As ground is broken today for the Bengals stadium, the man most responsible can sigh with relief. His roller-coaster ride has bottomed out, for now.
It has been a challenging year for Hamilton County Commissioner Bob Bedinghaus.
The project has faced enormous price increases since Mr. Bedinghaus asked county voters to pass a stadium sales tax. The more historic and more popular of Cincinnati's teams, the Reds, still are waiting for a stadium of their own.
Mr. Bedinghaus trudges on, convinced that voters eventually will reward him for bold action in a city that has grown infamous for its ability to dicker.
The Bengals stadium is scheduled to open in August 2000, just three months before Mr. Bedinghaus has to run for re-election. There is no question he will believe credit is due him.
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Bedinghaus file
Occupation: Hamilton County Commissioner.
Born: April 18, 1959, in Mount Adams.
Home: Hickorytree Court, Delhi Township.
Family: Wife Betsy (Montague); daughters Laura and Amy; golden retriever Holly.
Education: Graduated from Elder High School, 1977; University of Cincinnati, bachelor's degree in economics, 1983.
Political resume: Campaign staff for former Channel 5 news anchor Tom Atkins, 1980; failed run for Delhi Township trustee, 1981; elected Delhi Township clerk, 1987; appointed director of Hamilton County Board of Elections, February 1993; appointed Hamilton County commissioner, January 1995; elected county commissioner, November 1996.
Private business: Gateway Federal Savings Bank 14 years, beginning as a teller in college. Responsible for real estate properties, reporting to the bank president. Buffalo Wings & Rings, director of franchise operations, spring, 1995; business manager, Bonnie White & Associates ad agency, until spring 1997.
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Give him a few minutes, and this 39-year-old who started in politics before he graduated from high school will tell you how he has dragged county government onto center stage in the effort to make Cincinnati exciting again.
He will say he is a direct descendant of Ronald Reagan's politics, and he does imitate the Great Communicator's habit of crafting images about himself.
But Mr. Bedinghaus's methods owe more to those of any effective manager: He does his homework. He is sure he has adequate backing before he launches an idea. He neutralizes enemies.
He hosts talk-radio shows to defend himself, and he telephones newspapers after hours to suggest headlines. His all-purpose favorite: "Bedinghaus Saves City."
He calls in favors from important new friends and guards his base of long-time constituents -- unpretentious west-siders, public-safety officers, township trustees.
He takes calls at home around the clock, and he consults with a range of community leaders, from the Baptist Ministers Conference to Fourth Street business leaders.
They are people whose worlds were foreign to him as he grew up in white, middle-class Delhi Township.
He lives 2 miles from his old neighborhood now, in a modest subdivision of two-story homes with wife Betsy, their two daughters and a golden retriever. He likes the old TV show Green Acres, country music and Dean Martin.
It's a close-knit life. For his birthday last year, he played cards with his neighbors. Mr. Bedinghaus' father, also Robert, visited their home almost every night until he died in 1996.
The Bedinghauses met through politics, and friends say Mrs. Bedinghaus' good advice is key to her husband's success.
One version of the oft-told story about how Mr. Bedinghaus invented the idea for a stadium sales tax has her debating with him at the kitchen table.
The first draft was a grab-bag. Announced in June 1995, it included a new public-safety radio system, a jail for the sheriff, wresting control of the Metropolitan Sewer District (MSD) from Cincinnati in an attempt to bring County Commissioner John Dowlin on board. By the time the issue made it to the ballot nine months later, the public-safety spending was gone, along with the MSD issue. (Mr. Dowlin never supported the tax.)
In their place were money for Cincinnati Public Schools and promises to hire local workers and minority- and women-owned firms. Mr. Bedinghaus had discovered new constituents. The tax passed overwhelmingly, 61 percent in favor.
"He was becoming more cosmopolitan in his thinking and trying to prove himself as a commissioner for everybody, rather than just that certain (west-side) element," said the Rev. Damon Lynch Jr., then president of the Baptist Ministers Conference.
Mr. Bedinghaus had the foresight to neutralize an old Delhi Township political enemy before he rolled out his original tax plan.
He arranged the support of County Auditor Dusty Rhodes by offering him the chairmanship of a proposed stadium authority, which has not yet materialized.
Later, county officials invited Mr. Rhodes to New York, where they met with bond-rating firms about issuing debt for the Bengals stadium.
"He was trying to get something off dead-center," Mr. Rhodes said of the tax, which convinced the Bengals to stay in Cincinnati. "In spite of our political differences, I was willing to work to make this work."
Cincinnati City Councilwoman Bobbie Sterne said the methods Mr. Bedinghaus used to propose his sales tax are typical of how he prepares for other issues.
"He is pretty organized," she said. "He knows where he wants to go, and he touches bases to make sure that's going to happen. He touches bases with people in his party, and to a certain extent, the business community."
Before he speaks, he has a majority of two votes lined up on the county commission, Mrs. Sterne said. Since he was appointed to the commission in early 1997, Tom Neyer Jr. has voted with Mr. Bedinghaus on every issue.
The pragmatism Mr. Bedinghaus showed during the sales-tax campaign meant compromising an ideal, argued state Rep. Jerome Luebbers, a Delhi Township Democrat whom Mr. Bedinghaus challenged in 1992.
"The main theme of his campaign in '92 was no taxes," Mr. Luebbers said.
"It's an ironic twist that he would become the front man for a pretty good tax increase in Hamilton County, that it would be a tax increase that would get him the recognition that a lot of politicians crave."
Mr. Bedinghaus defended himself, saying different times call for different actions.
"Generally, I oppose taxes," he said. "There are times when we need tax dollars. We can't do government without money."
Mr. Bedinghaus can be flippant. Prior to demolition, he said, "Let's get a beer at Flanagan's before we knock it down." The owners looked uncomfortable.
He is not a man to work out details. He proposed a property-tax cut before knowing it could work. He rushed a public-safety sales tax onto the ballot in November 1996, too late to have it reviewed by a committee he had created for that purpose.
Mr. Bedinghaus said he is aware of his flaws: "Whenever you get a sense of newfound responsibility, it takes a while to mature into that role."
The huge increase in cost estimates for the Bengals stadium sunk Mr. Bedinghaus to a low point as county commissioner.
The campaign to fund the stadiums used $544 million as an estimate for both. A more recent estimate put the Bengals project at $400.3 million.
Conservative talk-radio host Bill Cunningham said his WLW-AM listeners are furious. But Mr. Bedinghaus, once a regular on the show, has not responded to recent criticism.
"Since I pointed out how the promises have not met the realities, you can't find him with a pack of bloodhounds," Mr. Cunningham said.
Mr. Bedinghaus said the early cost figure was unrealistic, and costs have been under control since the county took over stadium development. He said disappointments over the past year, including locked horns with Cincinnati City Council over a riverfront land transfer, have not hurt him personally.
"The sun comes up, my dog licks me in the morning, my kids still say hi. Things aren't that bad," he said.
He spends time socializing at township functions on the west side. Keeping in touch with those early supporters is smart politics, said Stanley Aronoff, former president of the Ohio Senate.
"He has a strong west-side constituency that has treated his outrageous -- and I say that with a twinkle in my eye -- tax proposal as a profile in courage," Mr. Aronoff said.
New friends include John Williams at the chamber of commerce, Joseph Pichler of Kroger Co., part-time Cincinnati Business Committee Executive Director Scott Borgemenke, and Bob Wehling, a senior vice president with Procter & Gamble.
Those interviewed for this article said they admire Mr. Bedinghaus's willingness to take a stand, to listen to opposing viewpoints, to weather criticism and move on to the next issue.
"It must be something in the west-side water, but that's why he's special. He's got backbone," said Bengals General Manager Mike Brown.
Mr. Bedinghaus said he takes comfort from a close relationship with Gene Ruehlmann, former Cincinnati mayor, who spearheaded the construction of Riverfront Stadium in the late 1960s. Later, as chairman of the local Republican Party, he played a role in appointing Mr. Bedinghaus to the county commission.
"They called it Ruehlmann's Folly while it was being built," Mr. Ruehlmann said of Riverfront Stadium, now Cinergy Field.
"After it opened, it was "our stadium.' Public officials, they lead the way, show the way."
By 2003, Mr. Bedinghaus anticipates completion of a new football stadium, Reds ballfield and National Underground Railroad Freedom Center. It will be time to reap the rewards.
"We will have an incredibly changed skyline and front porch," he said.
"That's half the time it took to build Lazarus. Some people could say that's a whole career, and I just happened to squeeze it into seven years."
