The story of Tim Eyman’s fall from grace

By David Ammons

Associated Press

As disclosures go, this one was the Full Monty.

Tim Eyman’s dazzling fall from grace, for self-inflicted sins of avarice, betrayal and deception, was spectacular in the extreme, doubly compelling because he chose the hour of his demise himself and did everything but immolate himself on prime-time TV.

This was high drama for the largely scandal-free zone of Washington politics.

The initiative king’s confessional was unusually blunt, candid, utterly self-condemning — and brutally public, splashed across front pages and dominating the TV and radio news cycles, aided and abetted by himself.

Think Jimmy Swaggart, with his tearful "I have SINNED!" breakdown for the cameras after hanky panky with a prostitute. Think Tammy Faye Bakker, mascara running down rivulets of tears as her television ministry crumbles after fleecing the faithful.

Eyman, usually a sunny, jovial extrovert, opened the door to his psyche and the dark secret he had carried so long: that he had lined his pockets with campaign contributions, dipping from a for-profit corporation he had created expressly to hide the deception.

Eyman, the man who had insisted he wasn’t personally profiting from the gusher of contributions, finally confessed: He skimmed off $45,000 in 2000 and planned to empty the rest of the slush fund of $157,000 later this year.

This from the holier-than-thou guy who held himself up a man-of-the-people who did it for love of the taxpayer, not for his bank account. The guy who held himself up as superior to money-grubbing politicians and paid consultants.

Falling from the pedestal he had erected with such skill and doggedness, he wins the Olympic gold medal for telling whoppers.

The pilfering may not be criminal, except against his supporters and against his Boy Scout image — the crippling "taint of hypocrisy," as he put it. The Public Disclosure Commission is sorting it out.

His amazing confession was the climax — at least for now — of a political drama that bathed him in limelight. The story line was for a no-name watch salesman to become a folk hero who eventually becomes a major power himself and allows it to corrupt him.

No one yet knows what the final act will be.

It was late in the fourth quarter of the Super Bowl game, with St. Louis making a move on New England, when the phone rang at my home near the Capitol. I didn’t want to answer it, but did. It was a distraught Eyman, wanting to talk.

And, boy, did he.

In a long, emotional gusher, he revealed "the biggest lie of my life" and his decision to tell all and throw himself on the mercy of the court of public opinion.

Eyman referred to the heady early days as an upstart nonpolitician, a no-name advocate for the little guy, the amateur who ran a spectacularly successful mom-and-pop effort that gave people $30 car tabs.

He talked about his struggle to juggle what turned out to be full-time involvement in initiative politics with family considerations. Time spent on initiatives was time away from his wife, Karen, and toddlers and the mail-order watch business they run out of the family’s Mukilteo garage.

He says he eventually decided he had to take a salary, but was convinced he couldn’t let anyone know.

That’s where the psychological stuff and the political calculations come in.

Eyman says he was certain that a big part of his success was his image as a populist icon who was morally superior to the politicos, government bureaucrats and paid consultants he battled. His schtick: They were in it for the money and he did it for the little guy.

And so he lied, trying to have it both ways. For public consumption, he was Citizen Tim, the noble unpaid do-gooder; in reality, his snout was in the trough.

He rejected all entreaties from his treasurer, Suzanne Karr, to go public with his decision to become a paid initiative manager in the style of Bill Sizemore in Oregon. That would undercut his credibility too much, he thought.

For Eyman, the rush of becoming a media celebrity, a household brand name, a mover and shaker, the "shadow governor," was as seductive as a drug. His grandiosity grew with each passing week.

By this year, he was pressuring the Legislature to dance to his tune and announced he would launch not one, but two initiatives this year, as well as a gas-tax referendum if lawmakers insisted on passing taxes in Olympia. He started e-mail traffic with all 147 legislators, cities and counties and, always, reporters.

"It became an all-consuming passion of mine. I can’t ask people to sympathize, but you have no idea what an overwhelming thing it is to sponsor a successful initiative. It is so heady. There is an enormous thrill to it. Everything about it, I just adore," he said.

That addiction to power and his raging ego overrode his better judgment, he added.

In his AP interview on Sunday night, he used just about every insult about himself that his worst critic might come up with — liar, revolting, stinky, stupid, egomaniac, hypocrite, deception, betrayal and more.

"It was hubris. This all enveloping we-can-do-anything attitude."

He clearly didn’t know when to shut up.

And then he provided a megaphone to shout it even louder. After giving his confession to The Associated Press, which he knows circulates in every daily newspaper and most TV and radio stations, he made himself available for late-night TV. He even provided the visuals, meeting the camera crews at the Mukilteo post office and opening a bundle of new checks for them.

He did a repeat performance Monday morning. In all, a rather masochistic 12 hours. After walking outside the post office, he surveyed the newspaper boxes for the first time. Everyone bannered the Eyman story. "It splattered me," he said, recalling it as a moment when he realized the weight of his transgression.

"I’m out now," he said.

In a later phone call to the AP, he said the catharsis felt strangely good.

"It has been an emotional roller-coaster ride, but, my God, I feel better. To have two years of lies heaped up on top of you, it really weighs you down. They say that when you find yourself in a hole, stop digging. I dug for two years.

"I showed there are a thousand different ways to say, ‘I feel like an absolute ass.’

"It was like dropping your pants in front of a crowd. It’s just out there."

Eyman needs professional help, said his "heartbroken" co-chairman, Monte Benham.

Is Eyman washed up? Will he withdraw from public life or edge his way back, chastened and diminished?

First, he has to decide what he wants for himself and his family, whether he can de-escalate some of the addictive behavior and whether he is willing to operate under the glare of public scrutiny and the muzzle that Benham and other leaders of the group Permanent Offense want to fit him with.

His colleagues talked him into going into seclusion for now. This week, Benham and Eyman plan to announce a reorganization and reforms about how money will be properly spent and accounted for.

Eyman is seeking feedback from the 30,000 people on his mailing list. So far, most are telling him to hang in and to take a salary, as long as it’s properly reported. Eyman played his entire voicemail box for the AP on Monday — uniformly positive, even gushing.

Most academics, political consultants and politicos say Eyman is clearly damaged goods and that his being pitchman for future initiatives would give opponents a potent weapon.

His nemesis, consultant Christian Sinderman, says Eyman’s name on an initiative is like a Surgeon General’s warning that should cause people to question its credibility.

"His lying hangs around his neck like a big rotten fish no matter where he goes," says King County Executive Ron Sims. "What he wanted to do was alter the political landscape without playing by the rules. One is that you cannot lie to conceal, and the worst concealment is for personal gain.

"He regretted getting his hand caught in the cookie jar, but not taking the cookies."

But observers also say Eyman isn’t beyond redemption, because everybody loves a sinner who confesses.

"It’s not fatal," says Senate Majority Leader Sid Snyder, D-Long Beach, who is no Eyman fan.

Todd Donovan, an initiative expert at Western Washington University, says a small percentage of voters pay attention to sponsors and foes of initiatives, but the vast majority vote for the issue on the ballot.

If the car-tab initiative were rerun today, even knowing all about Eyman, it still would pass overwhelmingly, he said.

That could be Eyman’s salvation.

David Ammons is the AP’s state political writer and has covered the statehouse since 1971. He may be reached at P.O. Box 607, Olympia, WA 98507, or at dammons@ap.org .