Cover Story
Guam's Happy Warrior
Carl T.C. Gutierrez
In a speech in Washington, D.C. some years ago, Carl T.C. Gutierrez called himself “The Man from Tomorrow,” a reference as much to his forward-looking views as to Guam’s location across the International Dateline. In actuality, however, he is more of a throwback to the days of Populist politics, a politician who thrives on one-to-one discussions and speeches in community settings. Gutierrez is a Democrat but one who defies easy labeling, often gaining more support from Republicans than from within his own party. Two things are clear about Guam’s two-term governor: he is a masterful politician at the grassroots level and, as he freely admits, he leaves little room for middle ground — people either shout his praises or openly despise him.
But love him or hate him, Carl Gutierrez has been a major force in Guam politics for more than 30 years. In the process of winning the governorship twice in a row in the 1990s, he has been a lightning rod for personal and political attacks, the intensity of which point to not-so-subtle changes reshaping Guam’s political scene.
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The 60-year-old Gutierrez exudes energy, constantly on the move, poking the air with his hands as he talks, laughing at jokes. He’s always shaking someone’s hand, hugging him or her in greeting if they’re more than just an acquaintance, or draping his arm over a constituent’s shoulder as they chat. Living with insomnia, he sleeps little, usually waking at 4 a.m. His staff is accustomed to very early morning calls, the kind that come before even the roosters have begun their early morning alarm clock routine, with the governor already in high gear.
At the end of the day, his staff frequently hands him a stack of phone messages from constituents, whom he often surprises by his habit of personally returning calls. He also makes it a point to attend virtually every funeral on the island, an island cultural norm that has its price: in one recent week, he or his wife, Geri, attended 13 funerals, making an obligatory donation of up to $100 at each. But, he says, “it all comes back to you” in time. And, he adds perhaps only partly tongue in cheek: “I go to all the funerals because when I die, I want a lot of people to show up.”
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Whether it’s a funeral, wedding or a private party, “I go as the governor,” he says. “In island culture, the chief is always there. It’s culturally what I should be doing.” Usually he has two staff with him at all occasions — an official photographer, who takes down the names of people in each photo with Gutierrez, and later will provide a copy to the constituents, and someone to take notes, as his conversations with constituents invariably involve a request for assistance from a government agency. Engaging and approachable, Gutierrez’s strength is his willingness to listen to people’s problems at almost any time or place. Sometimes, it takes on bizarre twists, like the time he was paying his last respects at the coffin of a friend and a man came up to him and began asking the governor to fix the sewer problems by his house.
In keeping with his grassroots approach to politics, Gutierrez won’t reside in the governor’s mansion with its stunning ocean view, using it only for receptions and functions.
He says he prefers the comfort of his own home, recently completed after about 20 years of on and off construction work.
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Born in 1941, Gutierrez grew up in a family of 11. His family struggled to make ends meet. The family lived in a two-bedroom house without running water or electricity. They raised chickens, pigs and a single cow. Gutierrez’s early morning job was carrying gallons of water to and from the house and feeding the animals.
Gutierrez recalls his father, Tomas Taitano Gutierrez, as a man who, despite being poor, would give the shirt off his back to people. “Even though he had nothing, he was generous,” he says. “I saw the happiness that my father got from being with his friends. But he’d fight at a moment’s notice if he believed he was right.” Aside from his father’s generosity, two lessons stuck in Gutierrez’s mind. “My father said two things make a man: his word and his balls.”
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Gutierrez usually went to school without breakfast, munching on berries that grew along the route to his school. Lunch depended on his classmates sharing what they’d brought with him. “I grew up without the discipline of regular nutrition,” he recalls. Because of his poor diet, he was a “dental cripple,” a problem that nearly kept him out of the Air Force in the late 1950s. His modest diet left the future governor malnourished, such that by the time he was in high school he was only 4’ 11” tall and barely 75 pounds.
A big break for Gutierrez came in the late 1950s after William Bengel, the commander of the Navy’s dry dock in Guam, befriended the family. He told Gutierrez’s parents that if they wanted to send their son to the United States to school, he could stay with Bengel’s family. “My mom took him up on the offer, selling soup to earn the $335 for my airfare to California,” he recalls.
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In June 1958 he flew off to America for his junior year in high school, but it was a difficult period for the skinny youngster from Guam. The impact on 17-year-old Gutierrez of his father’s sudden death in October that year, at the age of 46, was compounded by his family’s financial inability to fly him home for the funeral. Wanting to be with family, he moved to the San Francisco area a short time later to stay with relatives.
While in high school, he developed into a tough wrestler, despite his diminutive physique. He had no money for college, so chose the Air Force. Although he passed the entrance test for the U.S. Air Force Academy, he failed the physical because he had so many fillings in his teeth. So he chose to enlist in the Air Force, but at barely 100 pounds, he was under the required weight limit. Still, he was determined not to miss his chance. So for a few weeks he stuffed himself with food, pumping his weight up to 112 pounds and the Air Force recruiter relented and signed him up. The day of his high school graduation, Gutierrez went to Oakland to be sworn in, and left by plane a few hours later for basic training. It turned out to be one of the most important decisions in his life.
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“I went from being a kid to a man in the three months of basic training,” he says today with obvious pride. Still, being from Guam led to racist taunting from some of his peers. “They’d call me ‘fish head’ and ‘gook’,” Gutierrez recalls. His first six months in the Air Force were a rude awakening about race relations in America, and in the style of his father, Gutierrez stood his ground, often fighting back with his fists.
Despite an often gung-ho pro-business attitude, Gutierrez is always putting his hand out to people in need. “I never forget where I came from,” he says. “I grew up poor and I try to help the poor.” Sometimes this attitude clashes with business people because they complain that his administration is bloated and should be cut back. “But it’s cheaper to keep people employed in government, rather than forcing them into a situation where they have to leave Guam to get a job,” he says, adding that holding a job — even temporary employment — allows people to keep their dignity and stay off food stamps.
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He describes a battle earlier in 2001 with the Legislature over limited term employees who were to be terminated in March. “The Legislature said there was no money and by cutting the program, they’d save $5 million. The $5 million ‘saved’ went up to $7.5 million spent on social programs (for unemployed people).” More important was the loss of people’s dignity in being laid off. “You can’t treat people as numbers. Government is not a business.”
On June 1, 1993, Gutierrez rose with the expectation of a day of excitement and joy ahead: his youngest daughter, Hannah, was set to graduate from a local high school, the Academy of Our Lady of Guam. Instead he was confronted that morning with a blaring newspaper headline accusing him of a rape alleged to have happened in the 1980s.
“That was the lowest point (in my career) when (the Pacific Daily News) put that story out on the eve my daughter was graduating,” Gutierrez says. “It was all planned. They used my family to get me.” The accuser never even filed the charge in court, much less proved her case. Gutierrez notes that three years ago the girl’s family came and apologized to him for the accusation.
Damage may have been done, but it didn’t hurt him at the polls, where he rebounded to win by a commanding margin in 1994. A number of things spurred him to fight the allegation and continue his campaign. His family stood behind him strongly, despite the controversy. “My kids handled it well.
It was never really a crisis in the family.” He adds that he’s a strong believer in prayer, which also helped him to withstand the broadside.
Just four years later, again just before the election campaign season, Mark Charfauros, a member of the Legislature, held a press conference to announce that he had evidence that a member of the governor’s immediate family was involved in drug dealing. Even before the governor could respond, an outraged Geri Gutierrez was holding a press conference with two of her children at home to refute the charges. She later sued Charfauros and won a settlement from him.
Says the governor: “My political opponents get upset because when they think they have me in a headlock, I slip out.”
What is the Gutierrez legacy to Guam? He says that it is what he has been able to do to bring Guam into the political mainstream, to put Guam on the American government’s map by developing relationships with former President Clinton and numerous members of Congress. “We’re not out of sight, out of mind anymore,” he says.
Gutierrez views himself as the last grassroots governor who has made it politically because of his strong community appeal. “You can succeed without compromising your principles but it takes hard work and being in touch with people on a one-to-one basis,” he says.
Photos: Floyd K. Takeuchi
