Don't Start the Revolution Without Me! - Jesse Ventura [103]
In the end, I decided against it, because I didn’t want it on my record that I’d resigned from office. Also, although I never broached the idea to Mae, I have tremendous respect for her and I don’t think she would have liked it.
We still correspond on e-mail and send each other birthday cards. When somebody once mentioned to Mae that my spoken English was pretty atrocious, she got a little ruffled. “You understood what he said, didn’t you?” she said. They said, “Yeah.” She said, “Well then, his English isn’t that bad, is it?” I really enjoyed that, coming from an educator of thirty-six years!
As indescribable as it is in many ways when you come into office, it’s just as strange when you leave. Especially at the level of being a governor. As president, you’re always going to have the Secret Service for the rest of your life, because you’re privy to national security secrets. But that’s not true at a state level. Suddenly, you’re all alone. When you jump off that treadmill, it’s back at zero. It’s just as hard to adjust as when you hopped on at a full sprint.
During my four years, one of the big issues that mostly the Republicans kept bringing up to the media—and trying to destroy me with—was the amount of protection I had to have. The simple fact was, I had celebrity status. My security guys would call places where I was to appear and say, “We need ‘rock star security’ when Governor Ventura comes.” It was crazy. I was under scrutiny unlike any other governor. Everything I did was covered and watched. Yet it was portrayed to the public that I was out cavorting around, spending all this money for “rock star security” and wasting the taxpayer’s dollars. Well, the law says a governor is to be protected 24/7, and in reality my security budget was no higher than the current governor’s.
Still, it was a bizarre feeling to leave it all behind. The first week of January 2003, I sat in the audience as Governor Pawlenty was sworn in, and at that point I was officially done.
TERRY: When the ceremony ended, he was supposed to go shake hands with the governor, but there was a huge line. And I said, “You know what, we’re just distracting everybody, let’s just go.”
But when we went outside, all the media left the new governor and made a complete circle around my vehicle. I looked at them and said, “I’m not the governor now—he is! He’s in there! Go bother him!” I actually felt embarrassed for him.
It’s Minnesota tradition that your same security men and drivers give you one last ride home, with full sirens and lights. In my case, in a Lincoln Navigator, back to my ranch. That day, you say your goodbyes. It was pretty gut-wrenching between me and Ron and Tony, my two main security guys. These two gentlemen were with me every step of the way for four years, in Cuba, in China, everywhere. They probably spent as much time with me as the First Lady did, because for eight hours of the day, they’d be with me and she wasn’t. Of course now they were moving on, to protect the new governor.
It was so strange the next morning, when they removed the trailer, and all security was gone from the house. For lack of a better way to say it, you’re naked. There’s an emptiness you feel. Because, all of a sudden, you’re not the focus of the state of Minnesota anymore. I don’t care what anybody says, it’s very addictive to be the most powerful person in a state. There’s no doubt in my mind why people do it.
TERRY: I remember when I first walked into the Capitol, looking at all the inscriptions and the paintings, how proud I was of our country and all the hope I had for the four years to come. That was equal to how very sad I was, the last day I was ever there in an official position. I thought, my husband could have done so much more if people would have truly considered what’s good for the state. But I still think he did a great job, did everything he possibly could do, considering that he was not just fighting the Democrats and the Republicans,