Copyright 2002 The Denver Post Corporation  
The Denver Post
September 15, 2002 Sunday 1ST EDITION
SECTION: NEWS DESK; Pg. A-01

LENGTH: 3306 words

HEADLINE: Colorado's stealth senator keeps 'em guessing Critics say Allard's image masks far-right agenda

BYLINE: Susan Greene , Denver Post Staff Writer

BODY:
Wayne Allard has held 601 publicly funded meetings in Colorado  during his dozen years in federal office.



That averages nearly one each week - a formidable record for a guy  who works 1,700 miles away.



'I'm proud of my time with the people of Colorado,' Allard said.  'I'm proud that the people know me.'



But a Denver Post poll shows how few Coloradans actually know their  junior senator. Only 37 percent could name Allard, and even fewer,  23 percent, knew he was running for re-election.



The affable Loveland veterinarian has kept a remarkably low profile  during his six years each in the Senate and House of  Representatives. His down-home style and emphasis on state rather  than national issues have helped project an image as an  environmentalist and populist while masking a record that generally  has blocked environmental protection, stalled social programs and  buoyed corporate interests.



Few realize how conservatively Allard votes. Last year, he sided 98  percent of the time with his Republican leadership - tied with  Sens. Strom Thurmond and Jesse Helms, stalwarts of the Senate's far  right.



Despite all his town meetings, critics say his politics reflect an  ultra-right-wing ideology that's out of step with moderate Colorado  values. Just because he shows up doesn't mean he's listening.



'It's the classic art of deception,' said Tony Robinson, a  political science professor at the University of Colorado at  Denver. 'Wayne Allard makes a living obfuscating his  conservatism.'



Rural beginnings



Allard acknowledges he isn't the most charismatic U.S. senator.



'So I'm dull, what can I say?' said the 20-year political  veteran, whose favorite color is brown. 'I don't think it's bad to  be boring in politics.'



By all accounts, Allard, 58, is a hard-working Republican partisan,  polite and unpretentious, with deep faith, rural roots and a  hard-core 4-H image.



He grew up on his family's farm in Jackson County, the son of a  successful cattle rancher turned developer and a mother who stayed  home to care for her two boys.



Allard and his brother, Kermit, spent their youths 'knocking  horseflies off horses' and tooling around on tractors with their  folks. Allard later paid for six years at Colorado State University  by selling a cattle herd he bred from age 9.



His was a Norman Rockwell start in life, with heavy schooling in  the Golden Rule. Even now, especially for a politician, he seems  strikingly without guile.



'I've never heard him say a harsh word about anyone. I've never  heard him use a curse word. That's unusual around here,' said Sen.  Phil Gramm, R-Texas, a fellow member of the Senate Banking  Committee.



That genteel image may not jibe with the edgy, often caustic tone  of Allard's campaign and its ads. Those are the work of Dick  Wadhams, his intrepid campaign manager, to whom Allard said he  leaves 'the nasty stuff.'



Allard's wife, Joan Allard, is equally strait-laced, and widely  considered his greatest political asset. The friendly 56-year-old  grandmother chauffeurs him on the campaign trail and works a crowd  like a pro.



Both fifth-generation Coloradans, they met in 1964 at CSU while he  attended vet school. They married two years later and had two  daughters - Cheryl, 31, and Christi, 34, both now married and  living a block from each other in Windsor.



Allard came of age during the Vietnam era but never served in the  military. He said his marriage, a student deferment and a heart  murmur kept him out of the war he strongly supported.



In 1970, he opened an animal hospital in Loveland, where Joan  helped keep books and clean cages. The couple sold the practice in  1990 after Allard won his first congressional race.



A dozen years later, he still describes himself as a small business  owner, often several times during one conversation.



The Allards - who take in $ 150,000 a year from his Senate work and  call themselves 'regular folks' - keep a home in Loveland, a  cabin in Estes Park and a townhouse on D.C.'s Capitol Hill. They  also own 189 acres in Jackson County.



They spend their spare time either with their daughters and four  young grandsons, fly-fishing or researching their family trees. As  often as possible, they attend Faith Evangelical Free Church, a  conservative denomination whose members are born-again.



'We don't go and push our religion on people,' he said. 'We have  a personal relationship with the Lord and Jesus. We live a  Christian life.'



Asked about his quirkier side, he cites his membership in the Sons  of the American Revolution, the bagpipe lessons he took in the  mid-1990s and his killer clam dip recipe. Joan is partial to his  Popeye imitation - 'I yam what I yam an' that's all what I yam' -  that, after 35 years of marriage, still prompts them both to bust  out in laughter.



Allard speaks proudly of his love for Joan's cherry pie, his  prowess at long-distance watermelon seed spitting, and his simple,  aw-shucks ways.



'I'm a small-town vet, plain and simple,' he said.



He gleaned his politics from his dad, the late Amos Allard, who  once led the Democratic Party in Larimer County. Both father and  son switched affiliation in 1972 when U.S. Rep. Wayne Aspinall, a  close family friend, lost the Democratic primary.



Conservative bent



Allard's conservatism grew after he opened his vet clinic and, he  recalls, 'realized what a detrimental impact regulations and taxes  have on business.'



He first won a state Senate seat in 1982 and championed a law that  limited the state legislative session to 120 days 'to maintain the  concept of citizen legislators.'



His Senate colleagues nicknamed him 'Dr. Dolittle' for what many  saw as his failure to move important legislation, and 'Pass  Allard' for his habit of passing during roll call and waiting to  see how others voted.



Many grew frustrated by his reluctance - some say aversion - to  debate.



'He's very big into being personable and avoiding confrontation.  But when it comes time to vote, he gets even,' said Steven Berman,  a Denver pediatrician who lobbied lawmakers on children's issues.



Others say such duplicity persists to this day.



'He comes to (Housing and Urban Development) meetings and he says  he's going to stick up for the little guy, but he never does. He  just leaves and votes with the rest of the Republicans to gut the  HUD budget,' said Robinson, the CU- Denver political scientist.



Allard served in the statehouse for eight years until his daughters  left for college. Then, in 1990, he set his sights on Hank Brown's  4th District congressional seat when Brown ran to replace longtime  Sen. Bill Armstrong.



Known as the godfather of the Colorado Republican Party, Armstrong  has a vast political machine ranging from 17th Street lawyers to  Western Slope miners, ranchers, developers and energy magnates. He  has backed Allard for more than a decade.



Most of Allard's campaign money comes from Coloradans. He takes a  smaller percentage of special interest money than all but two  members of the state's delegation - Reps. Scott McInnis and Mark  Udall.



Of the 33 percent he gets from businesses and special interest  groups, contributions come from tobacco corporations, oil  companies, prescription-drug makers, militaryindustrialists, a  nuclear-power producer, the National Rifle Association and the  National Pro-Life Alliance.



As both a candidate and politician, Allard lacks the wit and sheer  mojo that earn other lawmakers spots on Sunday morning political  shows.



'I have heard very little from him. To my knowledge he has not  been a leader in the Senate,' said former Colorado senator Gary  Hart, who left office in 1987 and still enjoys far more national  airtime.



'He has neither the personal magnetism or presence or charm as a  lot of higher profile senators from other states, and probably  doesn't operate on that intellectual plain that others operate  on,' added Denver political consultant Eric Sondermann.



Wadhams, a veteran GOP operative, said he has never met anybody in  politics 'more comfortable with who they are and what they stand  for than Wayne Allard.'



About his intelligence, Wadhams added: 'Very few people have the  titles 'Dr.' and 'United States senator' in front of their name.



'I think that speaks for itself.'



Many of Allard's colleagues marvel at his work ethic and reputation  for doing his homework.



'When that damn bell rings in the evening, I'm out riding the  hills on my bike while I bet Wayne Allard goes home and reads  briefs,' said Sen. Ben Nighthorse Campbell, Colorado's senior  senator whose son, Colin, is married to Allard's niece, Karen. 'I  probably get more press than Wayne, but just because everybody  knows you doesn't mean everybody likes you.'



The Post's poll in August showed 39 percent of Coloradans could  name Campbell as one of their senators - just two percentage points  more than could name Allard.



Some say Allard has failed the 63 percent of Coloradans who don't  know him.



'Never heard of the guy. That's his fault, not mine,' said  Rosendo Mondrago, a construction worker from Pueblo.



Allard's handlers shrug off the results, insisting they say less  about the senator than about public disinterest in federal  lawmakers.



Said Wadhams: 'It is not unusual for senators to have to  reintroduce themselves to voters when they run for re-election.'



The Allards speak wistfully about the day they left Loveland for  Washington, waving goodbye to their daughters as they pulled out of  the driveway in their yellow Buick Skyhawk packed with an air  mattress, a card table and a few pots and pans.



They since have settled comfortably into life in the capital and  their routine of flying to D.C. most Mondays and returning to  Colorado late most Fridays.



While in Washington, Joan drops her husband off at the Dirksen  Building in the mornings and fetches him in the evenings. He  refuses invitations to functions that don't include his wife.



She doesn't read newspapers, follow politics, nor 'get too much  into the issues.'



'I sit in a staff meeting, and I have no idea what they're talking  about,' she said.



Still, Joan keeps a desk in Allard's Senate office where she  researches their families' genealogies. She is especially proud of  her pearl and gold broach - the 'official Senate spouse pin,'  which affords her access throughout the Capitol. Touring the  building recently, she shooed a woman out of a 'senators only'  elevator that no senators were riding.



'Sorry, this is only for senators,' she said, pushing the 'close  door' button. 'I hate to have to say that.'



Joan's a natural on the stump, graciously shaking hands and  grabbing elbows. Allard, in contrast, is much more stiff, often  connecting best with voters accompanied by their dogs.



Senate Minority Leader Trent Lott called Joan the 'ultimate  helpmate' and praised her for being 'involved in everything Wayne  does.'



Others aren't so impressed, seeing her role as embarrassingly  traditional or questioning the couple's shared workspace.



'It seems to me that the people's money should not be used for a  desk     for family business,' CU-Denver's Robinson said.



Nearly every minute of Allard's workday is filled with committee  hearings and other Senate business ranging from high-level security  briefings to photo sessions with middle-schoolers.



His scheduler tries to leave time for prayer breakfasts on  Wednesdays and Senate Bible study on Thursdays. Even family time  gets penciled in.



The record



Allard sees his role as focused mainly on Colorado, citing as his  greatest accomplishments his work creating a wildlife refuge at the  decommissioned Rocky Flats nuclear weapons plant northwest of  Denver and 'leading the fights' for the Great Sand Dunes National  Park and the Spanish Peaks Wilderness Area in southern Colorado.



Many environmentalists laud the Rocky Flats refuge and praise his  influence forcing the cleanup of the Shattuck Superfund site in  south Denver.



'He was on Shattuck six months before (Rep.) Diana DeGette  (D-Denver) even made a move,' said Briggs Gamblin, a Democrat and  former aide to Denver Mayor Wellington Webb.



Still, environmental groups gag about Allard's claims that he 'has  the strongest record of protecting Colorado's environment of any  Senator in Colorado's history.' They note that the Great Sand  Dunes won't officially become a park until it gets more land; the  purchase would be funded by a federal program that Allard voted  against. And they point out he opposed the bill to create the  Spanish Peaks Wilderness Area in 1998 the first time it was  proposed.



'He watches the parade go by and then he runs to catch up with  it,' said Andy Schultheiss of the League of Conservation Voters.



That group has ranked Allard among its so-called 'Dirty Dozen' -  a list of lawmakers 'who consistently vote against the  environment' - and insists his record on clean water and clean air  is worse than any senator in Colorado's history.



Farmers and ranchers, in contrast, tend to laud Allard's work  safeguarding their livelihoods. The Colorado Farm Bureau repeatedly  has honored him.



'Do you know who the real endangered species are?' Francie Davis,  president of the Huerfano County Cowbelles, asked during a meeting  in Pueblo.



'Yep. You and I,' Allard responded to applause from his rural  audience.



As chairman of the Senate Renewable Energy Caucus, Allard touts his  work securing a 15 percent budget increase for the National  Renewable Energy Laboratory in Golden.



But he voted against improving fuel economy standards for cars and  trucks and helped block a requirement that 20 percent of utilities'  energy come from renewable sources. He also opposed a plan to  triple the content of ethanol in fuel; ethanol comes from corn -  one of Colorado's biggest crops.



'It's frustrating when a guy from your own home state doesn't  support you,' said Tim Hume, a corn farmer from Walsh and  president of the National Corn Growers Association.



Hume and others question why Allard hasn't brought home more bacon.  Colorado was last in the amount of federal projects served up last  year by its congressional delegation.



Allard defends his record, saying, 'I'm not one who advocates  pork-barrel spending.'



Indeed, he has distinguished himself as a hawkish fiscal  conservative who has criticized Congress for falling back into a  deficit and derided the Democratic leadership for failing to pass a  budget resolution for the first time in 27 years.



'Our country would have been very wise if we had heeded his  advice,' said Sen. Don Nickles, R-Okla.



Allard takes particular pride in having returned to the treasury  $ 2.4 million in surplus over the past 12 years by limiting the size  of his staff. To save money, he stays in motels with complementary  breakfasts.



The National Taxpayers Union recently rated him the No. 1 senator  for votes concerning taxes, regulations and federal spending. And  the National Federation of Independent Business has honored him for  his votes to cut taxes.



Though he scrimps on office expenses, he eagerly supports hefty  military spending. He was instrumental in snagging pay raises for  armed services workers and helped restore $ 814 million for missile  defense in June as part of his work on the Armed Services  Committee.



The man who bills himself as the Bush administration's 'point  man' on that issue ballyhoos the need to protect against  accidental firings and terrorist missile attacks. He especially  fears launches from North Korea, Iran and Iraq - nations that, like  President Bush, he describes as 'evil.'



'A lot of people don't understand and realize how vulnerable we  are,' he said.



On many issues, Allard is as conservative as you get.



He favors a constitutional amendment making most abortions illegal.  He objects to most affirmative-action programs. He wants to  privatize Social Security accounts. He owns a shotgun, and bristles  at the thought of more federal gun laws.



The Children's Defense Fund ranked him one of the eight 'worst  senators for children in 2001.' It took umbrage with his votes  opposing the Family and Medical Leave Act, the Children's Health  Insurance Program, class-size reduction, Pell grants for low-income  students and aid to rebuild and modernize schools. He also voted to  eliminate the Department of Education.



Allard says he cast many of those votes for budget reasons.



Some experts see his 98 percent Republican voting record as  strategic - the best way for a junior senator to build favor in the  party.



'That's what first-term senators are supposed to do - get along  and go along and build your seniority in the Senate,' said Bob  Loevy, a Colorado College political science professor who once  worked as a senate staffer.



Others see Allard as a rigid ideologue who takes his distrust of  government too far.



Denver officials were bitterly disappointed, for example, when he  refused to support a White House commendation for citizens who  helped restore the Central Platte Valley. The award was mostly  symbolic, but Allard didn't want the feds meddling in his state.



'(He) seemed to be fixated entirely on a perception that seemed to  us to be groundless - that this was some kind of federal power  grab,' said Andrew Wallach, Webb's director on the project.



Still, Allard has avoided a more widespread reputation as an  ultra-conservative zealot. His agenda may be polarizing, but his  persona is not.



'He has a gift at promoting a hard-right agenda without coming  across as mean spirited,' political consultant Sondermann said.



The veterinary background helps.



Allard has warmed the hearts of even liberal Democratic senators  with advice on their pets' hairballs and fleas. His colleagues also  appreciated his expertise during the anthrax scare last October.



'Behind the scenes he was the person we all turned to. ... I think  he's an unsung hero of that era,' said Sen. Susan Collins,  R-Maine.



Collins is one of a dozen Republican senators eager to sing  Allard's praises with The Post. With control of the Senate up for  grabs, his rematch against Democrat Tom Strickland is one of the  most targeted races in the nation.



Allard says he feels more pressure than ever.



The stakes are especially high, given that he has vowed not to seek  a third term in the Senate and said he's not interested in higher  office.



His self-imposed term limit frustrates some GOP pols who had hoped  to build seniority in the Senate.



Allard has spent recent weekends home from Washington trolling for  votes, scurrying to make himself known to as many voters as  possible.



But his efforts may be in vain. Passers-by at last month's Colorado  State Fair had no clue who he was despite the TV and newspaper  photographers swarming around him.



'Is that     oh, is that the governor?' one woman working an auto  exhibit said to another.



'Naw, I don't think so,' her coworker responded. 'It's that guy  on the Pepsi commercials. You know, what's-his-name, Bob Dole.'



Reporter Susan Greene can be reached by e-mail at  sgreene@denverpost.com.

GRAPHIC: PHOTO: The Denver Post/Jay Premack Sen. Wayne Allard and his wife, Joan, visit the Colorado State Fair in August. After 12 years in federal office, Allard is seeking re-election to the Senate in November. PHOTO: The Denver Post/Jay Premack Allard is interviewed at the fair by Katie Moore of Colorado Springs TV station KOAA. He has kept a low profile during his terms in the U.S. House and Senate while voting conservatively. PHOTO: Special to The Denver Post/Linda Spillers Sen. Wayne Allard walks up the steps of the U.S. Capitol for a luncheon on Sept. 10 with fellow senators. Allard and his wife, Joan, spend work weeks in D.C. and commute to Loveland on weekends. PHOTO: Special to The Denver Post/Linda Spillers PHOTO: Allard, right, discusses a drought bill with, from left, Monty Niebur of Akron, and Burt Whiteheckman and Roger Reyher, both of McClave, in Allard's D.C. office. The senator met with the Rocky Mountain Farmers Union members on Sept. 11 to talk about the drought in Colorado.

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