Most people probably think of John Kromko, if they think of him at all, as a clown or a gadfly, or maybe a mixture of both.
His best years were his legislative years, 1976 to 1990, when he was turning over lobbyists' breakfast tables in the Statehouse like Jesus in the temple. Or so the story goes.
There were truths and rumors, of course.
That he slept in his office, or in his VW van. That he cleaned up in the men's room. With that shock of hair, the clutter around him and all those referendums he pushed, how could there not be rumors?
"There was a lot of mythology about me," he said. "As time went on, the stories got more and more elaborate."
So for the record, he said he slept in his van or office only occasionally, and turned over only one lobbyist breakfast table to make a statement, although he did give a fiery speech.
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Was Kromko a good legislator? He was smart and crafty, pushing for the repeal of the sales tax on food, and was a key force in bringing about motor-voter registration, among other issues. But you also have quotes like this:
"I'm not entirely certain that John always represented the interests of his constituents, but he certainly represented the positions that he believed were right for them," said Ruth Solomon, a friend and former state senator. "I think in his own peculiar way, John has brought issues before the public that may not have come before the public."
But recent years may have been his worst, losing one race after another, slowly embodying the clown image he was branded with in 1992 when he took on his friend, Ed Moore, for county supervisor and lost. He doesn't say much about the clown commercial - a hit piece funded by an independent committee backed by, among others, Diamond Don and The Clicker - but it scorched him. Many saw a slice of truth in the image.
"The clown commercials really were, I think, devastating to John," said Jaime Gutierrez, a former state senator.
Irrelevancy followed. He lost in a bid for state senator in 2002. He fought the RTA. He organized an unsuccessful initiative drive in 2007 to limit new water connections and ban the use of effluent (he called it toilet-to-tap). He failed in a run for the state House in 2008, and again in 2010.
In between were the felony charges for identity theft and forgery with the signatures he collected for the 2008 race. He pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor and a fraud charge that could be knocked down to another misdemeanor, although he said it was because the deck was stacked against him with possible jail time.
"I'm not allowed to say that I didn't do it," he said. "A person has no control over what somebody writes for a petition. I didn't need those signatures."
Now he's a man without a party. Kromko, 70, describes himself as "more of a Democrat than I've ever been," and recently attended the launch of an organizing effort for the liberal wing of the party. But many in the party don't see him that way, especially since he's become so outspoken about taxes. No room for the Kromko clown.
"He went kind of right-wing on us, and in my view he doesn't have a place in the party anymore," said Paul Eckerstrom. "I think a lot of Democrats don't understand him now."
But Kromko has always been against sales taxes and government waste.
Kromko might be stuck on the fringes now, but his recent lawsuit over the Bourn deal shows he can still make a difference.
Back in 2004, Rio Nuevo sold a downtown block to developer Don Bourn for $100. Kromko alleged the deal violated the state's gift clause because Bourn has never built anything on the site (although Rio Nuevo did spend $900,000 to tear down buildings, including one more than 100 years old). Kromko's suit inspired Rio Nuevo to also sue Bourn.
"This guy Bourn was going to save the downtown area, and he's looked at like a God, and he doesn't perform," Kromko said.
In light of this small feat, I'd like to rebrand Kromko from that ill-fated clown commercial. Is he a gadfly? Of course. Is he smart and a little paranoid? Definitely. But clown? Too harsh. He's the jester in our political court. A fringe character, who like the "fool" in "King Lear," can call things for what they are (except his own petitions, apparently), even if no one listens.
"I care because it's real," he said of the misspending he sees at the city. He then went off on a typical Kromko riff.
"It's like that stupid bridge, the underpass on Fourth Avenue that cost $46 million. That's $90 for every man, woman and child in this town. Think of it.
"Think of what we could have for that."
Contact columnist Josh Brodesky at 573-4242 or jbrodesky@azstarnet.com
