Skip to main content
BY BETH SLOVIC and NIGEL JAQUISS
Charlie Hales knew he wasn't keeping his hold on the Portland mayor's office. But even as he prepared to walk away, Hales wasn't just going to let challenger Ted Wheeler waltz into City Hall.
On the weekend before Hales stunned Portland supporters and colleagues by ending his re-election bid Oct. 26, he talked with Multnomah County chief operating officer Marissa Madrigal. He encouraged Madrigal to run against Wheeler, the state treasurer whose candidacy for mayor has upended—and probably finished—Hales' political career.
That meeting shows Hales was fighting to shape the city even as he retreated from the 2016 race. It was another maneuver from a mayor who for the past two months seemed both reinvigorated and panicked by Wheeler's challenge. He seemed, at times, like the mayor Portlanders had hoped they'd elected three years ago.
But the flurry of action was too little, too late.
In a shockingly swift reversal, Hales had gone from an unchallenged incumbent to the object of scrutiny from Wheeler and the press, who said he was too close to developers and big companies like Uber, too far from Portlanders struggling to pay rising rents, and too eager to change his mind when hit with criticism.
Even Hales' longtime enemies feel his pain.
"He and I never really hit it off," says former City Commissioner Randy Leonard, "but I have to tell you that in spite of that, I felt some sympathy. It just got to the point where the guy couldn't turn around without getting kicked."
The long odds against Hales became clear two months ago.
Pollsters found a puzzling divergence: The electorate thought the city was moving in the right direction but thought Hales was not.
"If I didn't know anything about this mayor and saw 'right direction' indicators where they are…that sounds like a recipe for re-election to me," says John Horvick, political director for DHM Research.
But Hales faced several obstacles to re-election.
His closest supporters were real-estate developers—at a moment when developers were as popular as used-car salesmen—and his political consultant, Mark Wiener, was being scrutinized for lobbying for Uber.
Wheeler scored early endorsements from the three previous mayors—Sam Adams, Tom Potter and Vera Katz. And Hales' fundraising was drying up: Since Sept. 1, he raised only $34,000, about one-third of Wheeler's total during the same period.
But Wheeler's entry into the race Sept. 9 energized Hales, inspiring him to propose the kind of bold fixes his supporters in 2012 expected.
When Wheeler made housing an issue, Hales declared an emergency. When Wheeler criticized housing demolitions, Hales quickly hatched a "tear-down tax."
Hales filled the calendar with new proclamations, announcing Hip-Hop Day and Acupuncture and Oriental Medicine Day and renaming Columbus Day as Indigenous People's Day. He promised local public employee unions he would seek $15-an-hour wages for the city's hundreds of seasonal workers.
Poked by Wheeler, Hales finally took a clear position on the controversial street fee, calling for a gas tax vote next May. He sought $500,000 to expedite hiring new police—a clear response to Wheeler's interest in hiring new officers.
This week, the City Council is scheduled to vote on yet another recent Hales initiative, nearly doubling city spending on housing.
Wheeler brought Hales to life. But it was too late. The mayor shifted into action so rapidly on so many issues that his behavior often looked panicked.
Leonard says he first noticed Hales' frantic activity in May, when he reversed his support for a propane terminal proposed by Canadian energy company Pembina.
"It felt like a series of almost desperation moves," says Leonard, "and Ted wasn't even considered to be a potential candidate at that time. It just seemed like [Hales] was trying to ingratiate himself to different groups of voters and that it wasn't sincere."
Hales' biggest supporters sensed the mayor secretly wanted out.
"I know that what he has really wanted to do is go sailing with his wonderful wife," says developer John Russell. "He has a fabulous boat that is capable of going around the world."
Hales' concession to Wheeler might seem hasty. But he's shown willingness to walk away before—he abruptly left his city commissioner's post in 2002 in the middle of his third term.
On Oct. 26, Hales said he decided not to run so he could focus his full attention on governing. He expressed hope that somebody else would jump in the race.
"He could have waited until much later," says Joe Baessler, political director of the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees. "I think there's somebody else out there waiting to step into the race, and I think Charlie Hales knows who it is."
Hales' statement Monday supported that notion.
"The filing deadline is still over four months away, and I hope and expect that several qualified candidates will seek the office of mayor," Hales said in the statement. "There are some dynamic new leaders in our community, and I'm excited to see who steps up."
By then, he had already contacted Madrigal, who served as interim county chair after Jeff Cogen's 2013 resignation and had earlier considered running for the City Council next year.
Madrigal did not respond to WW's requests for comment by press deadlines.
She's one of three women whom political insiders see as best positioned to run against Wheeler. Multnomah County Chairwoman Deborah Kafoury is strong on housing; House Speaker Tina Kotek (D-Portland) enjoys sturdy labor support. Neither has expressed any interest in running.
Observers say Hales did the city a final favor by conceding before a bruising race even started.
"The left lane is wide open," says longtime lobbyist Len Bergstein. "Somebody with progressive credentials could run to Wheeler's left and make it an interesting race."
Clarification: This story originally said Wheeler wants to hire 700 new officers. That's the number proposed by the police union. In fact, Wheeler told the Portland Tribune he favors hiring "significantly more" officers but did not specify a number.
Willamette Week