Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, October 24, 1993 TAG: 9310240043
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: A-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: WARREN FISKE STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: CHARLOTTESVILLE LENGTH: Long
George Allen grew up on a football field, the oldest son and namesake of a legendary head coach who preached "losing is like death" and drove the Washington Redskins to the 1973 Super Bowl.
Allen's childhood was every boy's dream, watching games from the sidelines, bantering on a first-name basis with men who would one day enter the Pro Football Hall of Fame, meeting famed politicians such as Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan and thinking it was nothing special.
The coach kept the boy close out of love and to impart a lesson that the son retains as he seeks to become Virginia's next governor: that regardless of talent, success comes to those who work the hardest.
There was a downside to football life as well. The father, consumed with seeking victories, bent rules, alienated his bosses and was fired three times despite winning 71 percent of his games. When the son grew well over 6 feet tall and eyed playing high school football, the father tried unsuccessfully to steer him toward a safer and potentially more lucrative baseball career.
If there was pressure in bearing his father's name and playing his father's sport, George Felix Allen says he never felt it. He quarterbacked his team to a 7-2 record his senior year in high school, was named most improved player and went on to moderate success as second-string passer at the University of Virginia.
"George just seemed to enjoy being part of the team," recalls Don Lawrence, head football coach at UVa in the early 1970s. "He never struggled under the aura of his father, he never seemed to be in a bad mood. He was always relaxed; but underneath, he possessed as competitive a spirit as I've ever seen."
The same coolness to pressure and lust for competition characterize Allen today as he seeks to become the first Republican elected governor of Virginia in 16 years. Dismissed as a lightweight and derided as "Boy George," Allen trounced two determined opponents to capture the GOP nomination last spring. Campaigning tirelessly ever since, he has erased a 30-percentage point deficit and is suddenly the favorite to defeat Democrat Mary Sue Terry.
On the surface, Allen, 41, is content to pass himself off as the quintessential Virginia good ol' boy. He lives in a log cabin, chews tobacco and wears cowboy boots wherever he goes.
But Allen also is a deeply competitive man who has never strayed from his goals and has pursued victory in politics with the same ardor his father had for football.
"George is a little more laid back than my father, but he's every bit as focused," said Bruce Allen, 37, the coach's youngest son. "He's always done exactly what he wants in life."
Although football was important, friends say Allen was not a gifted athlete and never harbored illusions about a professional career. He was a disciplined student who graduated with honors, was senior class president, and achieved his most important goal: acceptance to UVa's law school.
With some help from his father, Allen bought an office building in Charlottesville in 1978 and hung out his shingle to practice law. A year later, he was running for office, waging an unsuccessful campaign for the General Assembly. He hasn't lost since.
Allen's style has never changed. A tall, boyishly good-looking man with a disarming smile, he's always had an easy way with people. His campaign posters from 1979 could be recycled for his gubernatorial bid today. He always has stressed limited government, no new taxes, welfare reform and law and order.
The themes carried him to a nine-year career in the House of Delegates and one year in Congress. But in walking though those rarified halls, Allen left few footprints. His modest record of legislative achievement, critics say, suggests a man more skillful at campaigning than crafting policy.
"Running is what George is all about," said James Murray, a former Democratic legislator from Charlottesville whom Allen unseated in 1982. "He has a delightful personality, and he's a indefatigable campaigner. But if you look at his career, there's no record of intellectual achievement."
In the General Assembly, Allen was a reliable conservative who relished sniping at Democratic leaders who hid pork in the state budget. He is credited with inspiring only one major piece of legislation - a bill to seize assets from drug dealers. It passed after a six-year fight.
Allen says he tried to promote welfare and budget reform, but was stymied by Democrats in control of the House.
Even so, there are gaps between Allen's campaign rhetoric this fall and his record in office. For example:
Although Allen has made abolishing parole the focal point of his campaign, he never introduced a bill in the General Assembly to promote that cause.
Although he has blamed Democrats for a 140 percent increase in state spending since 1981, Allen voted for eight of nine budgets they produced.
Although he has insisted the state should not incur new debt without voter approval, Allen voted 20 times for bond projects that required no referendum. Total value: $1 billion.
Allen is not averse to altering his message to please an audience. Take abortion: While running for Congress against a liberal Democrat in 1991, Allen said he would not seek to "diminish the rights Virginia women now hold." But this year, seeking support from Christian conservatives, Allen said, "my inclination is to support unborn life" and pledged to sign legislation banning public financing of abortions.
All this has been done with such an unflappable air that Virginia voters have hardly noticed. Critics and supporters say Allen's affable style closely resembles Ronald Reagan's - stressing conservative themes, but offering few specifics. Like Jimmy Carter and Walter Mondale in the 1980s, Terry has found it difficult to shoot holes in the mystique.
She has argued it is impossible for Allen to keep promises he'll erase a $500 million budget shortfall, return $500 million in improperly collected income taxes to federal retirees, eliminate parole and provide public assistance to private schools - all without higher taxes.
"Just watch me," replies Allen, who says he can do it all by cutting unspecified fat from the state budget.
Similarly, Allen refuses to be pinned on details of his personal life. For all his affability, he is an intensely private person who refuses to share inner thoughts or engage in self-evaluation.
Allen breaks that rule only when asked about his father's influence on his life. "It was huge," he said. "He always told us, `Be a leader, not a follower.' I learned a lot, as far as to keep fighting, never become discouraged, try to be consistent - and the importance of good character."
The coach died in 1990. "He would have really enjoyed this," Allen sighed. "I wish he were here."
It was his father who brought Allen to Virginia in 1971 when he was hired to coach the Redskins. It was his father who gave Allen a name voters would instantly recognize. And it was his father who used to call nightly during campaigns to get the lowdown and urge his son to stay poised.
Being a coach's son meant moving frequently in childhood. Allen was born in Southern California in 1952, while his father was coaching at Whittier College, alma mater of Richard Nixon. The family moved to Chicago in 1961 and returned to California five years later.
If his life was unusual, Allen scarcely noticed. He reigned over two younger brothers and describes an idyllic childhood of playing in neighborhood football games, Sundays in the stadium and family road trips when his father had to scout college players.
The biggest treat was summer training camps. His father became head coach of the Los Angeles Rams in 1966 and rarely was home. Having the boys at practice was his best chance to spend time with them.
Allen revels in memories of players sealing him in phone booths if his father ran a particularly tough practice, or convincing him to take his first chew of tobacco and then swallow it.
The boys were assigned locker room chores and sat in on their father's passionate pep talks. "A unique part about Dad was that he always surrounded himself with players who had character," Bruce Allen said. "He wanted us to know them, to watch their work habits and see how they reacted to adversity."
Putting down roots
At home, the coach would talk avidly about generals and politicians - not so much interested in the complexities of their decisions as in their leadership. He expected strong academic performance from his children.
Allen rarely appeared to struggle. "George was not the top scholar in the class, but he was a good student," recalled Jim Kinney, a teacher at Allen's former high school in Palos Verdes, Calif. "He was a good athlete, but not the best one. He was well-liked, but not the most popular kid. When you put that all together, he was extremely successful by any standards."
There was a bit of mischief in Allen as well. As a high school senior, he joined some buddies in spray-painting a school wall before a basketball game. The purpose, he said, was to raise spirit by making people think the other school did it.
The prank cost Allen a brief suspension; and on orders from his father, he repainted the wall. Allen still groans when asked about the incident. "It was a stupid stunt," he says. "What relevance does it have today?"
After spending his freshman year at UCLA, Allen came east in 1971, when his father was fired by the Rams and hired by the Redskins.
It was here, at UVa, that Allen decided to put down roots. The shaggy-haired surfer from California quickly transformed to a good ol' boy, tucking his jeans into cowboy boots, spitting tobacco and driving a Redskins' pickup truck.
"George liked the image of an ol' boy, but he was sharp underneath," recalled Bob Bayliss, a former roommate. "He was very disciplined in his studies. He found time to party, but he was always under control."
He joined the football team as a walk-on, and in his junior year earned a full athletic scholarship after throwing five touchdown passes as a backup quarterback. "Nobody cut George slack because he happened to be Coach Allen's son," said Lawrence, then UVa's coach. "George earned that scholarship on his own."
His first real taste of politics came in the 1976 presidential campaign, when a group of local Republicans asked the law student to head "Young Virginians for Reagan."
Allen readily accepted. "I liked his ideas," he said.
"He was someone with guiding principles. I also liked him personally," Allen added, recalling a time when Reagan called him in the hospital when Allen was suffering a football injury.
Allen graduated from law school in 1977 and became a law clerk to U.S. District Judge Glen Williams in Abingdon. His father was fired by the Redskins the following year and returned to Los Angeles. When the coach urged his son to come along, Allen refused.
"I would have just gone crazy living in a place like that," Allen says. "I like the people in Virginia better. There's less pretense, less phoniness."
Resigned to having his son remain in Charlottesville, the coach gave him a lucrative piece of legal work. He hired young George to negotiate coaching contracts, appearances as a network football commentator and speaking fees.
Otherwise, Allen's legal practice seemed to take a back seat to politics. He declined to take criminal defense cases, saying they were "inconsistent with my code of ethics." He also eschewed divorce work because he disdained "playing the role of a psychologist."
Allen specialized in personal injury, real estate closings and corporations. Colleagues describe him as a competent attorney who frequently turned down prospective clients because his political activities took up so much time.
Even so, Allen claims net assets of more than $600,000. Except for two small lots at the Massanutten resort that he inherited from father, his wealth comes from his law practice, he said.
Allen's approach to politics in Charlottesville was to meet as many people as possible. He joined the Kiwanis, volunteered in campaigns and mingled at almost any civic event where there was a crowd.
"George went out and hustled," said Scott Leake, executive director of the General Assembly's Republican caucus and an Allen adviser back then. "The key is that George connects with everyone. He's pretty guileless." A political crisis
Allen's defeat in 1979 left no scars. "I wasn't all that happy with it, but it wasn't a crushing thing," he said. "I stayed involved."
The breakthrough came in 1982, when Allen unseated Murray by a scant 25 votes. Murray had introduced a bill for a tax increase earlier that year, and Allen hammered him at every chance. It didn't hurt that Allen's father and a few Redskin stars occasionally showed up at campaign events to sign autographs.
Murray still grumbles that Allen took advantage of his name. "If his name had been George Smith, there's no chance he would have won," Murray said.
Allen cemented his hold on the seat by being re-elected the next year, but the celebration was short. A few days after the victory, his wife, Anne Rubel, an aspiring model and artist, filed for divorce. Friends say Rubel longed for her own career and found little satisfaction as a politician's wife. Rubel, who is living in California, could not be reached for comment.
"There was a question of compatibility," Allen said. "We went through two straight years of campaigning, and it was very stressful on me and our marriage. It was a no-fault divorce, and no one was at fault."
Three years later, Allen married the daughter of a retired military couple who had been staunch political supporters. Susan Allen enjoys campaign life and is a talented stump speaker. "I call George `Mr. Adventure,' " she says. "He's a real character. He likes to enjoy life."
The Allens have two children. They live in a five-bedroom log cabin on a secluded 10-acre wooded tract a few miles north of Charlottesville.
Allen considered running for statewide office in 1985 and 1989, but decided that the chance to step up wasn't worth the risk of his House seat.
The right opportunity came in 1991, when a seat in Congress suddenly became vacant. Republican D. French Slaughter Jr. retired because of health problems.
To win his seat, Allen showed off a new, mean-spirited campaign style. His opponent was the former congressman's cousin, Kay Slaughter, a liberal Democrat and environmental lawyer. She had given speeches around Charlottesville urging that the U.S. not wage war against Iraq that year, but apply pressure with economic sanctions.
Allen ran devastating television commercials superimposing Slaughter's picture on footage of an anti-war rally with a protestor hoisting a sign saying "Victory to Iraq."
Slaughter, who neither attended the rally nor endorsed the protestor's sentiment, was furious. She demanded that Allen stop using the ad, which she believed questioned her patriotism. Allen refused. But after an overwhelming victory, Allen expressed remorse. "I wish different footage had been used," he said.
"I thought his tactics were extremely dirty," Slaughter said. "I have no respect for Allen at all."
Allen planned to stay in Congress for at least six years and consider running for governor in 1997. But General Assembly Democrats forced him to rethink his plans after he had been in office only a few months. They drew a new political map of Virginia that placed Allen in the same congressional district with veteran Rep. Thomas J. Bliley Jr., a Richmond Republican.
For the first time in his career, Allen faced a political crisis. He declined to run against Bliley. He considered moving to new districts around Leesburg or Roanoke, but demurred.
In the end, Allen decided to abandon Congress and run for governor in 1993.
The campaign, he says, "started as an insurgency and grew into an army." For almost a year, Allen has stumped 18 hours a day and returned to hotel rooms too pumped up to sleep.
The race is about ideas, says Allen, who would interpret his victory as a mandate for a more conservative government. He finds the competition exhilarating. "Everything in life is a competition of some sort," he said. "Those people who don't compete, I think, are dead."
And with a pep talk that would have done his father proud, Allen is circling the state urging his supporters to redouble their efforts. "Time is running down . . . we're even in the polls, and we've got momentum," he said in Norfolk recently. "But we've still got to play like we're 10 points down."
Keywords:
POLITICS PROFILE
by CNB