Whether visitors recognize it or not, they couldn't meet two more different Utah politicians playing the role of host during the 2002 Winter Olympics.
There's Salt Lake Mayor Rocky Anderson, a liberal Democrat and man about town, whose main concerns include changing the city's staid, homogenous image into a place where good times can be had by all kinds of people. The mayor, like the parrot that shares his office, is loquacious and flits from place to place, especially during the Games.
Then there's Utah Gov. Mike Leavitt, the cautious, conservative Republican, who sees the Olympics as an opportunity to strike up business connections that will pay dividends in the future. He's operating on a schedule that was nailed down the night before, mapping out his every hour from dawn till dark.
But after observing the two men for a day this past week, the Deseret News found some common denominators in two vastly different styles. Besides the coincidence of starting the day together and riding around in Suburbans, both Anderson and Leavitt are indefatigable and running their respective staffs ragged trying to capitalize on the Olympics.
It's not easy corralling a keyed-up Olympic mayor. But Rocky Anderson's staff tried anyway, since TV cameras were massing outside his office — and for a fleeting moment the staffers succeeded.
Anderson, along with dozens of cowbell-carrying dignitaries, was herded down the City-County Building hallway and out onto the stage, just in time to ring the New York Stock Exchange's opening bell at 7:30 a.m.
With a grin nearly as big and white as the Wasatch Mountains, Anderson started his day on national television, ringing an enormous cowbell.
Then he tossed his schedule into the Olympic breeze.
"I really need to get out," Anderson tells his staff. "I ought to be going to the nation houses," and "it would also be nice to go to more sporting events . . . and I need to get over to Gateway, and the Ice Village and Anheuser Busch," referring to the Bud World party at the Gallivan Utah Center. Also high on his list: the west-side Ethnic Village, which few Salt Lakers seem to have heard about.
"We've got you scheduled to visit country houses later this week and next week," says Christy Cordwell, the mayor's assistant. Yet she doesn't try too hard. Making this mayor stick to a schedule just isn't realistic, especially when the Winter Games are on.
Cordwell returns calmly to her computer to completely revise the day's timetable. Anderson, bodyguards and mayor's office administrators close behind, is out the door, down the stairs and headed across Washington Square.
He and his entourage pile into the mayor's Suburban. Scot Barraclough, usually a community affairs staffer, is the driver. "Where are we going?" he asks, knowing Anderson's schedule is, to put it mildly, flexible.
"Let's go by the overflow shelter," Anderson says, and they're off to the old Serta factory, which the mayor turned into a temporary homeless shelter throughout the Olympics. Some 200 people slept there the night before.
En route, Anderson tackles a whole other topic but one that goes to the heart of his mission to generate night life downtown. "OK, I want to get those kiosks, with different decorations, down on Main Street every Friday and Saturday night," he says of the Games-time food stands fueling downtown's commotion. "I want to keep this going every weekend." Great, say the staffers in the car. Minutes later they arrive at the shelter.
"Who are you all with?" asks Aaron Pardieck, an Americorps volunteer from Illinois at the front table. "I work for the city," Anderson answers with a smile. After some more conversation, he's off again. As the Suburban pulls away, he observes, "That trash can is overflowing," outside the shelter's entryway. And "I'm going to bring a broom down here."
The next stop, the Discover Navajo exhibition, was closed on this particular day. So it's onward, fun-seeking soldiers, to the Mountain Dew Ice Village nightclub next to Club Axis. There, Anderson takes a quick tour of the arcade and marvels at the Big Air Zone snowboarding-demonstration ramp. Moments later he and his staff are cruising again, now to the Ethnic Village, where they watch performances by Tahitian and Hawaiian dancers and jazz singer Ava Cabey.
The mayor seizes the moment for a buffalo burger lunch and fry-bread-with-berries dessert. Then it turns out he's needed to speak at the Ethnic Village's opening press conference, coming up in a few minutes.
"This place is a tribute to the great diversity of our community," he says from the stage. Appreciating differences is "what these Olympic Games are all about." But the mayor is looking dismayed at the Ethnic Village's near-empty aisles. He vows to spread the word around the city — adding the village, on 500 West south of The Gateway, to the list of free community events he's determined to promote.
Washington Square is the other big one. The mayor is not pleased about the slim-to-nonexistent crowds at the city-sponsored Olympic festival there. Walking across the square, Anderson sees a tiny cluster of spectators around the main stage.
The real hubbub awaits in his office. Cordwell has a scheduling-conflict update: Tomorrow, does he want to go up to Deer Valley for the men's moguls competition, or would he rather go skiing with Washington, D.C., Mayor Anthony Williams at Alta? The latter wins out, and that'll be fun. But right now Bolivian Consul General Manuel Helguero is here for his courtesy visit.
Anderson walks out to greet Helguero, but Cardozo, the parrot who lives in the mayor's office, is yelling, "Wha? Wha? Wha!"
"Excuse me one second while I take care of my parrot," Anderson says, and all wait while mayor and bird have a quiet moment together.
More courtesy visits ensue. There's Houston Mayor Lee Brown, whose city is bidding for the 2012 Summer Olympics. Next is Sarajevo Mayor Muhidin Hamamdzic and several Bosnian Olympic Committee officials, who are seeking the 2010 Winter Games. With Brown, Anderson gets laughs with "I'm trying to keep the weather in shape" during the Salt Lake Games, and Main Street is "like that every weekend." But with the Sarajevans, he's serious, exchanging gifts and solemn thanks.
At 3 p.m. it's time for the mayor's roundtable with visiting press. "I'm absolutely thrilled" about the way the Games are going so far, he says. "You can go to four or five different places every night."
But it seems that even this nightlife-loving mayor needs a break. His 7:30 a.m. grin is gone. He's speaking slowly, in a voice lowered by fatigue. "I am tired," he admits. "I could put my head down right here and go to sleep."
Nap time is not on the mayor's schedule. But neither were several of those other things he did on this day still early in the Olympics. "I plan to pack it in early tonight," Anderson tells the reporters.
But who can go home at a time like this? After the roundtable, the mayor goes out for dinner with friends, does a live interview for MSNBC and goes to Olympic Square for the medals ceremonies. Tuesday brings him to Alta for skiing with the Washington, D.C., mayor, to Park City for the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater performance — and back to Salt Lake City when police page him about an anthrax-positive test that turns out to be a false alarm.
Barraclough, the mayor's driver who's already put in a few 7 a.m.-12:30 a.m. shifts, insists neither the mayor's nor his own Olympic spirit is flagging yet. "This is the most fun I've had in years. (Anderson) is a riot," he says. "I'm just afraid this is all going to be over too fast."
E-mail: durbani@desnews.com