Longtime PUD commissioners in Washington have witnessed ample turmoil over the past four decades, but few more than Kennewick's John Goldsbury.

Known in the Tri-Cities as a successful businessman, charitable giver and civic leader, but also for his role in the Washington Public Power Supply System's spectacular nuclear construction debacle, Goldsbury is retiring after 35 years as a Benton PUD commissioner.

Or, perhaps more fitting considering the times in which he served, voters have retired him.

Upstart Lori Sanders, who ran an active $10,614 campaign mostly of four-figure donations from a handful of farmers, defeated the ailing Goldsbury at the polls on Nov. 2.

At 76, Goldsbury suffered a heart attack in the last month of the campaign and wasn't up to pounding the pavement. "It was probably time," he said last week. "I don't feel that bad about it."

In a business that gets noticed only when the lights go off or the rates go up, Goldsbury's tenure was much the same.

He was called a socialist for his public power advocacy in the 1960s, he sweat in the spotlight of the WPPSS nuclear construction collapse in the 1970s and in recent years he has weathered an energy crisis that inflated rates and infuriated ratepayers across the West.

In between all that were victories that proved far more anonymous. The PUD was one of the smallest utilities to purchase equipment that allowed it to automatically shift power away from overloading substations two decades ago, a move that quickly paid for itself in avoided Bonneville Power Administration overcharges.

The public power community has strengthened mightily during his tenure as well, he said, noting the emergence of public power partnerships such as the supply system, a consortium now renamed Energy Northwest that bears little resemblance to its former self.

Goldsbury grew up in Franklin, Neb., a town of 1,075 people 130 miles southwest of Lincoln.

After a stint in the Pacific during World War II and returning to school, he went back home where his dad had helped form the municipal electric utility.

But the outlying areas still went without modern-day conveniences enjoyed by those in town. Goldsbury, working for an electrical contractor, helped drum up interest in forming a rural electric cooperative, convincing would-be customers in areas private utilities wouldn't touch to sign on.

In those days, he'd string power lines from trees to cut the cost of delivering electric power to out-of-the-way farmhouses.

He moved to Walla Walla in the 1950s to live near his brother and later to the Tri-Cities, working for Morrison Refrigeration & Heating Inc., a business he later bought and sold.

When longtime PUD Commissioner Bob Johanson of Benton City died in 1969, Goldsbury was asked to run for the post by Commissioner Bob Graves, a longtime friend who still serves on the board.

The two had become friends through their involvement in separate Jaycees organizations, and Graves thought Goldsbury's expertise would come in handy.

"He knew a lot about things we needed, conservation and efficiencies," Graves said. "We had huge energy waste in our schools."

Having been raised in a state dominated by public utilities, Goldsbury already had an appreciation for the public power movement.

But in 1969, about 23 years after the Benton PUD had condemned Pacific Power and Light's poles and wires and opened for business, Goldsbury regularly ran into resistance from those who questioned whether it was wise to substitute government for private business.

"I got into several arguments at the coffee shops," he said. "I kept saying 'It's not socialistic, it's just nonprofit.' There's a difference."

That was nothing compared to the turmoil he found himself immersed in as a member of the WPPSS board of directors from 1971 until he resigned in 1980. He was board chairman from 1977-79, a period marked by the Bonneville Power Administration's announcement it would raise electric rates by 90 percent - an event that made the WPPSS debacle hit home for thousands of Northwest ratepayers.

Four of five nuclear plants ultimately would be canceled before they were finished, having drowned in an ocean of cost overruns.

Poor management, contractor bungles, regulatory changes during construction, out-of-sight interest rates, ill-equipped PUD commissioners calling the shots and BPA's ultimately incorrect projection for power shortages contributed.

The $2.25 billion municipal bond default that followed for two of the plants would be the largest in the country's history. Goldsbury's name would appear on 29 lawsuits.

"There's enough blame to go around," Goldsbury said. "There are so many things that went wrong. I knew what was wrong, but I didn't know how to correct it."

The ordeal would sour his health, but he'd eventually find a way to laugh about it.

Upon being recognized as the 1995 Tri-Citian of the Year, Goldsbury joked, "I can't believe I can get an award for raising your power bill."

Twenty years after leaving the WPPSS board, Goldsbury would find himself embroiled in another mess. The West Coast energy crisis began working its way up from California just as the BPA and its customer utilities were making arrangements for long-term power supplies.

Acquiring those supplies suddenly became unbelievably expensive.

Bonneville and some utilities got stuck in deals they'd soon wish they could undo. Rates soared and only now are starting to plateau.

If that didn't contribute to Goldsbury's demise, it certainly didn't help.

Though a dozen PUD commissioners in Washington still ran unopposed in this year's elections, half of the dozen who faced opposition lost, including Goldsbury.

While he ran on his record, Sanders ran on a platform saying she'd lower rates. And after 35 years, voters opted for a change.

Goldsbury said he rode out the rough times because the PUD commission was his venue for contributing to the community and because he felt he was advancing a good cause.

"I believed in it," he said. "I believe in public power."

Now on the sidelines, he'll be looking for odd jobs.

First on his list is some repair and maintenance work at a $1 million Kennewick warehouse he donated to Columbia Industries, a nonprofit organization that provides employment training for people with disabilities.

Looking forward, he predicts public power's biggest challenge will be battling environmentalists for control of the Columbia River. Looking back, he'd take a re-ride in this public power rodeo and would accept the same results.

"I would do it all over in a minute, even knowing what I do now," he said.