A CAREER OF CONSENSUS-BUILDING

It’s exactly one week before Election Day, 178 hours before the polls close and Frank Cownie will learn if he will be Des Moines’ first mayor elected during the new millennium or if he’ll fill out the remaining two years of his at-large term on the City Council. The phones ring every few minutes. Volunteers rush into his campaign headquarters at 3111 Ingersoll Ave. to replenish their supply of brochures to hang on doorknobs as they canvass neighborhoods in Cownie’s behalf. Mountains of postcards await addresses. The stack is half the size it was a day or so before and volunteer Alissa Burgduff jokes about writer’s cramp, but vows they’ll go out in time to reach voters before they head to the polls. Every second of the day, it seems, is scheduled – sometimes double-scheduled.

Cownie walks in and turns down the proffered cup of coffee, asking instead for a cup of tea called Mint Medley. He reminds the volunteers that he’s not a coffee drinker, mocking himself with the animated gestures of what a caffeine-frenzied politician might look like before voters. “Frank doesn’t need it,” another volunteer chimes in.

Caffeine or not, he’s kept pace with a grueling schedule – three forums the day before, another that night, and he’ll squeeze in a couple of strategy sessions with his campaign staff before the televised debate in the evening. The campaign is in full swing and picking up momentum every day. “There are more and more volunteers coming every night and they’re doing more things, from addressing postcards to answering the telephone to walking the neighborhoods,” Cownie says, noting “a groundswell of support from average people all over town.”

That demonstrates one of his strengths, he says. Owner and president of Cownie Furs, a four-generation – five if you consider that his children have worked at the store – Des Moines business, he’s used to listening to and then representing the interests of his constituencies in business development groups like Downtown Des Moines Inc., the forerunner to the Downtown Community Alliance, Riverpoint Business Association and the Ingersoll Avenue Association. He says he gained a reputation as both a consensus-builder and a doer during his years of involvement with business groups, bringing hundreds of people together for common goals.

But he’s also not shy about speaking his mind and considers it a point of honor that he consistently voted against the majority of the council on measures to cut police and fire services. On Wednesday, he picked up endorsements from the unions representing Des Moines police and firefighters, something neither group has done in mayoral races for more than a decade.

“There are times when I vote differently than the flock, and that may make them feel uneasy that I have deviated from the path they have set,” he says. “In general, I would hope we all have the best interests of the citizens at heart – that’s where my heart is: with the citizens and businesses of Des Moines.

“I don’t make decisions based on the feelings of the majority of the council. At the end of the day, even if we disagree, we all are ready to come back and do what’s right for all the citizens of Des Moines.”

In the peculiar juxtaposition of politics, an issue that dogged Cownie in the tense, option-starved days of City Council budget workshops provides a platform for discussion of an important distinction between the two candidates for mayor. When he asked for an inventory of tax-exempt land owned by the city, whether in parks or as vacant lots, a newspaper reporter filed a story suggesting that Cownie wanted to sell off pieces of the city’s park inventory. What he was getting at, Cownie explains, is the cause-and-effect relationship between capital improvement and operating budgets. What he learned after the inventory was complete was that without touching park land, the city could sell off several hundred vacant lots, get them off the expense side of the ledger and on to the tax rolls, and create an endowment fund for ongoing park improvements.

Cownie says that’s the kind of creative problem solving he’ll bring to the office of mayor. He also promises a congenial leadership style that builds strong relationships instead of fracturing them.

“Voters are not only looking at differences between the two candidates in substantive issues, but they’re also looking at a difference in style,” he says. “My candidacy concentrates on working together with a wide variety of people to achieve consensus, while my opponent characterizes herself as a maverick whose willing to be adversarial.

“That cavalier attitude may work for a ward council representative, but when you are a mayor, you have to be a consensus-builder. It’s hard to imagine someone with a certain style for 10 years can reinvent herself and gain back respect lost to the Polk County, suburban and legislative leaders.”

Cownie also promises more communication with rank-and-file workers. He says he’ll throw the challenge out to department heads to make their operations more efficient rather than bring them into the process after the cuts have been made. Such an approach, he believes, will yield more cooperation, less dissension among employees.

“Just put it all on the table,” he says. “Talk to the private sector last, after full disclosure to employees. If you do that, I believe your employees will fight for you.”

Cownie made a conscious decision to move his involvement from the private to the public sector in the 1980s. He served five terms on the Des Moines Plan and Zoning Commission, including three years as its chairman. He also led Gray’s Lake study and planning committees and spearheaded the 2020 city character plan.

About three years ago with his father, Charles, “had some long, heartfelt conversations about entering elective office – the demands and public scrutiny.” He says he had worked hard moving the vision of the 2020 character plan forward and wanted to see it implemented. When George Flagg decided not to seek re-election to his at-large council seat in 2001, Cownie entered the race. Charles Cownie died a week before his son’s election to the City Council, but Cownie thinks his father would be pleased with his record.

“He’d be very proud of what I am doing and why I am running, and he would be equally proud of the work I have done on the City Council,” he says.

Cownie departs from politics and boasts about his children. Daughter Catherine Cownie is a local attorney who’s volunteering for his campaign. Charles is pursuing a degree at Seton Hall University in New Jersey that will allow him to teach high school theater. His youngest child, Suzanne, is a senior at Roosevelt High School, and Frankie, the third of his four children, is enrolled in a special school, Landmark College, for individuals with attention deficit disorder. Charlie also has a processing disorder, and his difficulties in school led Cownie to get involved with the Des Moines Independent Community School District.

As he speaks about his children, some of the motivation behind his candidacy becomes clear. For Des Moines to continue to grow and prosper, its mayor should be able to walk easily among the diverse groups that make up its population. Cownie says a career in consensus building and track record of championing citizen input prepare him for that.

In various capacities, he says, “I’ve tried to answer the needs of the people. You have to be able to tell people why you are doing something and how we’re going to get there. At the end of the day, not everybody is going to agree, nor do you always make the right decision, but if everybody knows where you are coming from, they’re more likely to embrace it.”

FACE TIME WITH A SKEPTICAL VOTER

Myron Hull gets this out of the way: He didn’t expect Mrs. Hensley to show, thought she’d prove what he’s always thought about city politicians, that they’re unapproachable. He had slipped the Des Moines mayoral candidate a note after a recent forum asking for some face time to discuss issues standing between him and a decision on who’ll get his vote in Tuesday’s election. But promptly at 10:15 a.m. Wednesday, she walks in the door of the Euclid Avenue Perkins Restaurant to meet with the man who wears an “East Sider” sweatshirt like a badge of honor.

Over coffee, Mrs. Hensley insists that he call her Chris. In City Council matters, she explains, she uses her given name, Christine, to eliminate confusion with Councilman Chris Coleman. She’s listed as Chris Hensley on the ballot.

Hull pulls a small spiral notebook from his pants pocket and starts in on a laundry list of issues – East Side issues, primarily, the kind that have led Hull and others to conclude their neighborhoods have become the unwanted stepchildren of Des Moines. He wrinkles his nose at Sticks, Projects and other high-end retail stores in the increasingly gentrified East Village, and says there’s more to the East Side than the area between the state Capitol and Des Moines River. He wants to know what Hensley is going to do to represent the everyday East Siders and how she’s going to help lift it out of its doldrums.

Hensley doesn’t let Hull feel like low man on the totem pole for long. She reminds him that the East Side is where she came from and that her parents, Clark and Betty Carr, still live at the corner of East 14th Street and Milton Avenue. She tells him that though the mayor represents the entire city, it’s important for its top elected official to forge strong bonds with ward council representatives to ensure that neighborhood issues get the attention they deserve.

“I’ve always thought the mayor’s office can be a bully pulpit for that,” she says. “What has happened over here – I haven’t been happy with that. Development has leap-frogged over the East Side and gone to Ankeny and Altoona.”

They agree on the problem – though many of its residents have strong spending power and fierce neighborhood loyalty, the East Side is starving for retail – and on solutions – the city needs to encourage a better mix of retail, commercial and housing in the area. They also agree that reaching the solution isn’t as easy as identifying the problem.

One by one, Hull checks areas of concern off his list. They range from Hensley’s unqualified support for a merger of Des Moines and Polk County governments (Hull frowns some at that), to Hull’s suggestion of another penny sales tax or even a property tax increase to close budget deficits (Hensley frowns plenty at that), to Hensley’s projection that up to $5 million could be saved annually by reducing the city’s contribution to employee health benefits (they nod in agreement that the city is out of step with the private sector with its 100 percent funding of employee insurance).

They talk for about 45 minutes. Hensley apologizes for having to leave for a cake-and-campaign event her parents are hosting at the Logan Community Center. Hull shakes her hand and tells her she might just get his vote.

The one-on-one meeting is vintage Hensley. As the Ward 3 City Council representative for the past decade, she’s gained a reputation for strong constituent service. “Talk to the people in Ward 3,” she says, “and for the most part you would find they are extremely pleased with my responsiveness.”

Before her meeting with Hull, Hensley anticipates issues might divide them. That only strengthens her resolve to keep the meeting. Her leadership style makes her confront issues head-on and help her detractors find, if not common ground, at least understanding of the rationale behind decisions.

Hensley’s straightforward approach has made her a lightning rod for criticism. It’s the source of the biggest misunderstanding about her in voters’ minds, she allows. It’s later that afternoon and Hensley is back at work at the 801 Grand Avenue location of Commercial Federal Bank, where she’s the vice president of community investment in Iowa and Oklahoma.

“Being a woman [seeking public office], you tend not to show the softer side or people side as much,” she says. “You want people to think you are tough and can handle the job. If you’re too tough, people say you’re cold and not responsive and have that feeling that you’re unapproachable.

“It’s clearly more of an issue for a woman than for a male.”

Earlier in the day, Hensley shows her softer side. It’s 9 o’clock and the 350 students at Cattell Elementary School are filing into the gymnasium for a morning assembly. Hensley feels a special connection to Cattell. Jane Ivanovich, the school’s office manager, is a sister to Hensley’s husband, Steve. The Hensleys’ daughter, Jennifer, attended Cattell even after the family moved out of the neighborhood.

Hensley talks to the students about dependability, a trait important in youngsters and public officials alike. “If on the City Council I say I am going to do something, I better get it done,” she says. “We have a lot of issues in the city, and what we need to do is make sure we respond to those issues.

“Sometimes it’s not fun, but if we don’t do it, it means we have let the people down in the city. If you say you are going to do something, you need to make sure you do it.”

Compatibility is a cornerstone in city politics as well. “We can agree not to agree on a particular item, but we can still be nice to each other,” she says. “We do things in the city of Des Moines that other people don’t necessarily agree with, but it’s in the best interest of the city of Des Moines.

“We have to talk to them. Do you know, if you sit down and talk to someone, they will understand. We just have to take a little bit of time to talk to them and it makes all the difference in the world.”

Dependability and compatibility are two of the four tools for success the Cattell students are concentrating on this semester. The others involve the development of social skills and working to their best ability in school. Hensley relates each of them to her life as a public servant, draws connections between her challenges and the students’. “It’s a pleasure to have you running for mayor,” a fifth grader tells her after the assembly.

Hensley sees similar opportunities to mentor students if she’s elected mayor, an office she unconsciously began striving for as an impressionable adolescent. Her grandfather was mayor of the Franklin County town of Bradford. “He was the fire chief, had a grocery store and ran for mayor,” she says. “He was the only other person in my family who ever ran for political office.”

Another mentor was one of the partners in a public accounting firm she worked for early in her career. He ran for a seat on the City Council. “I was intrigued by that,” she says. “During the primary, he reminded me I said then that I was going to run for mayor someday.”

If she’s elected mayor Tuesday, Hensley says she’ll be a visible public servant and top marketing and recruiting official for the city. “The [Greater Des Moines] Partnership does a good job, but the mayor can make a real statement. It gets the competitive juices going.”