The Most Fearless Governor in America

Native Californians learn at an early age that it's impossible to explain the place to the rest of the world, so why bother? Nobody believes it when Californians say they don't sit around worrying about earthquakes and mudslides; that they don't care when two professional football teams leave the state's largest city inside of three months; or that in the world capital of nutcase extremists, the guy who really seemed like an odd duck a year ago was Gray Davis, a nerdy gubernatorial candidate who claimed he would govern from the center, of all places.

California has the highest and lowest elevations in the Lower 48, more rich people than anywhere else and more poor people too. Physically and cosmically, it is the fringe. So it was only natural that some natives were skeptical down to their thongs about a plodding career politician who claimed to be a moderate. But nine months into his first term, it appears that the New York City native wasn't lying.

When Davis signed a head-turning bipartisan health-care-reform package into law last week--one that, among other things, expands coverage to include breast cancer and mental illnesses like schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, creates a panel to review denial of coverage and gives patients the right to sue HMOs that don't make "the health of the patient the bottom line"--he established what could become a national standard by which to judge reform in this area.

He also capped a string of successes that required knocking heads in Sacramento and left both Democrats and Republicans crying in the aisles, wondering what happened to the mousy pencil sharpener who was long ridiculed for having the perfect first name and a series of those anonymous government jobs like lieutenant governor and controller, which are somewhat like assistant manager at the K Mart. "It was 'My way or the highway,'" says a Democratic legislator who had run-ins with Davis early on and found out that the buttoned-up, innocuous-looking Davis could cuss like a sailor. "Sharks are gray too, aren't they?" asks an admirer, Democratic Congresswoman Ellen Tauscher.

California's lefty Democrats whined that Davis abandoned them just when they could have steamrolled Republicans, with a majority in both houses along with the top job in the state for the first time in 16 years. Republicans carp about his grabbing headlines for initiatives set in motion by Republican predecessor Pete Wilson. Ticking off both parties while at the same time shaming them into action is the triple crown of nonpartisan, post-impeachment politics. But being in the middle isn't necessarily easy. It's like standing on a highway median strip--every time you step into traffic, someone is gunning for you.

"I suspect voters are not looking for rigid ideology when they vote for Governors," Davis told TIME one recent afternoon in his office, where he was meticulously reading every word of the 842 bills that sat in a box before him, often exasperating staff with brainiac questions about missing segments of earlier drafts. "They want someone who will get things done."

Assault weapons and "Saturday-night special" bans hailed as the toughest in the nation? Done. On-time budget? Done.

A controversial compact with 59 California Indian tribes restoring some casino-gaming rights that had been lost in a state supreme court decision? Done.