said, and with it, the fitness industry; and he’s stimulated profits for many movies and businesses. He’ll do the same for California, he said. After his speech, Arnold took some questions from the media, and was so fast and smooth with his answers, I began to wonder if the whole thing had been staged. Regardless, it made for spectacular theatre.
After reassuring the press that they’d be seeing more of him—"I’ll be around," he promised—Arnold, together with Warren and George, dashed out a side door. Moments later, he emerged from the back of the hotel and entered the front passenger seat of a waiting SUV. Driving past several reporters from his home town in Austria, he rolled down his window and joyfully shouted something to them in German. "I got my money shot", said a satisfied cameraman. "It’s going on a cover in Europe."
An hour later, Arnold took off his jacket and tie and had lunch in a quiet restaurant in Santa Monica. With him at a large round table were his two young sons, Patrick and Christopher, their caretakers and his most trusted advisors, many of them borrowed from either former Governor Pete Wilson, his chief campaign advisor, or former mayor of L.A. Richard Riordan, his political mentor. Safely tucked behind a curtain with a security guard standing by, Arnold gulped a glass of water with lemon (no ice) before tearing into a poached salmon salad. When his kids were done eating, he wiped their mouths clean with a cloth napkin and sent them off. At last, with them gone and no press in sight, Arnold could do what he wanted to do all morning—he lit up a big fat Montecristo and sucked away.
I sat two tables away watching him indulge in a habit he hasn’t been able to break despite doctors orders. To his credit, he tried to be discreet and kept the cigar low, hoping I wouldn’t notice. For a moment, Arnold looked like a schoolgirl sneaking a cigarette.
So.... I guess those "No-Smoking" in restaurant Laws don't apply to 'King Arnold', huh?
Here's a continuation of the journal (same website)
Monday, August 18, 2003
Suddenly, Bustamante is in the lead. He pulled ahead over the weekend when the news broke that Arnold’s man, Warren Buffett, suggested raising property taxes in California. Like his good friend the cyclist Lance Armstrong will tell you, Arnold performs best under pressure. So this news won’t shake his cage; if anything, it’ll serve to tighten his focus and refine his strategy. Arnold’s first commercial campaign spots are scheduled to appear tomorrow, mostly around news shows and Law & Order. He’s also planning his first "Economic Summit" followed by a press conference tomorrow morning, the first one that I know of. Also, radio shock jock, Howard Stern is looking forward to an on-air chat with him on Thursday morning. And, if that doesn’t put him in the lead again, The King will consider a guest appearance on Oprah!
Friday, August 15, 2003
At this very moment, President George W. Bush is standing in a public park near my home in Westlake Village, California. Questions regarding the recall are not appreciated; the President has already said jokingly that Arnold can lift more weight than him, and, more seriously, that there are other Republican candidates to consider. Although Arnold chaired the President’s Council on Physical Fitness for Bush’s father, I doubt he will do Arnold any favors on this trip. Perhaps he suspects that Arnold might want to return to 1600 Pennsylvannia Avenue. Maybe Bush read the following passage from the book Bodybuilders, Drugs and Sex by Tom Minichiello, who fictionalizes the life of a European bodybuilder who’s motivated to make history:
"He knew he could do it. He would do it. …start immediately on a course
of action to overturn and rewrite Article II of the Constitution of the United
States, which states that to qualify for the United States Presidency, one
must be a natural born citizen…that would be absolutely fantastic."
If the vote were taken today, according to a field poll, Arnold would win with at least 40% of the vote, mostly on name recognition. But Bush is well aware that Arnold’s campaign has eclipsed his own campaign.
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
I’m in Santa Monica again. This time in a church, staring at a coffin that holds the body of Gregory Hines--the tap dancer who died last week after a year-long battle with pancreatic cancer. Gregory came to a couple my parties in Venice—uninvited actually--and, during one of them, taught me a little soft shoe in the kitchen. For the latter reason, I’ve come to pay my respects. In the pew ahead of me sits his protégé, Savion Glover, who’s gripped with grief; his dreadlocks bobbing as he sobs; the small features on his face twist first to the left, then to the right. At the end of the ceremony, a young man in a business suit gets up and taps his way toward the coffin. Soon, other mourners join him in a tap tribute that has everyone in their seats clapping and stomping their feet. But Savion’s feet remain stil; his head stays down, and tears are falling on his shoes.
Between hymms, I search the crowd for Arnold. TV fitness star Rick Valente is standing behind me, in sunglasses, singing. But no Arnold.
After the ceremony, I greet Penny Marshall who directed me in Jumpin’ Jack Flash. She introduces me to her escort, actor Lawrence Fishburne. Their eyes are very red. Everyone’s are, mine included.
I leave the church for a dinner meeting at "Schatzi", a restaurant in a building owned by Arnold. The waitress tells me that Arnold still eats wienershnitzel for lunch. "Wiernershnitzel with loganberry sauce and a side of potatoes", to be exact. We’re interupted by a conflict in the men’s bathroom: a 3-man Japanese camera crew is so busy filming the walls which feature pictures of Arnold kicking a soccer ball, the bathroom can’t be used for its intended purpose…much to the dismay of at least one embarrassed dinner guest.
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
To know Arnold is to know his PR people which, as you might expect, he goes through like Wolfgang Puck does toothpicks. Usually, they’re women with names like "Charlotte", "Katherine" and, most recently, "Jennifer". In the "Arnold for Governor" campaign headquarters, however, gender ratios are different; at least in the media room, young men are in charge. Sean Walsh, his brother, Jay, and Rob Stutzman meet the press. (Rob Stutzman greets me warmly. "You’re getting the same stuff we gave to 60 Minutes," he assures me. Meanwhile, Jay Walsh lets me know not to take Arnold’s distance personally; he just hasn’t scheduled any press meetings, yet. ) Guarding the main entrance to the office is a man who’s almost as big as Arnold; his name is John Thigpin and he knows how to break your neck 20 different ways. During a campaign like this, spies abound, and the worst fear at the "Arnold for Governor" office is the competion sneaking in; say, someone offering to lick stamps and make cold calls, and when no one’s looking, steal the King’s plans. So these guys are just doing their job when they tell me that "it’s going to be "real tough" to give me a tour of the campaign headquarters. I watch as several large mattresses are carried into the building, an unmarked brick structure near Santa Monica Beach, in which Oliver Stone and Johnny Carson also have offices. Obviously, someone’s going to be doing a lot of sleeping in there. Could it be Arnold himself?
A press release from "Arnold for Governor" indicates that Warren Buffett, the founder of Berkshire- Hathaway, a group that owns a whole bunch of immensely profitable companies including See’s Candies, has agreed to act as Arnold’s senior economic adviser. This makes sense; Arnold loves chocolate. Add former U.S. Defense Secretary George Schultz and glamorous actor Rob Lowe, and Arnold’s ready to fight.
Monday, August 11, 2003
Arnold’s gone. He flew to New York to promote The Inner City Games in Harlem, a charity he’s been supporting for many years, along with The Special Olympics. If he thought he’d get a reprieve from the press here, he was wrong; the press in NYC act like cockroaches on a Danish. But maybe he didn’t want a reprieve. He calmly announces his boundaries to them, refusing to discuss anything but the need to make sports available in every neighborhood. Ignoring Arnold’s restrictions, a man with a microphone shoves up to ask if he thinks it’s "appropriate" for him to be running for governor without a plan in place. When Arnold bluntly dismisses the question—saying something to the effect of "I don’t want to answer that right now"—his response gets national attention. "Do you think he might actually take a swing at one of these reporters?" asks a talk show host, hopefully.
Later in the day, Arnold humbled himself and forgave himself his trespasses. He said that the pot smoking witnessed in documentary "Pumping Iron" and his past steroid use were evidence that he’s "only human".
Like others, I’m curious about other low-down dirty laundry that Arnold supposedly owns, the mud that’s scheduled to be slung at him. Plenty of anecdotes are in circulation, of course, as everyone’s got an Arnold story to tell. Usually, such stories describe some gross insensitivity. I put a call to a man who describes himself as Arnold’s "worst enemy", who, just a month ago, vowed to stop Arnold in his tracks should he decide to run for office. So where’s the dirt, pal? Turns out, he was bluffing. Seems he just liked my company.
Listen, if anyone has any dirt, it should be me. I was one of the only female guests invited to attend the King’s bachelor party. I don’t like parties, but I went to this one because the host promised it would be a bunch of guys having a private meal and some laughs at an Italian restaurant. Trust me, the event was so tame—it could’ve been a baby shower.
Thursday, August 7, 2003
Arnold’s worst flaw is his lust for attention; without constant attention, he’d probably shrivel up and die. Why, he can’t even train without chatting with others in the gym! "You don’t pay enough attention to me," he said to me one day out of the blue, a few years ago. (Had I known, I would’ve cut my conversation with Magic Johnson much shorter.) Once, when we were both in Rome working in films, he insisted I meet him at an outdoor café. By the time I got there, a flash mob had assembled, with Arnold in the eye of it. Drinks were on the house, and when he left--after everyone had gotten him to sign a napkin--he often walked out backwards, waving to those still seated, milking the moment.
Because we sense he needs us—whether it’s to tell him how good he looks in a Speedo, how terrific he was in Terminator 3, or what a lovely governor he’s going to make—we’re attracted to him. His need reflects our own, and that makes him irresistible.
This morning, Arnold went to the County Registrar’s office to submit the 65 signatures and $3500 that will put his name on the ballot. If he seemed too casually dressed last night with Jay Leno (for whom he wore a black jacket, white shirt and a ring the size of a piece of sushi that some say made him look like a pimp), here, he looks every bit the statesman, even wearing a can’t-miss red tie. For him, this is a sure sign of surrender to traditional respectability.
The documents filed, the candidate stepped out into the 100-degree heat and greeted a thousand well-wishers who gathered to watch him pump hands. I think about the germs out there and the effect all this hand-shaking might have on his newly repaired shoulder, a surgery he confided was the most painful he’s ever endured. By the time he’s finished this "outdoor work", he looks parched and his face is a deep bronze.
Now all The King needs is votes—as few as15% could cinch the governorship for him. Assuming that more than half of the ballots read "yes" on the recall, and his name recognition holds strong on Octorber 7, he will win this contest, too.
Wednesday, August 6, 2003
Nobody goes on The Tonight Show to say they’re not going to run for governor. So I wasn’t surprised when Arnold--on Hiroshima Day—dropped a bomb of his own: he was going to run after all. Although he’s been talking about running for governor since 1991, Arnold kept his intentions to enter the controversial recall election to himself. Not even his top advisors knew what he’d do. But I knew. I met Arnold in 1984, about the same time he started wearing that generic blue blazer after his workouts. I saw him as a modern urban gladiator who had strong opinions about almost everything. Impressed with his natural sense of leadership, I immediately began calling him "The King".
Arnold’s good friend and political mentor, former mayor of Los Angeles, Richard Riordan, was hit hard by the news. According to the L.A. Weekly, Arnold had promised him over dinner the Sunday before that he’d stay out of the race. Assured that he would have Arnold’s endorsement, Riordan prepared to run; but after learning of Arnold’s candidacy, he immediately retreated, sportingly endorsing Arnold on the way out. Hours later, Darrel Issa, the man responsible for organizing the recall against Governor Gray Davis, tearfully announced that he, too, was out of the race.
Arnold’s behavior on the campaign trail is already emulating his competitive style in bodybuilding. Before the 1980 Mr. Olympia, he lulled his competition into believing he wouldn’t enter. Then, seemingly at the last minute, he changed his mind. "I was one of his best friends, and he swore to me–swore to me--that he wouldn’t compete against me in that show," recalled Frank Zane, a former Mr. Olympia. "Suddenly, there he was in the lineup, standing right next to me." Arnold won handily. Despite Arnold’s fierce competitiveness, or perhaps because of it, Zane, who has a master’s degree in psychology, says Arnold will probably make "a good governor".
Arnold’s opponent’s in this contest would be at home in a circus: there’s "fat man" Lt. Governor Cruz Bustamante, diminuitive actor Gary Coleman, Arianna Huffington, the lady who was a beard (for her bisexual politico ex-hubby), Michael Huffington, scarlet-haired comedian Gallagher, wheel-chair bound porn publisher Larry Flynt, Angelyne, the billboard bimbo of L.A. and sex star Mary Carey, who says she’ll have dinner with you for $5,000 as of today, none of whom stand a chance against The King. To stand a chance, one must first win a fistful of pro bodybuilding titles, marry the equivalent of American royalty, and then become the highest paid action actor in the world.
http://www.ironmanmagazine.com/arnold_gov_080603.php?cid=58