BRENTWOOD - When U.S. Sen. Trent Lott made remarks seeming to endorse segregationist policies, Jack B. Johnson couldn't help but take Lott's sentiments personally.

The new Prince George's County executive said the politically damaging comments, in which Lott praised Strom Thurmond's 1948 segregationist presidential campaign, made Johnson recall his upbringing in rural South Carolina under Thurmond's leadership as governor and senator.

"We were the beneficiaries of Thurmond's segregated policies, which eliminated blacks from educational opportunities and all that democracy offers," said the attorney, 53, the fifth of 10 children born to parents who didn't finish high school. All 10 went on to earn college degrees.

Johnson's admonishing of Lott - he also criticized Gov.-elect Robert L. Ehrlich Jr. for not denouncing the former Senate majority leader's words - was the response of a self-assured man with an instinctive feel for politics.

His ascent from state's attorney to executive in charge of Maryland's second-most-populous jurisdiction - smaller than Montgomery County - makes Johnson a player in statewide Democratic circles. Parris N. Glendening was Prince George's executive for 12 years before being elected governor in 1994.

"I'm not going to get ahead of myself," Johnson says when the subject of political ambition is broached. "For me to even think of higher office right now is to flirt with disaster."

Like Ehrlich a car salesman's son, Johnson has succeeded in politics partly through brashness and a compelling personal story. Both men have relied on their rise from humble beginnings to help define them and distinguish them from campaign foes.

Johnson, who attended Benedict College in South Carolina and then Howard University Law School in Washington, says school kids often had to buy their textbooks in his segregated community outside Charleston, S.C. - and many couldn't afford them.

For Johnson, the story of his childhood explains his populist streak.

"I'm just Jack," he says in a recent interview after a tour of a faded, two-mile stretch of U.S. 1 that county leaders hope to turn into a government-subsidized arts and entertainment district.

Along the route, Johnson can't resist wandering into a barbershop, where he shakes a hand and autographs a dollar bill. Stepping into a restaurant and brew pub, he spies a lunch group and learns that a woman at the table is celebrating a birthday. "Lookin' good!" he says, pointing at her.

Kids' expectations

As usual, he is wearing a beautifully fitted suit. He says he dons a coat and tie "even in July, in 100 degrees."

The reason? "In kids' minds, this is how a county executive should look," says the married father of three.

Montgomery County State's Attorney Douglas M. Gansler says of Johnson: "He's a Southern gentleman in mannerism and style. But he's a modern-day politician."

Johnson easily beat County Council member Audrey E. Scott, a Republican, in the November election. The harder task was fending off four Democratic challengers in the Sept. 10 primary, largely by cultivating the support of church and community leaders in the densely populated neighborhoods that border Washington.

He won despite losing the Fraternal Order of Police endorsement to M.H. Jim Estepp, a County Council member. Deep-pocket developers also overwhelmingly backed Estepp, the only white Democratic candidate in the field. About 63 percent of Prince George's 850,000 residents are black.

The Washington Post endorsed state Del. Rushern L. Baker III in the primary.

"He definitely wasn't the party establishment candidate," Gansler said of Johnson, who served eight years as chief prosecutor in Prince George's County. "No one gave him the keys to the county executive's office - he had to earn it. He understood you've got to go directly to voters."

Johnson's anti-establishment image may have been enhanced by his persistent criticism - and prosecution - of county police officers. As state's attorney, he prosecuted a half-dozen police misconduct cases, all ending in acquittal.

The Justice Department is continuing a 2-year-old civil rights investigation of the county force that began after complaints of excessive force.

Johnson denies his prosecutions were political: "Everybody knows we've had a Police Department with an awful reputation. These were cases that came, and I moved on them."

But the county Fraternal Order of Police, representing about 1,300 rank-and-file officers, accused Johnson in a televised campaign ad in August of exploiting the police issue.

"He campaigned clearly on the issue of police reform," Anthony M. Walker, president of the FOP chapter, said in an interview. "He's a very good politician. He clearly went after the hotbed issues that could cause furor in voters. He absolutely pushed their buttons."

Johnson's supporters, including U.S. Rep. Albert R. Wynn, countered during the campaign that, in fact, his actions may have been politically risky. "He is the only person to take a strong stand on police brutality, even when those stands were not popular," said Wynn.

Four months after the FOP ad, one of Johnson's most daunting challenges is keeping police morale up while continuing to pursue department reforms. "I can't tell you that we've patched things up," Walker said.

Johnson needs a smoothly functioning department to combat crime. The murder rate is up this year, and he knows the county won't attract significant new business investment without repairing its beleaguered school system and slowing violent crime.

'Beat the odds'

If it seems like a gargantuan task, Johnson says he is up for it.

"My life, if it means anything, stands for the proposition that it is still possible to come from humble beginnings, to beat the odds and the doubters," he said at his Dec. 2 inauguration.

The swearing-in, held at the Show Place Arena in Upper Marlboro, was designed to fit the political style of Johnson, who says, "I'm just the neighbor next door."

"There was nothing grandiose or pretentious about it," said Peter A. Shapiro, the County Council chairman. Shapiro said Johnson simply didn't feel compelled to make a big splash.

"This is a guy with a quiet confidence," Shapiro said.