RICHARDSON CONTENT TO START SLOW IN WHITE HOUSE RACE

New Mexico's Democratic Governor Barely Registers in Early Polls.
Supporters Say He's Got What It Takes for the Long Haul.

SANTA FE, N.M. -- On the afternoon of the 58th day of New Mexico's
60-day legislative session, Gov. Bill Richardson reclined on the
green leather couch in his office, rubbed his eyes and growled to the
cluster of staffers surrounding him: "What can I sign?"

His aides, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, explained that the
Legislature's printing office had lost three employees, keeping newly
passed bills from promptly reaching his desk.

"Send them some of our people," Richardson said. "I gotta sign something."

That impatience has been the hallmark of Richardson's four years as
governor, a tenure that has transformed this sleepy state's politics.
The Democrat has launched a flurry of initiatives, ranging from the
mainstream to the quirky. At his urging, the state has cut taxes,
given teachers $275 million in raises, legalized medical marijuana,
and authorized $225 million in state money to build a spaceport.

Even though the Legislature passed 80 of his bills in the session
that ended March 17, he still wanted more. He called for a special
session that ended March 30. He didn't get his ethics package through
the Legislature in the second round, and the governor said he was
considering calling yet another special session.

"It just never stops; it's busy, busy, busy," said Democratic state
Sen. Mary Jane Garcia, a longtime Richardson friend. "He's got an
agenda like you can't believe."

Allies and critics agree that Richardson, 59, has become the
dominating force in New Mexico politics. But it's not so on the
national scene, where Richardson -- perhaps best-known as a former
U.N. ambassador and a freelance negotiator in international hotspots
- -- faces an uphill battle for the Democratic presidential nomination.
He lags far behind front-runners Hillary Rodham Clinton and Barack
Obama, and also trails John Edwards.

Richardson's advisors say they're not worried -- it's too early for
longshots like the governor to pull ahead, and they expect his
unvarnished, outsized personality to charm primary voters. He
contends he has a better chance than the other underdogs: "I'm
perfectly content to be the only candidate in the second tier."

Once voters learn about what Richardson has done in New Mexico,
they'll pay attention, supporters say. Even the governor's opponents
in the state acknowledge that he's a formidable political figure.

"People shouldn't count him out. You won't find a person who works
harder," said Rep. Dan Foley, GOP whip in the New Mexico House of
Representatives. "He is a larger-than-life character."

Richardson was born in Pasadena. His father was an investment banker
from a prosperous, old-line Boston family. Richardson split his early
years between New England and his mother's home country of Mexico. He
got hooked on politics when he was elected president of his college
fraternity. He worked as a congressional aide after graduation, then
made an audacious move in 1978: He relocated to New Mexico, hoping to
become a congressman. He narrowly lost his first House race, in 1980
against a veteran incumbent, but won an open seat two years later.

In Congress, Richardson became renowned for his charisma. He became
an international troubleshooter of sorts -- he jokingly referred to
himself as "undersecretary for thugs." He negotiated with Kim Jong Il
to free an American pilot downed over North Korea, with Saddam
Hussein to liberate American workers who accidentally crossed from
Kuwait into Iraq, and with Sudanese rebels to release Red Cross
workers. (On Monday, Richardson was in North Korea as head of a U.S.
mission sent by President Bush to recover the remains of six U.S.
soldiers killed in the Korean War. Richardson's delegation also
pressed Kim Jong Il's government to allow U.N. inspectors to monitor
its nuclear program.)

In the 1990s, his skills caught President Clinton's attention.
Richardson was named ambassador to the United Nations in 1997, then
Energy secretary a year and a half later. In 2002, he returned to New
Mexico, ran for governor and easily won.

As Richardson took office, he walked into a contradiction. New Mexico
is one of the poorest states in the nation, perennially stuck with
Louisiana and Mississippi at the bottom in rankings in poverty,
education and child health issues. But it is also an energy-rich
state, and New Mexico's coffers were suddenly flush because an energy
boom brought a spurt of oil and gas exploration.

Aided by this windfall, Richardson sprang into action. He rammed a
capital-gains and top-bracket tax cut through the Legislature,
winning praise from the conservative Wall Street Journal editorial
page. He eliminated the state's tax on foods, and offered a tax break
to companies that paid above the prevailing wage. He wooed the film
industry to shoot in New Mexico, and embraced an unusual scheme to
build a spaceport in the state's southern desert to attract high-tech jobs.

"When I became governor, this was a state that was depressed,
emotionally and economically," Richardson said. "Nobody got things
done, and we were at the bottom of all the bad lists. I came in to
transform the state, politically, policywise and emotionally."

Some found that transformation unsettling. Richardson dismissed
dozens of members of state boards, replacing them with loyalists and
campaign contributors. "It was pretty brutal," said state Sen. John
Grubesic, a Democrat and Richardson critic. "If you didn't come in
and swear your loyalty to Richardson, you were gone."

It was a contrast to traditional New Mexico politics. "New Mexico is
a very sort of good ol' boy [system] -- you help me, I help you,
we're going to eventually get there," Grubesic said. "This is more
Washington, D.C.-style."

Richardson vetoed the appropriation bills of legislators from either
party who didn't support his proposals. Though the governor said he
did this for budgetary reasons, legislators know that crossing
Richardson can mean a loss of money for their districts. "He's
extremely vindictive," said Foley, who's been on the receiving end of vetoes.

Republicans complained that Richardson was using his office to
further his presidential ambitions; that he doubled the size of the
governor's staff, was mortgaging the state's future with big-ticket
projects, jetted about the country on private airplanes and drove
through the state in a luxury SUV. Richardson made no apologies for
his aggressiveness: "I don't want us to be dragged into staying in
the 19th century," he said.

New Mexico's voters loved it. In November, Richardson was reelected
with 69% of the vote. Two months later, he announced what seemingly
everyone in the state already knew -- that he was running for
president. If elected, he would become the nation's first Latino president.

In his spacious office in the Statehouse recently, Richardson
described the mix of qualifications he could bring to the contest.
"I've got the most foreign policy experience.... I'm from a region
that's prime Democratic territory.... I'm Hispanic, but I don't wear
it on my sleeve."

And, he said, "I'm the only governor in the [Democratic] race. I've
actually balanced budgets, created jobs." Four of the last five
presidents were governors.

Then Richardson, wearing a tie and cowboy boots, showed how being a
state's chief executive provided credentials for the campaign trail:
He began a freewheeling discussion with his aides of his priorities
that were winding through the Legislature. They included several
issues that could please Democratic primary voters: benefits for
domestic partners, middle- and low-income tax cuts, and an increase
in New Mexico's minimum wage.

As he headed into a news conference, Richardson asked one aide, Eric
Witt, what his message should be to the Legislature, which was still
dawdling over some of his bills in its waning hours. Witt told him to
be firm but polite. "You just keep thinking, Eric," Richardson
muttered. "That's what you're good at."

"What movie is that [line] from?" Richardson then asked, wheeling to
face the half-dozen staffers in the room. As he often does,
Richardson dug into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of small
bills for the trivia challenge. "I'll give $20 to who remembers it."

The correct answer -- "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" -- came
just as Richardson stepped into another room, where he joined state
Atty. Gen. Gary King and Rep. Joseph Cervantes to mark the passage of
part of the governor's ethics package.

The questioning soon turned to presidential politics.

Richardson was asked whether it was risky to push for passage of the
medical marijuana law, which allows severely ill residents whose
suffering is verified by a physician to possess up to three months'
worth of pot. The governor personally lobbied legislators and claimed
credit for swinging five votes to ensure its approval.

Richardson predicted he'd catch "national grief" over the issue and
noted that the Bush administration had urged him not to support the
measure -- a detail likely to please Democratic primary voters. He
quickly said the implications for his campaign were irrelevant.

"So what if it's risky? It's the right thing to do," Richardson said.
"I don't tailor my style to primary states."