146 sLAde goRton: A hALf centuRy in poLitics
It is clear that the Legislature has failed to either curb the power of the
attorney general’s office or derail Gorton’s seemingly inexorable progress
toward the higher office that he has long confessed an interest in. ‘Slade
Gorton is a political time bomb,’ said one Democratic representative last
week, ‘and I’m sorry to say it but I think we’ve laid the bomb right on our
own doorstep.’... [T]his sort of legislative hassling is exactly what his
political career needs. With the Democrats playing a scruffy Sergeant
Garcia to his sleek Zorro, he may be able to turn the nearly impossible
trick of making his involvement in state government a political asset, and
in so doing make his mark exactly where he chooses... the cloak of pro-
gressive, clean government wrapped around him as a defense against the
rabble.”^12
It was not for nothing they called him slippery.
Brewster and Brown were spot on. Whatever ennui was lurking as
Gorton began his ninth year as attorney general dissipated in the con-
troversy over the half-baked bill. When they tried to dismember him,
he emerged not only in one piece but reinvigorated. The next four years
passed in a blur, with Gorton flexing the legal muscle of the new anti-
trust law to seek damages for the taxpayers in price-fixing cases, includ-
ing one against the major oil companies operating on the West Coast. He
relished arguing several cases before the U.S. Supreme Court. While they
largely affirmed the Boldt Decision, the justices were again impressed
with his preparation and presence. He was at the top of his game. The 6-2
verdict that the tribes had no criminal jurisdiction over non-Indians was
a particularly galling defeat for the tribes. Liberals saw Gorton’s opposition
to Boldt as “refined demagoguery” and environmentalists in the Evans
wing gossiped that he was not a true believer.^13
Gorton, however, robustly defended a state law that banned supertank-
ers from Puget Sound and was entertained by the fallout from Governor
Ray’s escalating petulance. Dixy had “an abiding faith that technology
could prevent environmental disasters” and scoffed at opposition to a su-
per-port and pipeline at Cherry Point in Whatcom County near the Cana-
dian border. Senator Magnuson, who had championed legislation to pro-
tect the marine environment, was incredulous that a marine biologist
could endorse such a plan. She branded him a “dictator,” which Maggie
took as an honorific. In private, he referred to her henceforth as “Madame
Zonga,” a nod to a tattooed lady who was once one of the lurid attractions
on Seattle’s First Avenue.^14
ABsisteds y noRM dicKs, his former aide, and three other Washington