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Brad Winter arrived in Albuquerque politics like a latter-day Jimmy Stewart — all aw-shucks and "Let's just do the right thing" and "Can't we just get along?"

Mr. Winter went to City Hall, all right, and though he hasn't transformed the place into a quilting bee during his eight years on the City Council, he's at least come out even: Politics hasn't changed him.

Or at least, his schtick.

Winter continues to chirp like the cockeyed optimist he was, is and likely always will be.

"This doesn't disillusion me," Winter says of a two-week stretch in which he's been accused of being:

(a) Politically unethical, whatever that means.

(b) A liar.

(c) All of the above.

Winter, a Republican, just lumbers on. The backroom machinations that wrenched the City Council president's gavel from Debbie O'Malley's grip and into Winter's hands nearly two weeks ago have sent some of his colleagues into spasms of anger.

"During the last year, the City Council managed to pull together as a team, with Debbie O'Malley being the perfect captain for the team," Councilor Don Harris wrote in an e-mail Thursday. "It was necessary to compete with a strong mayor with an expansive view of executive authority.

"Unfortunately, Brad sees the presidency as a personal opportunity rather than one of team leadership," Harris continued. "He managed to do in one weekend what the mayor tried, but failed, to do: Divide the council along ideological lines and get us fighting with each other."

This, nearly two weeks after the fateful meeting. The fury is real.

Somehow, Winter remains oddly impervious to it all.

"I don't have thick skin, and they say you can't be a politician if you don't have a thick skin," Winter says. "But I don't worry about that stuff. Why worry about that or the public perceptions? I think I do a good job. I try to be honest. Here's somebody (Harris) who's upset, making accusations."

If Winter has a sinister political side, it might always be masked by an ex-jock's ease with people and a sometimes-tortured oral delivery that can be both confusing and comforting at the same time.

Example: It's widely believed that Winter and Mayor Martin Chavez despise one another. If so, Winter appears to have softened a bit. Or has he?

"Marty holds a grudge; he's still so pissed off about me running for mayor," Winter says. "But he's the one who kicked my ass, so I don't understand why he's (mad), but he is. Anytime he wants to talk . . ..

"I kind of like the mayor, in fact. He's charming. I just don't believe in his leadership style or the way he treats people."

See? Winter's olive branches sometimes feel like baseball bats, and his baseball bats might be olive branches in disguise, so a lot of people never really know.

Which might be his biggest liability. Or, perhaps, his greatest strength.

"Brad is, and I don't know if it's what he intends to do, ends up being the swing vote because he doesn't have . . . there's not a lot of strong convictions," says O'Malley, who adds she bears Winter no ill will. "As a result of that, you can talk to him about stuff, and he can look at things and help you out."

Unlike a lot of others in Albuquerque, Winter didn't grow up wanting to be a politician. He was no hothouse flower aiming for the 11th floor of City Hall and beyond.

Basically, Winter got into the game after a fit of pique over the way his predecessor, Sam Bregman, handled the death of a La Cueva High School student on Alameda Boulevard.

"I just thought we needed people other than just attorneys and consultants on the council," Winter says now.

In some ways, it was just like the movies. Winter came off to his Northeast Heights district as the boy-next-door, a friendly guy who was willing to rage at the machine. He was so unnatural at politics, he was a natural.

Next thing you knew, he was a councilor. And a target.

Winter says he's unhappy about the way people talk about him and his family, but he believes the furor will die down. It always does.

In other words, it's best to just mutter "aw, shucks" and point toward the next meeting.

"The one thing I've learned," says Winter, "is that there's always another vote. There's always the next vote. That's the thing I've learned. You don't burn bridges. And then you move on."