NATIONAL UPSET

Former `Bad Boy' Of Wrestling Has Surprising Hold On Electorate

BLOOMINGTON, Minn. -- He's given up body-slamming Hulk Hogan. He's
quit wearing a pink feather boa and glitter tights. He no longer
pummels alien invaders with Arnold Schwarzenegger or plays characters
who snarl things like, ``I ain't got time to bleed.''

So now, Jesse Ventura -- former ``bad boy'' on the pro wrestling
circuit, action-flick actor, Navy SEAL and talk-radio shock jock --
says he's ready for a new nickname. He doesn't want to be called ``the
Body'' any more. ``I'm Jesse `the Mind' now,'' he said Wednesday.

After all, Ventura -- the strapping, chrome-domed, gravel-throated
sports-celluloid celebrity -- has a new job. In an earth-rattling
political upset Tuesday that left politicians and prognosticators
shellshocked, Ventura became the next governor of Minnesota.

Unable to resist, David Letterman instantly offered up a Top 10 list
of slogans for the new chief of state, including ``Building a
steroid-enhanced bridge to the 21st century,'' and ``C'mon, don't you
want to see Newt Gingrich in a choke hold?''

Ventura, who ran as a third-party maverick against two respected and
established major-party candidates, strutted a little through his
victory party as if he had just whacked Jimmy ``Superfly'' Snuka.

``They said a vote for me was a wasted vote,'' he said. ``Well guess
what? Those wasted votes wasted them.''

Ventura's breathtaking victory -- with 37 percent of the vote --
marked the first time a Reform Party candidate had ever won statewide
office and made him the highest-ranking elected official in Ross
Perot's party. It was a huge humiliation for his rivals -- the
Democrat, Minnesota Attorney General Hubert H. Humphrey III, son of
the former vice president, who got 28 percent, and the Republican, St.
Paul Mayor Norm Coleman, who got 34 percent.

`It's stunning'

``Oh my gosh, it's stunning,'' said Chris Gilbert, chairman of the
department of political science at Gustavus Aldophus University in St.
Peter, Minn., one of a legion of experts who initially thought Ventura
was just a ``curiosity.''

``Regardless of how we try to explain it, it's a really stunning,
striking outcome for Minnesota and the nation, to have a Reform Party
candidate break through and for the Democrats and Republicans in the
state to essentially see all their core supporters taken away from
them,'' Gilbert said.

A few observers were not as shocked.

``Jesse's victory proves that people want a real man in power to lead,
not a play plastic puppet like other politicians,'' said Hogan, who
played good guy to Ventura's bad guy. (He added: ``I'd love to get him
in the ring one time before he becomes president.'')

Outside of Minnesota, the Jesse Ventura phenomenon might seem comical.
But inside the state, at least in 20-20 hindsight, it actually seems
to make sense. Behind it is a streak of protest vote, a trace of the
national backlash against politicians. But Ventura was able to cobble
together a number of other advantages.

Name recognition

In Minnesota, Ventura, 47, had tremendous name recognition, primarily
from his talk-radio show, and that made up for his lack of campaign
funds.

While Coleman and Humphrey were both competent and well-regarded, they
lacked luster and began to snipe at each other in what, for Minnesota,
was a negative campaign. Ventura, on the other hand, is an appealingly
colorful mixture of affable bravado and plain-spoken drive. In one of
his television commercials, children play with a Jesse Ventura action
figure, which scuffles with Evil Special Interest Man.

What's more, voters with low expectations were pleasantly surprised
when Ventura, who served four years as the mayor of Brooklyn Park, a
suburb of Minneapolis, turned out to be a substantive candidate, able
to clearly articulate opinions on almost every issue, many of them
refreshingly straightforward.

Describing himself as a fiscal conservative with liberal and moderate
social views, Ventura supports abortion rights and gay rights. He
refuses money from special-interest groups, and opposes school
vouchers, merit pay for teachers and taxpayer funding for a new
baseball stadium. He even mused publicly about legalizing prostitution
and drugs, although he says he is not suggesting he approves of the
idea.

In a state with a populist affection for political mavericks -- Perot
received 24 percent of the presidential vote here in 1992 -- all this
went over like gangbusters.

``When I first heard about him running, I thought it was going to be a
stunt,'' said Gary Isakson, a 30-year-old sales representative for a
Minneapolis concrete company. ``But I hear him in these debates, and
he really won me over. I'm sick of professional politicians voting for
specific bills just because they have to vote along party lines. I
liked what he said about if a bill comes across his desk, he'll sign
if it's good for Minnesota. He just talks straight from the heart.''

``The Body'' was born James George Janos, still his legal name, but he
began to call himself Jesse Ventura at the start of his professional
wrestling career in 1975. ``Ventura'' sounded as if it fit the
bleached-blond surfer-wrestler image he was cultivating after coming
out of a stint as a Navy SEAL commando in Vietnam.

``He wasn't really a very good wrestler, but he had charisma,'' said
Dave Meltzer, publisher and editor of Wrestling Observer newsletter.
``His best move was standing on the apron yelling at the fans while
his tag-team partner did all the work.''

Wrestling key to politics

Ventura says he believes that wrestling has laid a foundation for his
politics because it made him comfortable ad-libbing and performing.
Others see different advantages.

``The nature of wrestling is that when you make move A and someone
blocks move A, you've got to make move B, C or D,'' said Nick
Bockwinkle, a four-time heavyweight wrestling champion who lives in
Minnesota. ``You've always got to have alternatives, and I think that
translates to the political structure as well.''

In 1986, Ventura left wrestling and began to get small roles in films
like ``Batman and Robin'' and ``Predator'' with Schwarzenegger. He
went on to be Brooklyn Park mayor from 1991 to 1995.

He and his wife, Terry, own a thoroughbred-horse ranch outside
Minneapolis. He says he will continue to be the conditioning coach for
a high school football team, where one of his mantras is ``What is
pain? Pain is good!''

Ventura's greatest challenge will be to work with the state
Legislature -- a Democratic Senate and, as of Tuesday, for the first
time in years, a Republican House. But the man who as a candidate once
replied to a question about getting along with the Legislature by
baring his grapefruit-size biceps, seemed unfazed by that conundrum.

``I've jumped out of an airplane 34 times,'' he said. ``I've dove 212
feet underwater. I've done a lot of things that defied death, and this
isn't defying death. It's just common sense and hard work.''

Checked-by: Patrick Henry