Cover Story
End of an Era
Pedro P. Tenorio
The next two and a half months may be among the longest ever lived by Pedro P. Tenorio, the outgoing governor of the U.S. Commonwealth of the Northern Marianas. He’s heading toward the end of his third term as governor, four years over shadowed by an economy in freefall, bitter relations with Washington, and rising worries about the future of the commonwealth’s large but controversial garment industry.
Leading an administration beset by problems most of which aren’t of its doing, it is no wonder that late last year Tenorio gleefully told a senior aide that he was looking forward to the coming January. “Teno,” as he is better known, was crushed when the aide reminded him that he had another year to serve before his term came to an end. “To be honest, I would not,” the Republican says today when asked if, knowing what he knows now, he would again make the decision to run for this term. “It has been very tough.”
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While Tenorio can’t wait to vacate the governor’s mansion on Saipan’s Capitol Hill in January, his departure will mark an end of an era in Northern Marianas politics. Now 67, Tenorio is the last of his generation likely to serve as governor of the 23-year-old U.S. territory.
Born and raised on Saipan during the Japanese administration, a survivor of the hellacious 1944 battle between invading U.S. forces and entrenched Japanese defenders, Tenorio was sent to neighboring Guam in the 1950s for schooling. Tenorio was trained as a teacher. But he quickly decided his future lay outside of the classroom. In his younger days, Tenorio was known for his skill with a saxophone. And as a teen-ager, Tenorio didn’t step back from tangles with U.S. sailors who worked on Saipan in the 1950s. Today, though, the “rascal” in Pete Tenorio is rarely seen in public. He goes about his duties in a quiet, deliberate manner. He’s not big on meetings, preferring to work one-on-one with department directors. Above all, Tenorio is pragmatic, a trait that’s characterized his public life since the 1970s.
The trait is evident in the story he tells of a man who came to his official residence early one morning. It isn’t unusual for constituents to come knocking, sometimes asking for political favors, often for money. Tenorio usually meets with each one and hears them out.
One day, Tenorio remembers, a man came asking for money. His family was going hungry, the constituent told the governor. If Tenorio gave him money, he could buy his family food. Instead, the governor told the man he’d give him a leg of beef that he happened to have in his freezer. The man could take that and feed his family, Tenorio said, knowing full well the fellow before him wanted cash to buy drinks at his favorite bar.
The man tried to back out of the offer, but Tenorio insisted. “Take the meat,” he said, “it will feed your family.” Chagrined, the man left the governor’s mansion carrying a frozen leg of meat. He didn’t come back asking for money again.
