IF he weren't serving as Governor," says a friend of Washington's Daniel Jackson Evans, "he probably would go out and climb Mount Everest or sail around the world alone." Challenge is a key word in Dan Evans' vocabulary, to be used with intense, if low-pitched enthusiasm. Guided by the philosophy that "we have to act, not react," Evans has worked to prepare his richly forested state for the inevitable day when it moves "from a scattered open society to an urban society." Surrounded by a profusion of lakes and mountains, the Governor has the foresight to proclaim: "We have not suffered the silt and smoke of overindustrialization—yet. But time, which has been on our side, is rapidly running out."
The son of an engineer and a civil engineer himself, he bristles with impatience at imperfection, especially in his own performance. To keep his 6-ft., 182-lb. frame in shape, Evans, 42, began jogging a few years ago, long before it became the thing to do. Last year friends gave him the "Tired Tennis Shoe Award"—a scruffy old sneaker which he proudly displays in a glass case in his office. Essentially he is a loner, and his favorite sports are those that pit a single man against nature, or against the limits of his own endurance—hiking, mountain climbing, skiing, sailing.
Born into a moderately comfortable Seattle family, Evans inherited his interest in politics from his mother's side. "One of the earliest remembrances I have is watching mother dress up to go to the Herbert Hoover victory celebration when he ran against F.D.R.," says Evans. "It has become a standing family joke."
After a tour in the Navy at the end of World War II, Evans picked up bachelor's and master's degrees in engineering from the University of Washington. Recalled to duty as a lieutenant in 1951, he served as aide to Admiral William K. Mendenhall, the Navy's representative on the Military Armistice Commission at Panmunjom. When Evans told his boss he aimed to quit the Navy and run for office, Mendenhall urged him to stay on. As the now retired admiral recalls, Evans replied: "Well, the political business at home is a dirty business, and I think I can clean it up."
Old Gluefoot
Coming from anybody but an Eagle Scout and an idealist of uncommon rectitude, that would be an insufferable statement. Evans first won office in 1956 when one of the two seats in a heavily Republican Seattle district fell vacant. In 1959 he married Spokane-born Nancy Bell, the blonde, hazel-eyed daughter of a mining engineer who wanted to name her Verna Equinoxia because she was born on the first day of spring. (He was dissuaded by his wife.) The Evanses have three sons: Danny Jr., 7; Mark, 4; and Bruce, 23 months.