Indiana governor's race: John Gregg goes beyond the mustache

During his first run for governor four years ago, John Gregg used folksy campaign commercials shot in his tiny hometown of Sandborn and yard signs featuring a silhouette of his trademark mustache.

The campaign left an impression in the minds of voters. But it didn’t win them over.

This time, Gregg is better funded and has a slight lead in the race, according to recent polls. But that’s not the only difference. His mustache is trimmed and absent from yard signs. His commercials are more traditional, focused on jobs and the economy.

Call it Gregg 2.0.

To be sure, the wisecracking Democrat from Southern Indiana is still quick with a witty line and usually leaves his audiences entertained. But now he also has a novella-length pamphlet of policy proposals and a message catered more toward younger, urban voters.

“They want to see some meat and potatoes,” he said last week after making his pitch to a group of young professionals at Sun King Brewery near Downtown Indianapolis.

That pitch includes a brand new centerpiece: a promise to push for statewide civil rights protections for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender Hoosiers.

“Indiana has to be a welcoming state that does not harbor discrimination, that attracts businesses rather than scares them away,” he told the audience.

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He was referencing the 2015 firestorm over Indiana’s Religious Freedom Restoration Act, the controversial law that critics said would have allowed religious business owners to discriminate against gay customers.

The law upset many of the state’s powerful business interests and provided a small opening for Democrats in a state where Republicans have dominated state politics in recent years.

But Gregg, a former Indiana House speaker, seemed an unlikely choice to capitalize on the controversy. Unlike some of his more liberal colleagues, he had supported laws banning same-sex marriage as recently as 2012, during his last run.

He compares his change of heart on the issue to that of other Democrats, including Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton. And he attributes it to his stepdaughter, Stevie, a 33-year-old attorney who he says persuaded him to look at the issue through the lens of civil rights.

To his critics, the campaign makeover and evolution on gay rights are evidence that Gregg lacks principle and puts too much stock in the political winds of the moment. But to those who know him well, the less cartoonish version of Gregg is the genuine one, an indication of a candidate who is now more comfortable in his own skin.

Country boy

Gregg grew up in Sandborn, a southwestern Indiana town of about 400 people. His father, a Democrat, ran an asphalt contracting business in nearby Linton; his mother, a Republican, did the books.

The small-town upbringing continues to play a big role in Gregg’s political outlook. His dad’s union employees were treated like family, he said, and people took precedent over ideology.

“If you grow up in a small town, statistics have faces,” he said. “When you see a firetruck go by, you know whose house is on fire. It totally changes your outlook on stuff.”

The town would later play a starring role in his 2012 campaign for governor.

In a series of folksy television commercials filmed at Sandborn landmarks such as the Blue Jay Junction diner and the Clip N Curl hair salon, a mustachioed Gregg introduced himself as “the guy with two first names” and told viewers about residents of his hometown. One ad, for example, featured an elderly gentleman named “Hobo.”

The ads reintroduced Hoosiers in a memorable way to a man who had been out of state politics for a full decade. They also grabbed attention in a race where Gregg’s opponent, then-U.S. Rep. Mike Pence, had far more campaign cash at his disposal.

But even some Democrats complained that the down-home portrayal would fail to resonate with urban and suburban voters.

“It was an exaggerated version of himself to help him stand out,” said Mark Kruzan, a former Democratic lawmaker from Bloomington who was one of Gregg’s closest allies in the House. “People in Bloomington told me they didn’t like those ads, but they remembered them. I think four years ago, the question was, ‘How do we break through the clutter with something unique?’”

The commercials highlight a tension that has existed throughout Gregg’s political career. While his good ol’ boy charm and sense of humor can endear him to people, they also can raise questions about whether to take him seriously.

Not doing so would be a mistake, Kruzan said.

“He takes what he does seriously, but he doesn’t take himself too seriously,” he said.

Humor in the House

Gregg was elected to the House in 1986 after earning a law degree from Indiana University and working as a lobbyist in the coal industry that dominates his part of the state.

As a freshman lawmaker, he got a seat in the back row. Republican Mike Young, now a state senator, sat next to him. He remembers Gregg as someone who liked to have fun.

“I remember him passing out rubber bands to all the members and when a particular member of the media would go live at 11 o’clock, it was like the bombardment of London,” Young said.

Gregg also would clip clothespins on the back of people’s jackets, eliciting laughs as they walked up to the podium, Young said.

Once, Gregg clipped a pin to then-Ways and Means Chairman Pat Bauer. Bauer got so upset that he asked another member to go to the microphone and denounce the behavior as juvenile.

Despite the occasional complaint, the goofing off helped Gregg build relationships with people in his caucus. Those relationships — and a failed Republican power grab — would help him rise from the back row of the chamber to the dais up front.

Defining moment

In 1995, Republicans pushed for a major labor law change to lower wages on public works projects. About 22,000 labor union members marched to the Statehouse in the biggest protest ever held there.

The same year, Republicans — knowing they had won seats in the 1994 GOP landslide that they couldn't hold — tried to redraw the House district maps mid-decade.

Democrats, led by Gregg, considered it an unconstitutional attack. They declared the session over and went home.

"We were petrified," Gregg recalled. "We were scared to death."

They feared the public would accuse them of not doing their jobs, but within days, newspapers in the state were accusing the GOP of an ill-timed power grab.

Republicans dropped the plan and, in a face-saving move, passed a bill giving control of a tied House to the party that wins the top state office on the ballot, either governor or secretary of state.

At the next election, in 1996, with the help of many of those angered union workers, voters elected a Democrat as governor, and 50 Republicans and 50 Democrats to the House.

"Republican overreach made me speaker," Gregg said.

The experience solidified his standing as a favorite of organized labor, which has contributed millions of dollars to his campaign this year.

Gregg’s colleagues say the experience also boosted his confidence.

“I think he proved himself to the Republicans, to the House Democrats, but most importantly to himself,” Kruzan said.

After he became speaker, the practical jokes died down some, though Gregg still hosted euchre games in his office and frequently ribbed his colleagues about their comb-overs and other physical attributes.

He continued to use humor to break down barriers, not only among his own caucus, but across the aisle. The ability to introduce some levity was especially important for two years when the House was split 50-50 between Democrats and Republicans.

Gregg couldn’t pass anything without the support of at least one Republican, and even then, any bill had to pass the Republican-controlled Senate to reach the governor’s desk.

“There would be times you would walk into that House chamber and you’d feel the tension in the air,” Gregg said. A dose of self-deprecating humor could go a long way in reminding everyone that “we’re all Hoosiers,” he said.

A deeper side

Beneath the humor, those who worked with Gregg said they saw a deeper, more serious side emerge, though often in private.

Joe Champion, who served as the Democrat's senior counsel in the House, said Gregg seemed to know and remember something personal about everyone.

“My kids are both in college now, but throughout the years, he has never forgotten to call them on their birthdays,” Champion said.

Marion County Democratic Chairman Joel Miller was a legislative assistant to then-Rep. Ed Mahern in 1988 when tragedy struck. Miller’s older brother was killed in a car crash, leaving behind two children.

Miller asked Mahern for help finding a lawyer who could provide advice about how to handle his brother’s affairs.

The next day, Gregg called Miller to his office and asked for his father’s phone number.

“He talked my dad through everything,” Miller said. “It was the only legal counsel we needed. When he was done, he hugged me and said a prayer.”

Even those across the aisle came to view Gregg as a friend, including his Republican counterpart, Brian Bosma, who is now House speaker.

The depth of the relationship between the two men was on display in the days after Gregg’s surprisingly narrow loss to Pence in 2012.

Gregg was traveling to Florida for a post-election vacation when Bosma called and asked his former colleague whether he knew Tony Bennett, the Republican superintendent of public instruction who had just lost his re-election bid.

Bennett, whose loss came as a surprising blow, would be in Florida at the same time as Gregg, Bosma said. Would he mind getting together with him and helping ease the pain of the election loss?

Gregg agreed and invited Bennett to breakfast. They talked for hours and had a great time.

Joe Sergi, a longtime friend and college fraternity brother, said Gregg’s gregarious personality can overshadow another strength.

“Some people might see him as having the gift of gab, but I don’t think people realize he’s a good listener,” he said.

It is that more mature side of Gregg that is coming out this year on the campaign trail, his allies say.

“It’s more substantive than it was four years ago,” Kruzan said of the campaign. “That’s different than what the focus was last time. Last time the focus was on image. He has worked really hard, got started on his fundraising early, and it has allowed him to run the kind of campaign that he wants to run."

That's not to say Gregg doesn't continue to tap into his sense of humor. At a recent breakfast with the state's pork producers, Gregg noted that a lot of things have changed in politics since he ran for governor in 2012 — but some things haven't.

"I'm John Gregg, I'm still running for governor, and I love bacon," he said.

At the fundraiser with young professionals last week, he said, "This is a great evening for me. I’ve been going to fundraisers in all of 2015 and 2016, and this is the first time they allowed me to have a drink."

Later, he told a joke about the location of his wedding in 2012.

"I always told people our goal was to get married in the governor’s residence, but I really didn’t think Mike and Karen (Pence) would appreciate us showing up, so we went ahead and got married at a church in Sandborn."

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This year, though, he is following up with a robust agenda that includes a $3 billion infrastructure plan, universal preschool and a statewide expansion of LGBT rights.

“If you like status quo, I’m probably not your candidate,” he often tells his audiences.

His opponent, Republican Lt. Gov. Eric Holcomb, says Gregg’s big-ticket items would take the state back to the days of big deficits. Libertarian candidate Rex Bell agrees that Indiana’s roads are inadequate. However, he has said higher taxes aren’t the solution and that the state should stop using gasoline-related taxes for things unrelated to roads.

Gregg insists his agenda can be accomplished without raising taxes. He said he would tap state reserves, ditch the state's expensive ISTEP student assessment test, scale back the state’s private school voucher program and leverage toll road funds to borrow $3 billion.

Those details show a gravity that wasn't always apparent in his last campaign. But when asked about the changes, Gregg said he'd let others be the judge.

"I'll let the pundits pontificate," he said. “The biggest difference is the media and the voters are paying attention. When there is a well-informed electorate, that is to my advantage."

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Call IndyStar reporter Tony Cook at (317) 444-6081. Follow him on Twitter: @indystartony.

John Gregg

Age: 62.

Residence: Sandborn.

Education: Law degree from Indiana University; master’s degree in public administration from Indiana State University; bachelor’s degree in political science and history from Indiana University; associate degree from Vincennes University; North Knox High School graduate.

Experience: Partner, Bingham Greenebaum Doll LLP, 2005-present; Indiana state representative, 1986-2002 (Speaker of the House, 1996-2002); private law practice (1985-2002); lobbyist for AMAX Coal Co. (1979-1985); land agent, Peabody Coal (1978-1979).

Family: Wife, Lisa; sons, John Blackwood and Hunter; stepdaughter, Stevie Kelly.