Reporting from San Francisco and New York — Less than a week after New York Gov. David Paterson launched his election bid to keep his seat, positioning himself as David against a Goliath of critics, he abruptly abandoned those plans Friday, buckling under revelations that raised doubts about his judgment and commitment to the job.
"I am being realistic about politics," Paterson told reporters squeezed into a small briefing room in the governor's Manhattan office. "There are times in politics when you have to know not to strive for service, but to step back. And that moment has come for me."
Paterson's decision followed reports this week of his intervention in a domestic violence case involving a close confidant. But pressure had been building for months, from the White House down, for Paterson to pull out in favor of the Democratic front-runner, state Atty. Gen. Andrew Cuomo, sparing the party a costly and divisive primary.
"The rumor is he's practicing cartwheels in Albany today," political analyst Lee Miringoff said of Cuomo, who has yet to declare his candidacy.
Cuomo issued a brief statement saying, "I am sure this is a difficult choice and a sad day for the governor and his family." He said he would announce his political plans "at the appropriate time."
Paterson's decision was just the latest turn in a tumultuous campaign season filled with scandal, corruption, carpet-bagging and a degree of political reinvention startling even by New York's elastic standards. Indeed, the state has seen so much upheaval over the last 24 months that only two of its six statewide officeholders were elected to their jobs.
Paterson, 55 and blind since infancy, offered an inspiring life story. The son of political royalty -- his father, Basil, is a longtime Harlem power broker -- Paterson served for more than two decades as a popular state lawmaker. His ascension to the governorship came by accident: He stepped up from lieutenant governor nearly two years ago after Eliot Spitzer resigned over a prostitute scandal.
Paterson didn't particularly want the job he inherited, nor was he particularly successful. News accounts depicted him as diffident and not terribly hard working. He never commanded much respect, from the public or peers in Albany, the state capital. Paterson sank so low in polls that each day became a virtual death watch, with constant rumors he would step down or abandon his campaign.
Still, he formally announced his candidacy a week ago, returning to the Long Island village where he grew up and, with considerable license, sought to recast himself as an outsider battling the political establishment. He took shots at the media, special interests, state lawmakers and, indirectly, Cuomo.
But on Thursday, the New York Times published an article detailing the involvement of Paterson and state police in a domestic abuse case involving David Johnson, 37, a close aide. The alleged victim failed to show up in court a day after speaking with Paterson, and the case was dropped. The repercussions were swift -- the governor's top criminal justice advisor quit -- and Paterson's political position quickly became untenable.
On Friday, he adamantly denied wrongdoing. "I give you this personal oath," Paterson said, raising his right hand. "I have never abused my office, not now, not ever." But, he said, "an accumulation of obstacles . . . have obfuscated me from bringing my message to the public," undermining his election hopes.
Cuomo, the prohibitive front-runner in this overwhelmingly Democratic state, has a sizable bank roll -- $16 million to Paterson's $3 million -- and a name that widely resonates. (His father, Mario, served three terms as New York governor.) The leading Republican candidate is former Rep. Rick Lazio, who lost a 2000 Senate race to Hillary Rodham Clinton.
As attorney general, Cuomo has turned himself into a consumer crusader and scourge of Wall Street, pursuing a number of headline-grabbing cases. Perhaps more important, he's overcome memories of his disastrous 2002 run for governor, when he returned from a stint as housing secretary in the Clinton administration to challenge a popular black politician, state Comptroller Carl McCall, who, many believed, deserved an unfettered shot at the top job.
The most notable moment of Cuomo's disastrous campaign was his slap at Republican Gov. George Pataki -- on Sept. 11, Cuomo said, Pataki merely held New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani's coat -- which only reinforced his bullying image. A week before the primary, Cuomo quit rather than face an inevitable drubbing by McCall, adding bad sportsmanship to his reputation. (McCall was handily defeated in the fall by Pataki.)
But now a humbler Cuomo has emerged.
"An Andrew Cuomo who is waiting for his moment, as opposed to pushing the envelope," said Miringoff, a pollster at Marist College. "Especially in the last couple of years, he's let his record speak for itself."
