High Life Man
02-13-2004, 01:33 PM
Budget Woes to the Wind as Schwarzenegger Takes to the Road
February 13, 2004
By CHARLIE LeDUFF
LOS ANGELES, Feb. 12 - Tom Arnold, the television
personality, was philosophizing on the shoulder of the
Pacific Coast Highway, sitting on his motorcycle, waiting
for his pal Arnold Schwarzenegger, the governor of
California, to arrive.
"The thing about politics," Mr. Arnold offered, "is that
men lose their masculinity and women lose their femininity.
But Arnold is holding on to it."
Mr. Arnold smoothed his leathers and tugged up his gloves,
rodeo style. Sufficiently arranged, he said: "Arnold does
like to shop, though. He's probably got an outfit all
picked out for today."
And a few minutes later, at precisely the appointed hour -
7:30 a.m. - Mr. Schwarzenegger turned his gleaming
Harley-Davidson onto the highway. He sat tall and
ramrod-straight, made no movement, gave no expression,
holding the handlebars as if they were the reins of a
parade chariot and he Ben Hur. He was tailed by two cars
with plainclothes California Highway patrolmen, who were
earning overtime.
Tom Arnold was right. The governor was dressed in neat
leather pants, polished leather boots and a scratched
leather jacket, black gloves, black sunglasses, black
helmet. His handshake was firm and his nails were
manicured.
"A metrosexual," Mr. Arnold said.
The nation's other governors might have been home at that
moment, lingering in bed with their spouses, cocooned in
their blankets. Mr. Schwarzenegger was up and out, doing
what he does best - being himself. In allowing a reporter
to come along for the ride, on his own Harley, the governor
was making sure the public saw him.
Mr. Schwarzenegger knows that his personality and his
legions of fans are the root of his uncommon political
successes. Though he holds an office that can require
remoteness and restraint, Mr. Schwarzenegger has abandoned
neither his old friends nor his old habits, like the Sunday
motorcycle ride from the Pacific Palisades here into the
Malibu Canyon, something he has done for 20 years. He wears
a big blue ring, his language is the stuff of the barracks
and he drives a loud bike.
And so, Mr. Schwarzenegger the governor is careful to make
time for Arnold the swashbuckler. With the state's finances
in disarray and a $15 billion bond measure going before the
public that could make or break the world's fifth largest
economy, and with a debate raging over an execution then
scheduled in less than two days (it was later postponed),
Mr. Schwarzenegger was busy instructing a newspaper
photographer where she might position herself to get the
best possible pictures.
With seven people and four plainclothes men waiting, the
governor took time to listen to an old sunbeaten man tell
him about the time he was attacked by sharks.
"That's a truly fantastic story," the governor said in his
chunky accent. "Really." He patted the man on the back and
mounted his bike.
Though the men who ride with him are wildly successful in
their own rights - among them were James Cameron, the
director; Stan Winston, the special effects wizard who
built the Terminator robot; Charlie Temmel, the ice cream
king; and Kenny Fleiner, the auto body man - Mr.
Schwarzenegger is their commandant, and they his batmen. He
rode lead the entire way.
Mr. Schwarzenegger is a competent biker. Steady and sure, a
model of precision. Through Malibu and into the canyons, he
never put a foot on the pavement, never signaled with a
hand, never turned his head. He smiled once for the camera.
As he and his entourage arrived at the Rock Store, a place
deep in Malibu Canyon where old men take their new bikes,
the crowd lunged before composing itself, going from
giddiness to indifferent manliness.
"He's my kind of guy," one graybeard said over his coffee.
The men at the store had seen Mr. Schwarzenegger many times
before, and they tried to behave as if having him in their
midst was no big deal.
The governor and his men sat at a table in the back near a
window. The rest of the bikers kept a respectable distance,
though someone shouted, "You're doing a great job, Arnold."
Mr. Cameron asked him how governing was going.
"They're really shaken up up there," he said of Sacramento.
"It's a trip. You should see it."
He talked about the art of compromise, popularity polls,
special interests, prison investigations and the atrium
outside his Sacramento office, where he is able to smoke
his Cuban cigars - 20 feet from the entrance as state law
requires.
"A lot of business gets done there," he said. "Who doesn't
like a good stogie?"
The waitress came around. She called him sweetie. She
called everybody sweetie. He ordered oatmeal with nuts and
fruit and a cup of coffee. Toast, no butter. Most of the
men did likewise.
Some strangers in the dining hall became emboldened. One
took a photo. Another tried to hand him a letter. He said
he could not reach his son, who was serving in Iraq. The
plainclothes men formed a wall around the man with the
letter. The governor stood and offered his hand.
"We'll see what we can do," he said.
"Thank you,
governor," the man said. "I voted for you. Glad I did."
The larger the audience, the more Arnold Schwarzenegger
seems to grow. Without admirers, he is like a Stradivarius
without strings. A crowd infuses him with vitality. A crowd
defines him.
Seen now, in this comfortable place, the governor seemed
years removed from last October's recall campaign, when he
sat in the rear of his bus with a single aide, looking pale
and damp, a pinched expression spread across his square
face. He was being called a Hitler lover. A lout. A brute.
Things were out of his control and confidence seemed to
have escaped him.
"You know, I really enjoyed that, it was like running
through a minefield," Mr. Schwarzenegger says now. "I get
off on the excitement. I like being in the center of
things. In fact, I thought the job of governor was going to
be boring compared to that, but it's not.
"You have to remember something. Everybody pities the weak.
Jealousy you have to earn."
In little more than three months in office, despite no
experience in politics, he has proved himself an effective
negotiator. He has managed to repeal the car tax increase
and have rescinded the law that would allow illegal aliens
to hold drivers licenses. A Republican, he persuaded the
Democratically controlled Legislature to put the $15
billion bond measure on the March ballot along with a
balanced-budget initiative. He will be campaigning hard in
the next three weeks to get voters behind the issues.
Mr. Schwarzenegger promised to be a larger-than-life
presence in Sacramento. He is threatening to allow slot
machines at race tracks and in card rooms if Indian tribes
do not agree to turn over a quarter of every casino dollar
to the state. He hired an investigator to look into
allegations that he manhandled women in the past - and then
fired him - almost without protests. He is investigating
the prison guards union for mismanagement of prisons. He
has given an ultimatum to the energy companies to
renegotiate their contracts to supply the state.
He is as colorful as his predecessor, Gray Davis, was
monochromatic. Mr. Davis calls him occasionally, seemingly
unable to stay away from politics. "I don't know why he
calls," the governor said. "But he tells me how well I'm
doing. Isn't that fantastic? He's coming over for dinner
tonight."
(Mr. Davis has borrowed a page from Mr. Schwarzenegger's
biography, and undertaken something of an acting career. He
will make a cameo next month on the CBS sitcom "Yes, Dear."
He will play a straight man.)
Mr. Schwarzenegger, 56, is still broad in the shoulders,
narrow in the hips and has no visible paunch. Unlike many
retired athletes, he does not disdain exercise. He does not
lift heavy weights anymore, preferring 45 minutes of
cardiovascular exercise in the morning and 30 minutes of
light weightlifting in the evenings.
"When you get older you have to worry about the heart," he
said. "When you're 50, you have to cut out the dessert."
The governor splits time between his Brentwood mansion here
and a hotel room at the Sacramento Hyatt. He commutes to
Sacramento in a private jet, and when staying in the
capital, he works out at a public gym. His wife, Maria
Shriver, recently left NBC News to avoid conflicts.
Ms. Shriver is said to be deeply involved in Sacramento
politics, acting as a mediator between the governor's
office and the Legislature. She recently said that what
rankled her most in the recall campaign was the insinuation
that her husband did not allow her to wear pants. "A
reporter asked me if my husband allowed me to wear pants,"
she recalled. "I said what do you see me wearing now?
Pants. As if I need permission."
Mr. Schwarzenegger said he prefers his wife in skirts but
makes no demands. "I just think she looks better, that's
all," he said.
When the breakfast was finished, Mr. Schwarzenegger paid
the bill and Mr. Cameron left the tip.
With that, Mr. Schwarzenegger jumped back on his bike and
rode off into the California sunshine, followed by the
plainclothes men.
February 13, 2004
By CHARLIE LeDUFF
LOS ANGELES, Feb. 12 - Tom Arnold, the television
personality, was philosophizing on the shoulder of the
Pacific Coast Highway, sitting on his motorcycle, waiting
for his pal Arnold Schwarzenegger, the governor of
California, to arrive.
"The thing about politics," Mr. Arnold offered, "is that
men lose their masculinity and women lose their femininity.
But Arnold is holding on to it."
Mr. Arnold smoothed his leathers and tugged up his gloves,
rodeo style. Sufficiently arranged, he said: "Arnold does
like to shop, though. He's probably got an outfit all
picked out for today."
And a few minutes later, at precisely the appointed hour -
7:30 a.m. - Mr. Schwarzenegger turned his gleaming
Harley-Davidson onto the highway. He sat tall and
ramrod-straight, made no movement, gave no expression,
holding the handlebars as if they were the reins of a
parade chariot and he Ben Hur. He was tailed by two cars
with plainclothes California Highway patrolmen, who were
earning overtime.
Tom Arnold was right. The governor was dressed in neat
leather pants, polished leather boots and a scratched
leather jacket, black gloves, black sunglasses, black
helmet. His handshake was firm and his nails were
manicured.
"A metrosexual," Mr. Arnold said.
The nation's other governors might have been home at that
moment, lingering in bed with their spouses, cocooned in
their blankets. Mr. Schwarzenegger was up and out, doing
what he does best - being himself. In allowing a reporter
to come along for the ride, on his own Harley, the governor
was making sure the public saw him.
Mr. Schwarzenegger knows that his personality and his
legions of fans are the root of his uncommon political
successes. Though he holds an office that can require
remoteness and restraint, Mr. Schwarzenegger has abandoned
neither his old friends nor his old habits, like the Sunday
motorcycle ride from the Pacific Palisades here into the
Malibu Canyon, something he has done for 20 years. He wears
a big blue ring, his language is the stuff of the barracks
and he drives a loud bike.
And so, Mr. Schwarzenegger the governor is careful to make
time for Arnold the swashbuckler. With the state's finances
in disarray and a $15 billion bond measure going before the
public that could make or break the world's fifth largest
economy, and with a debate raging over an execution then
scheduled in less than two days (it was later postponed),
Mr. Schwarzenegger was busy instructing a newspaper
photographer where she might position herself to get the
best possible pictures.
With seven people and four plainclothes men waiting, the
governor took time to listen to an old sunbeaten man tell
him about the time he was attacked by sharks.
"That's a truly fantastic story," the governor said in his
chunky accent. "Really." He patted the man on the back and
mounted his bike.
Though the men who ride with him are wildly successful in
their own rights - among them were James Cameron, the
director; Stan Winston, the special effects wizard who
built the Terminator robot; Charlie Temmel, the ice cream
king; and Kenny Fleiner, the auto body man - Mr.
Schwarzenegger is their commandant, and they his batmen. He
rode lead the entire way.
Mr. Schwarzenegger is a competent biker. Steady and sure, a
model of precision. Through Malibu and into the canyons, he
never put a foot on the pavement, never signaled with a
hand, never turned his head. He smiled once for the camera.
As he and his entourage arrived at the Rock Store, a place
deep in Malibu Canyon where old men take their new bikes,
the crowd lunged before composing itself, going from
giddiness to indifferent manliness.
"He's my kind of guy," one graybeard said over his coffee.
The men at the store had seen Mr. Schwarzenegger many times
before, and they tried to behave as if having him in their
midst was no big deal.
The governor and his men sat at a table in the back near a
window. The rest of the bikers kept a respectable distance,
though someone shouted, "You're doing a great job, Arnold."
Mr. Cameron asked him how governing was going.
"They're really shaken up up there," he said of Sacramento.
"It's a trip. You should see it."
He talked about the art of compromise, popularity polls,
special interests, prison investigations and the atrium
outside his Sacramento office, where he is able to smoke
his Cuban cigars - 20 feet from the entrance as state law
requires.
"A lot of business gets done there," he said. "Who doesn't
like a good stogie?"
The waitress came around. She called him sweetie. She
called everybody sweetie. He ordered oatmeal with nuts and
fruit and a cup of coffee. Toast, no butter. Most of the
men did likewise.
Some strangers in the dining hall became emboldened. One
took a photo. Another tried to hand him a letter. He said
he could not reach his son, who was serving in Iraq. The
plainclothes men formed a wall around the man with the
letter. The governor stood and offered his hand.
"We'll see what we can do," he said.
"Thank you,
governor," the man said. "I voted for you. Glad I did."
The larger the audience, the more Arnold Schwarzenegger
seems to grow. Without admirers, he is like a Stradivarius
without strings. A crowd infuses him with vitality. A crowd
defines him.
Seen now, in this comfortable place, the governor seemed
years removed from last October's recall campaign, when he
sat in the rear of his bus with a single aide, looking pale
and damp, a pinched expression spread across his square
face. He was being called a Hitler lover. A lout. A brute.
Things were out of his control and confidence seemed to
have escaped him.
"You know, I really enjoyed that, it was like running
through a minefield," Mr. Schwarzenegger says now. "I get
off on the excitement. I like being in the center of
things. In fact, I thought the job of governor was going to
be boring compared to that, but it's not.
"You have to remember something. Everybody pities the weak.
Jealousy you have to earn."
In little more than three months in office, despite no
experience in politics, he has proved himself an effective
negotiator. He has managed to repeal the car tax increase
and have rescinded the law that would allow illegal aliens
to hold drivers licenses. A Republican, he persuaded the
Democratically controlled Legislature to put the $15
billion bond measure on the March ballot along with a
balanced-budget initiative. He will be campaigning hard in
the next three weeks to get voters behind the issues.
Mr. Schwarzenegger promised to be a larger-than-life
presence in Sacramento. He is threatening to allow slot
machines at race tracks and in card rooms if Indian tribes
do not agree to turn over a quarter of every casino dollar
to the state. He hired an investigator to look into
allegations that he manhandled women in the past - and then
fired him - almost without protests. He is investigating
the prison guards union for mismanagement of prisons. He
has given an ultimatum to the energy companies to
renegotiate their contracts to supply the state.
He is as colorful as his predecessor, Gray Davis, was
monochromatic. Mr. Davis calls him occasionally, seemingly
unable to stay away from politics. "I don't know why he
calls," the governor said. "But he tells me how well I'm
doing. Isn't that fantastic? He's coming over for dinner
tonight."
(Mr. Davis has borrowed a page from Mr. Schwarzenegger's
biography, and undertaken something of an acting career. He
will make a cameo next month on the CBS sitcom "Yes, Dear."
He will play a straight man.)
Mr. Schwarzenegger, 56, is still broad in the shoulders,
narrow in the hips and has no visible paunch. Unlike many
retired athletes, he does not disdain exercise. He does not
lift heavy weights anymore, preferring 45 minutes of
cardiovascular exercise in the morning and 30 minutes of
light weightlifting in the evenings.
"When you get older you have to worry about the heart," he
said. "When you're 50, you have to cut out the dessert."
The governor splits time between his Brentwood mansion here
and a hotel room at the Sacramento Hyatt. He commutes to
Sacramento in a private jet, and when staying in the
capital, he works out at a public gym. His wife, Maria
Shriver, recently left NBC News to avoid conflicts.
Ms. Shriver is said to be deeply involved in Sacramento
politics, acting as a mediator between the governor's
office and the Legislature. She recently said that what
rankled her most in the recall campaign was the insinuation
that her husband did not allow her to wear pants. "A
reporter asked me if my husband allowed me to wear pants,"
she recalled. "I said what do you see me wearing now?
Pants. As if I need permission."
Mr. Schwarzenegger said he prefers his wife in skirts but
makes no demands. "I just think she looks better, that's
all," he said.
When the breakfast was finished, Mr. Schwarzenegger paid
the bill and Mr. Cameron left the tip.
With that, Mr. Schwarzenegger jumped back on his bike and
rode off into the California sunshine, followed by the
plainclothes men.