Governors arriving, but Moonbeam fades away

These days, as in every era, nicknames considered fit for publication in newspapers are usually found on the sports page. And only a few of them stick. Big Ben Roethlisberger is a good example. It’s a simple and apt description of a quarterback who’s as tough as a boot. I’ll take Big Ben over Tom “Terrific” Brady six times a week and twice on autumn Sundays.

Babe Ruth also comes to mind for its excellence. If all the Babe had to go by was his given name, George Herman Ruth, he wouldn’t seem such a towering figure in history.

In earlier times, politicians also received nicknames that were printable. Most of them were so ornate or so bland that they’re not worth mentioning. Of course, there are exceptions. Mike Royko, the late, great Chicago columnist, invented biting and enduring nicknames for mayors of his city. Richard J. Daley became The Great Dumpling. Jane Byrne was Mayor Bossy.

But Royko’s most popular creation in the realm of political nicknames was the one he ended up regretting.

In the mid-1970s, he gave California’s Jerry Brown the nickname of Gov. Moonbeam. It stuck. Boy, did it ever.

Brown is still a sitting governor, and many still think of him as Moonbeam.

I know this because the National Governors Association convention is coming to Santa Fe this week, and around town I’ve been asked if Gov. Moonbeam will be in attendance.

I say, no, Gov. Brown is not coming to Santa Fe. That is the response Royko would have wanted.

It’s a pity that the convention will go on without Brown, the longest-serving governor of America’s most populous state. He would have been the governor with the best biography and perhaps the most wisdom.

Brown grew up in politics as the son of a California governor.

Then Brown himself became governor of California, first serving from 1975 through 1982. He won the governor’s office again in 2011 and will end his fourth overall term this year.

He also was mayor of Oakland, and he served as California’s attorney general and secretary of state.

Many people once thought Brown would be president of the United States. Brown himself believed it. He ran for president three times, but Royko torpedoed his chances.

Just 36 when first elected governor, Brown was unconventional for a politician so openly ambitious about reaching the White House.

He was a bachelor. He dated singer Linda Ronstadt. He refused to ride in state limousines or move into the governor’s mansion.

Brown lived in an apartment, a mattress on the floor. He often walked to work at the state Capitol.

Along the way, he turned himself into one of the country’s hottest Democratic politicians by saying he was just being frugal with taxpayers’ money.

This wasn’t always true. Brown left a deficit of about $1.5 billion for George Deukmejian, his successor as governor in 1983.

Still, in the aftermath of the Watergate scandal, many saw Brown as a fresh, unorthodox voice in politics. Then Royko wrote a column calling him Gov. Moonbeam.

Brown could not escape the tag, especially when he ran for president in 1976, 1980 and 1992. News stories regularly referenced him that way, even after Royko reversed himself and wrote that Brown was a seriousminded politician, not a flaky Californian.

“During the 1980 Democratic Convention, Mr. Brown made a speech that was far more sensible than any of the other babblings at that grim gathering. So I wrote a column renouncing the Moonbeam label. I not only renounced it, I rejected it and declared it unfair, inappropriate and outdated. I mean, as the author, I should have that right, right?” Royko wrote.

“He got that nickname,” Royko went on, “because a guy in Chicago was stringing some words together one evening to earn his day’s pay and tossed in what he thought was an amusing phrase. And if he had to do it over again, he sure as hell wouldn’t.”

Royko died in 1997 at age 64. Brown is 80 now, a married man for 13 years.

Much more has changed. Brown lives in a historic governor’s mansion. And he has promised not to saddle his next successor with debt.

As governors from across the nation and the world arrive in Santa Fe, this should be an eventful week. Still, it won’t be nearly as much fun as it would have been if Brown were in attendance.

His commitment to public service replaced his raw ambition to be president.

Gov. Brown will be missed. His alter ego, forced on him so long ago, can fall by the wayside.

Ringside Seat is an opinion column about people, politics and news. Contact Milan Simonich at msimonich@sfnewmexican.com or 505-986-3080.

Many once thought people Jerry Brown would be president of the United States.