THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, September 18, 1994 TAG: 9409180038
SECTION: FRONT PAGE: A1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY ROBERT LITTLE, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: VIRGINIA BEACH LENGTH: Long : 236 lines
George Sweet looked the politician.
His shoes were shined, his tie understated. His shirt and suit were as crisp as the part in his gray-tinged black hair.
Slowly, Sweet walked from one side of the stage to the other, throwing his hands in giant arcs or clutching them to his chest as he spoke. Several hundred followers listened in silence on this Sunday before Labor Day.
George Sweet sounded like a politician, too.
He cracked jokes and talked about football. He pleaded for money and volunteers. In fiery tones, he spoke of values and motivation.
And then Sweet reflected on the state's U.S. Senate race, and a comment from independent candidate J. Marshall Coleman about how humbling it was the day he argued before the country's highest court.
Sweet dropped his head, walked to the front of the stage and looked up.
``Standing before the Supreme Court of the United States will be kindergarten,'' he said.
``Kindergarten . . . compared to standing before Jesus.''
Sweet is a politician, who hopes to break the 12-year hold Democratic Rep. Norman Sisisky has on Virginia's 4th District congressional seat. And he is waging the closest thing to a challenge that the veteran congressman has ever seen.
He already has more than $150,000 in contributions. Big-name Republicans like Jack Kemp, Oliver L. North and George F. Allen plan to campaign for him. He has a gregarious, unassuming style that has attracted thousands of supporters.
But while typical candidates spend Sundays asking voters to follow them, Sweet spends most Sundays asking the 4,000 members of his church to follow God.
The 40-year-old father, husband, surfer, basketball player and now would-be Republican congressman from Chesapeake is pastor of one of the largest churches in Hampton Roads.
And he plans to keep preaching if he wins.
``It's no secret where I'm coming from. I'm a minister,'' said Sweet, who founded Atlantic Shores Baptist Church in 1981.
``I'm convinced I can win this campaign because I know I'm right on the issues. And I don't think my faith is the important issue in this race.''
Here's a guy who gave up a four-year basketball scholarship at Providence College to study religion.
He graduated from what is now Liberty University, sits on its board of directors and maintains a close friendship with Lynchburg evangelist Jerry Falwell.
Sweet rented a hotel room 13 years ago to start his own church, and has since turned it into a mega-church, with a 600-student school, a $3.5-million budget and more than 60 full-time employees.
And he isn't just about religion?
That's the word that Sweet, his aides and much of Virginia's Republican Party are trying to spread.
They have some convincing to do.
Even some party members ready to embrace the religious right wonder if running a Baptist minister isn't going a bit too far.
``I think when someone is ordained to be a spokesman for God, they've already made their commitment,'' said Hopewell Councilman Tony Zevgolis, who challenged Sisisky in 1992.
He said he supports Sweet, but, ``I have to admit, I had my own reservations.''
Zevgolis waged Sisisky's only Republican challenge, raising just $50,000 and losing by nearly 80,000 votes. Some party politicos were surprised he did so well.
For five terms, Sisisky has turned back challenges to his U.S. House of Representatives seat, which covers Chesapeake, Suffolk and much of Portsmouth. The district spans nine cities and 13 counties - from the western edge of Virginia Beach to Louisa and Goochland counties in the center of the state.
Sweet knew that entering the race meant battling critics, skeptics, liberals, Democrats and anyone else who says a Baptist minister can't win a campaign, even in Virginia.
He knew it meant facing a 12-year, well-liked incumbent who has a loaded bank account and isn't afraid to use it.
And he knew it meant spending seven months and thousands of dollars waging a campaign that even many of his Republican brethren think he'll lose.
But Sisisky can't be invincible, he told himself.
And besides: Nobody else wanted the job.
Even high-level Republicans have been reluctant to face Sisisky, who has the backing of the defense industry and organized labor.
His personal fortune is said to approach $40 million, largely because of the success of his Petersburg soft drink distributorship. When he toppled Republican Rep. Robert W. Daniel Jr. in 1982, Sisisky spent more than $350,000 of his own money.
``When people say Norman Sisisky, what do you think of? Money, that's what,'' said Irene Hurst, head of the Chesapeake Republican Party. ``He can just write a check. Nobody wants to run against that.''
Party leaders tried recruiting candidates who were more mainstream, but without success.
State Sen. Mark Earley said he wanted to finish what he'd started in the legislature. State Dels. Randy Forbes and Kirk Cox did some polling about possible campaigns before deciding they wanted to spend more time with their families.
Zevgolis said he wanted to keep his seat on the Hopewell City Council. Former Rep. Bob Daniel was happy with retirement.
So when Sweet surfaced as the likely challenger, party Republicans were quick to lend him their support. But many acknowledge privately that he's a candidate of last resort.
``He's not just an underdog, he's a significant underdog,'' said Larry Sabato, a University of Virginia political science professor.
Sabato called Sweet's religious ties ``a burden'' and said Sisisky's seat is perhaps the most secure in the state. So secure, he suggested, that perhaps GOP leaders are supporting Sweet to placate conservative Christians, knowing that no challenger could win the race anyway.
``The religious conservatives are a fundamental and essential constituency in the Republican Party,'' Sabato said.
``Doesn't it make sense to give them nominations where the stakes are not particularly high?''
A 6-foot, 8-inch Hampton Roads native, Sweet made headlines long before he announced a bid for Congress. And long before he founded Atlantic Shores Baptist Church in Virginia Beach, which is just inside the eastern boundary of the 4th District.
Born in Chesapeake in 1954, Sweet was 6 feet 3 inches tall by the seventh grade. His height always turned heads, particularly that of the Western Branch High School basketball coach.
He was recruited without a tryout, played varsity as a freshman and quickly became a standout. He made all-state, once scoring 40 points against Oscar Smith High School. ``One of my greatest memories,'' he said.
His roundball prowess caught the attention of a Providence College recruiter, who offered Sweet a full, four-year scholarship. He signed a letter of intent and talked of someday playing in the NBA.
But Sweet's dedication to basketball wavered in 1972, when he dedicated his life to God.
He didn't come from a particularly religious family, but he developed a fascination with the Bible and Christianity, he said. Midway through his senior year in high school, he committed himself to Jesus.
He canceled his Rhode Island plans and headed to Lynchburg, enrolling at Lynchburg Baptist College, now Liberty University.
It was there, during his sophomore year, that Sweet married Cindy Smith, his high school sweetheart. And it was there that he met the Rev. Jerry Falwell, the college president who remains a friend today.
``I always knew I wanted to start a church in Virginia Beach,'' said Sweet, talking earlier this summer from his campaign headquarters behind the Mr. Pig's Bar-B-Q on Battlefield Boulevard.
``I don't know why, I guess it's because I like the beach. They used to call me the world's tallest surfer.
``But I always knew that was what I wanted to do. I wanted to be a minister to people.''
So Sweet rented a room at the Ramada Inn on Newtown Road, put an ad in the paper, knocked on some neighborhood doors and set a sign by the road. He held the first service Sept. 20, 1981. Seven people showed up for Sunday School, about two dozen for the service.
The Sunday crowd soon doubled, then doubled again. And after a few months the fledgling church had to move to a nearby school. Membership had reached almost 600 by the mid-1980s, when Atlantic Shores Baptist moved to its Virginia Beach complex.
The church wasn't just a hobby, it was a successful career for Sweet, who earned an $89,000 salary last year. He built a $370,000 house on a 5-acre Great Bridge spread in 1992.
He was never a stranger to politics, always letting candidates address the congregation, always talking issues from the pulpit.
``We've always thought it's important for members of the church to stay informed,'' he said - and about political issues, not just spiritual ones.
Sweet worked regularly for the local Republican Party, campaigning for Coleman in his gubernatorial bid, Sen. Earley and others.
``I've always known I wanted to be in a business of ministering to people, and politics is like that,'' Sweet said. ``I always wanted to help Republicans, and I guess I thought sometimes whether I could run myself.''
But he always knew that ministers couldn't be politicians. At least, he thought they couldn't.
But a few congressmen are also ordained ministers, including former Democratic Rep. William Gray of Pennsylvania. The precedent had been set, Sweet figured. And by a liberal Democrat, no less.
So Sweet sought the approval of his wife, his family, his church and the Republican Party, always planning to commute home on weekends if he wins and continue preaching to his congregation.
When he called a special meeting of his congregation last April 12 to ask for church members' approval, the 700-plus crowd gave him a standing ovation. He formally announced his candidacy two weeks later.
``I guess there's something in me that liked that challenge,'' Sweet said.
``It's taking something from the ground level and watching it build - just like the church. That's the excitement.''
Sweet has spent the first months of his campaign raising money. He has amassed more than $150,000 - considered impressive for a rookie challenger.
His message has focused on government finances: ballooning deficits, high taxes and spending he considers out of control.
He likes term limits. He opposes abortion, and favors the death penalty and school-choice legislation. He promises never to vote for a tax increase.
And Sweet plans to paint Sisisky as a Clinton Democrat - someone, he says, who preaches conservatism but votes liberal. Sisisky voted for Clinton's 1993 tax package, which passed by just one vote .
``As far as I'm concerned, it was his vote,'' Sweet said.
Not all Republicans are sure Sweet's strategy will work.
``There are some Democrats who just make Republicans shudder,'' said former Portsmouth GOP Chairman Helen Chapman. ``But Sisisky isn't one of those. I don't think people are afraid of him.''
Sweet has targeted conservative voters with a nationwide, direct-mail campaign, accounting for about 20 percent of his contributions. The state Republican Party contributed $5,000.
And much of the campaign's war chest comes from large contributions collected from friends and associates of Sweet's, many of them with ties to conservative Christian organizations.
Among the contributors are Tim Robertson, son of evangelist and businessman Pat Robertson, who contributed $1,000. Mark DeMoss, a spokesman for Falwell, gave $1,000. Another $1,000 came from John Gimenez, pastor of The Rock Church in Virginia Beach.
Sweet inherited money from his father's Portsmouth lumber company and says he'll write some checks to finance the campaign if he has to.
There will be no campaigning from the pulpit, he pledges, though some church members may get involved in the race.
He doesn't shy away from questions about his religious background, but you can bet he'll finish his answer with an opinion on taxation or government spending. He'll tell you he's proud to have Falwell as a friend, but he'd rather talk about why he opposes government health care.
``One thing no one will have to worry about with me is who I am,'' Sweet said. ``What I am is very transparent: I'm a minister. I don't have some hidden agenda. I'm not trying to fool people.
``But the federal government is too big. It's spending too much money, it's too intrusive - and somebody needs to turn it around.
``And I'm the guy. I'm the guy to turn it around.'' ILLUSTRATION: Color photo
TODD SPENCER
Republican House candidate George Sweet, a Baptist minister,
campaigns at the Chamber of Commerce Seafood Festival.
Map
STAFF
Photo
L. TODD SPENCER
Baptist minister George Sweet talks to Kim Turner at the Chamber of
Commerce Seafood Festival, where he campaigned for the 4th District
congressional seat held by Democrat Norman Sisisky. Sweet is pastor
at Atlantic Shores Baptist Church in Virginia Beach.
KEYWORDS: ELECTION VIRGINIA 4TH DISTRICT CONGRESSIONAL
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