Former L.A. Times Publisher Likes Life Away From Headlines

REDMOND, Ore. - Otis Chandler compares his life to the sleek motorcycle he sometimes guns up to 120 mph on the roads of central Oregon, only to throttle it back to a slow cruise to enjoy the scenery.

Last year, Vanity Fair ran an article, "The Chandler Mystery," about the former Times Mirror Co. chairman and Los Angeles Times publisher, quoting news industry figures still bewildered by his partial retirement and move to Oregon.

To Chandler, who turned 70 last month, it was simple:

"I was going night and day, running to black-tie dinners every night, serving on boards, plus raising five children, trying to be a good father and a good husband. And I just felt that I was probably going to kill myself with a heart attack or something.

"Finally, I just said, `That's enough.' "

Chandler and his second wife, Bettina, now spend nearly half of the year growing hay and riding horses on a 150-acre Redmond-area ranch with spectacular views of the Cascades and the Deschutes River canyon.

Their move to Chan Tina, a combination of their names given to the ranch, has baffled many.

Chandler, on the other hand, wonders how he lasted so long with the pressure of running a multibillion-dollar publishing company. "To use racing terminology, I was on a very fast track, and I'm not sure I'd be here today if I hadn't gotten off of it," he said.

Finally, the right listing

Chandler had been looking for a place in the high desert and

mountains of central Oregon for many years. In 1995, his real-estate agent called and said that Ken Ullman, the son of former Oregon congressman Al Ullman, had just put some property on the market.

Chandler asked to have photos faxed to him, and he returned an offer by fax and bought the place.

He paid close to $1 million for the initial 40 acres and its barn and 5,000-square-foot house, plus an additional $2 million on renovations and other parcels, bringing the total acreage to 150.

It has perhaps the best view anywhere in central Oregon, but Chan Tina is modest compared with ranches owned by "zillionaires" Chandler criticizes for buying huge tracts of land in the Rocky Mountain states.

"If you have this," Chandler said, looking at the stunning canyon below his ranch house, "you don't need thousands of acres. I'm not trying to keep up with the people who buy these horrendously big ranches in Montana and Wyoming. I mean, Ted Turner is up to a million acres now. For what?"

Chandler and his wife escape to rural Oregon for about 40 percent of the year. They're highly visible around the area in restaurants, stores and the Bend Athletic Club, where Chandler lifts weights three times a week.

"It's a different culture up here," he said. "The neighbors, the people I meet down at The Big R store or the Wal-Mart in Redmond, they're just so nice - the kind of good people that Oregon is famous for. They don't know who I am, or maybe they do know I had something to do with some newspaper, but I don't choose to talk about that, so they say `Hi' and ask how everything is going and ask what I think the weather is going to do.

Anonymity is savored

"It's the first time in my life, being born a Chandler and then having the visibility and all the careers I've had, that I can be left alone if I choose, or I can reach out to people and make some friends with my new neighbors."

Those neighbors seem only vaguely aware of who Chandler is.

"I only recently heard he was some sort of newspaper big shot, but he's not at all the highfalutin type. He doesn't put on airs, and to tell you the truth, I still don't know exactly who he is," said Adele Hegardt, who lives across the road.

Chandler represents the fourth generation of a family dynasty that began in 1882 when his great-grandfather, Gen. Harrison Gray Otis, bought the Los Angeles Times. The general's grandson, Norman Chandler, guided the paper into an age of prosperity, before he and his wife, Dorothy Buffum Chandler, groomed their son, Otis, to take over as publisher.

A track star at Stanford, Otis Chandler married his college sweetheart, Missy Brant, and served two years in the Air Force before embarking on a seven-year training program at his father's newspaper, beginning in the pressroom at $48 a week.

At 32, Chandler took over the Los Angeles Times and launched a new era with a five-part expose of the John Birch Society - despite the fact his uncle, Philip Chandler, and his wife had been ardent Birch Society supporters.

During the next 20 years, the paper's circulation tripled to more than 1 million. The paper bought up the Dallas Times Herald, the Baltimore Sun, The Denver Post and The Hartford Courant, along with many other newspapers, magazines and television stations.

A museum of cars, exotic animals

Although he spends much of his time in Oregon, Chandler maintains his legal residence in California at Ojai, a half-hour drive from Oxnard, where he operates a museum filled with the classic cars and motorcycles he collects and the mounted animals he has brought home from hunting trips all over the world.

He remains involved with the $3 billion-a-year company he helped build, although he has given his blessing to changes being made by Times Mirror's chairman and chief executive officer, Mark Willes, who began revamping the Los Angeles paper in 1995.

A decade ago, it looked as if one of Chandler's five children might succeed him. But his oldest son, Norman, was diagnosed in 1989 with an inoperable brain tumor. "We don't know if he'll live another day or another year," Chandler said. "That's the great sadness of my life."

Chandler has two other sons - Harry, 44, who works at the Times on Internet-related development, and Michael, 39, an ex-Indy driver who nearly died in a 1984 crash. Fully recovered, he now lives in Bend.

Chandler's daughters, Cathleen, 42, and Carolyn, 34, are pursuing non-newspaper careers in California.

Chandler's future, meanwhile, leans heavily toward ranching and enjoying a lifestyle far from Los Angeles. "I think I worked hard for 40 years, and I deserve a little rest."

Former L.A. Times publisher likes life away from headlines