Jim Smith -- The Un-Politician

Baltimore County Executive Jim Smith hates politics, fundraising, and the other requirements of his job. No wonder people (who aren't politicians) like him.

Originally published in Baltimore Magazine, December 14, 2004. By Thomas F. Schaller. Photography by David Colwell

Jim Smith is a terrible politician.

"He's not a gifted, natural politician -- nobody would deny that," says Sun reporter Andy Green, who covered Smith for almost two years. "Which is not to say he's a bad county executive."

Montgomery County Executive Doug Duncan imagines the transition Smith has made -- from being a judge to being a politician -- this way: "I'm sure the biggest change for him has been going from a judge, where you're everything and you make the decisions and everybody says, 'yes, sir,'" to a world where people need cajoling, convincing, and stroking . . . even when you're the highest elected official in the land.

Smith admits he hates the political side of the job. "So much of politics is gamesmanship for the sake of the game, not for the responsibility of governing," says the 62-year-old Democrat. "I like the governing more, because we get things done. It's satisfying to work on something important and get it done."

He then cites, as an example, his thrill at a recent groundbreaking for a new police substation. Yes, a police substation.

But Smith's apolitical nature is central to the early successes of his first two years in office. And, when the defining moment of his public service career arrived in the form of Tropical Storm Isabel, it was Smith's steak-over-sizzle management of the county's disaster response efforts that cemented his reputation.

Though he served two terms on the Baltimore County Council in the late 1970s and early 1980s, James T. Smith Jr.'s demeanor is that of a judge, not a legislator. Earnest, circumspect, and detail-oriented, he doesn't dominate a room when he enters it or create a stir when he leaves. It seemed fitting, then, that in 1985, the lawyer and former deputy public defender was appointed as a judge on the Circuit Court for Baltimore County. A lifetime on the bench appeared to be the perfect nexus of his career arc and his character.

So it came as a surprise to many when Smith -- after 16 years on the bench -- resigned in September 2001 to announce he was running for county executive. Some thought popular Democratic state senator Thomas Bromwell was the obvious choice to follow Smith's gregarious predecessor, C.A. "Dutch" Ruppersberger (who continues to represent portions of the county as congressman from the 2nd District). Others saw county councilman Kevin Kamenetz as a rising star whose turn had come.

"When Jimmy made the decision, it was one of the great mysteries around the courthouse," remembers Judge Dana Levitz, who was sworn in one day after Smith became a judge 19 years ago, and is now the Senior Judge of the Circuit Court for Baltimore County. "Why in God's name would you want to go from a job where you don't have to worry about politics straight into politics? It sounds crazy -- and I didn't believe it myself, at first -- but I really came to believe him when he said he did it just because he wanted to serve."

Smith's decision to run came after he consulted with his family, starting with his wife Sandy, whom he met and began dating in high school. "Obviously, my mother knew that there would be significant sacrifices on her part if my father were to [run]," says Smith's son, Michael Paul, an attorney with Bodie, Nagle, Dolina, Smith & Hobbs. "It would not only be the campaign and all the nights out to get elected, but it would continue after my father was elected."

It would be, in short, a far less comfortable and more stressful family lifestyle for Smith, his wife, and their four children (and eight grandchildren) than during his judgeship.

When Smith's first fundraiser netted roughly $500,000, he felt that he had support around the county needed to win. That success also helped convince other contenders to concede the race to Smith. He captured the Democratic primary easily, and beat Doug Riley in November 2002, capturing 56 percent of the vote in a county that cast 61 percent of its votes for Arbutus native and Republican gubernatorial nominee Robert Ehrlich Jr. Those split-party, Ehrlich-Smith voters proved pivotal. "I've always had a lot of Republican backing," says Smith. "They had a lot of experience with me, from two terms as a county councilman from a district that has always been carried by Republicans. I think it has to do with my fiscal responsibility, middle-of-the-road, meat-and-potatoes approach to how you run a government."

During his initial months in office, Smith experienced a bumpy ride, particularly in his relations with the Baltimore County Council. Councilman John "Johnny O" Olszewski says it was because Smith didn't have the right personnel to handle the transition. "He brought some people in with good intentions that weren't familiar with the issues in all seven districts," he says. "Those kind of relationships were missing, initially." But Smith soon made a few smart hires -- most notably bringing in former Maryland Democratic Party executive director Ann Beegle to shore up his political operations -- and welcomed advice from his fellow Democratic county executives around the state.

Smith's preferred strategy is to outwork, not outmaneuver, his detractors. Thus far, the two hallmarks of his governing philosophy are a focus on small-bore, big-impact local projects -- from commitments to urban redesign in Randallstown to housing revitalization in Kingsley Park -- and miserly budgeting. Indeed, Smith's $1.3 billion, fiscal year 2005 budget proposal was written so tightly that the county council passed it virtually untouched.

Smith has a methodical, obsessive approach to life. Family members tease him for the maniacal reconnaissance he performs in order to ensure he buys gifts that meet the precise expectations of each recipient. Staffers long ago ceased to be surprised by his command and retention of the smallest details in the reports they write for him. And then there's his desk.

"My desk is my own doing," says Smith, whose office is almost preposterously immaculate. "I don't have people messing in my stuff. I am pretty organized. I'm the kind of guy who makes a list of things and checks them off."

Says Timothy Kotroco, the county's director of permits and development management: "He's very involved with our departments, and he'll call you on the phone and hit you with questions about something that you had no idea he was following. We kind of like it when he goes on vacation, because it gives us a chance to come up for air."

Smith had been in office only nine months when, on a Thursday night in September, a weakened Hurricane Isabel ripped through portions of the eastern side of the county. Surveying the damage from a helicopter, Smith says he remembers thinking that residents would need more than basic services, like power restored or clean water -- they would want to know "somebody would be listening to them." Smith summoned the county's agency directors to his office for an emergency meeting.

"I went around the table and asked each department head, 'What can you do? Let's not talk money, let's not talk budget. Just tell me what you're capable of doing.'" By Sunday night, says Smith, they had put together an integrated plan. The police, fire, and emergency preparedness chiefs were all involved, but so were other departments, such as those that handle services for the aging.

Though he received high marks from residents and the press for his initial response, not all of the problems wrought by Isabel were easily itemized and checked off -- a lesson Smith learned when dealing with the issues the county's residents faced in filing disaster insurance claims. As Smith heard tale after tale of denials and delays in insurance dispensations, he began sticking his nose into state and federal politics beyond his jurisdiction.

In December 2003, he criticized the state's insurance commissioner, Alfred W. Redmer Jr., who later held a press conference asking for an apology from Smith (none was forthcoming). Then Smith hired former state insurance commissioner Steve Larsen -- who'd been appointed by Governor Parris Glendening -- to investigate how claims were filed with the National Flood Insurance Program. And Smith agitated for the kinds of federal reforms that a county executive has little power to effect.

Isabel also compelled Smith to spend more time in what -- for him -- were the less familiar eastern portions of the county. (A mid-county homebody, Smith has lived in Reisterstown for all but the four years he spent at Wheeling Jesuit College in West Virginia, and he's worked in Towson for most of his professional life.) But it would be unfair to conclude Smith was drawn there solely by Mother Nature. "He doesn't need the east side to get re-elected," The Sun's Green says. "He could have lost every single vote east of Philadelphia Road and he still would have been elected [in 2002]."

Isabel gave county residents -- including those who had grown used to Ruppersberger -- their first up-close look at Smith in action. "My style is to be out with the people a lot, [whereas] Jimmy's style is more deliberative, more detail-oriented," says Ruppersberger. "But I think Jimmy has really grown very quickly . . . Isabel has taken him to the next level in his career as county executive. It was his defining moment, and it allowed constituents to see what he can do."

It's Wednesday morning, the third day of the Democratic National Convention in Boston, and the assembled delegates and other party officials from Maryland are already worn out from two full days of hollering and hobnobbing. Per tradition, the delegation gathers each morning for breakfast meetings sponsored and keynoted by prominent party leaders.

The 2004 lineup of speakers is a blockbuster group of rising local government stars, including the two men expected to vie for the right to be the Party's 2006 gubernatorial nominee: Montgomery County executive Doug Duncan and Baltimore Mayor Martin O'Malley.

But Wednesday is Baltimore County's turn in the spotlight, and Jim Smith's first big opportunity to introduce himself to the Maryland's assembled party elite. As delegates pick over scrambled eggs and French toast in a second-floor banquet hall at the Seaport Hotel along Boston's famed harbor, Ruppersberger and Congressman Ben Cardin give warm-up speeches. Smith listens politely, his eyes darting between the podium and his own speech notes, which he reviews from his seat near the stage. From suit to shirt to tie, he is crisply dressed in all blues and greys.

Once on stage, Smith quickly disposes with the routine acknowledgements before launching into an advocacy speech for the 2004 presidential election. Mixing kudos for John Kerry with barbs for George W. Bush, Smith reaches his scripted punchline: It doesn't matter if you're blue or red -- just use your head. Vote for John Kerry.

It's a simple rhyme, inspired less by Auden than audience-friendliness. And sure enough, the keen ears of the political junkies assembled at the Seaport begin to pick up Smith's rhetorical refrain. By the third time he reaches that pregnant pause after the partisan-colored blue or red, the crowd harmoniously pipes in with him. Smith's face relaxes a bit.

Though Smith later says he enjoyed his featured moment and the rest of the convention, he reveals a poorly-kept secret: "I hate fundraising," he admits. "I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. Going to party meetings where you're just talking about party politics, I find it sometimes frustrating."

He may not like talking about party politics, but he is innately skilled at talking to his constituents. Not long after returning from Boston, Smith gave a speech at the State Fair in Timonium. After the lunch, Smith was touring a pavilion on the fairgrounds when a senior citizen wearing a beanpot hat approached. The man said he was miffed that a welcome-home "Phelpstival" rally for Towson's Olympic swimming superstar Michael Phelps has been scheduled for September 11. "You don't tread on that day," the man scolded. "It's a sacred day to me and my family." Smith quickly and deftly explained that September 11 was the only Saturday which Phelps' busy media and promotional schedule permitted -- and that, if anything, hometown heroes like Phelps were precisely the sort of people who ought to be recognized on such anniversaries. The man relented, patting Smith approvingly on the shoulder before turning away.

Smith is even growing more comfortable with party politics. "I'm head of the Democratic Party in the County now, and I take that seriously," says Smith, noting that he's proud to be one of several Democratic executives supervising the state's largest jurisdictions. "But it's not what I enjoy most about being county executive."

To become county executive, Jim Smith had to forfeit his position on the bench, where big decisions are made unilaterally, and usually without much direct public feedback or complaint. Though he understands the different standards to which legislators and executives are held, Smith's judicial comportment is not easily suppressed. It doesn't help that many residents address him, reflexively as "Judge Smith." But today, that's not the person he sees himself as. "Since my swearing-in, I've never had time to sit and reflect on which job I find more rewarding," says Smith. "I'm more focused on looking forward than looking back."

Montgomery County's Doug Duncan imagines that Smith's transition from the bench to the hurly-burly of county politics was tougher than Smith would admit. "You don't need buy-in from anyone, you don't have to bring in people to ask what's the right thing to do," he observes. "But you can't do that as county executive."

Buy-in -- it's the just the kind of term that rolls off the tongue of a veteran pol like Duncan, but you aren't likely to hear from Smith's mouth. But so what? Smith doesn't seem much troubled by his apolitical, sometimes awkward style. If anything, it's his best political asset.

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