For starters, Mayor Rocky Anderson says he would try to lasso a third term "if there were four Sorens on the [City] Council." Under that scenario, the quirkiness of Sugar House would be saved. And the sky bridge? Scrapped.

But unlike Michael Keaton in the comedy "Multiplicity," Soren Simonsen, the capital's newest councilman, appears impossible to re-create.

A pensive but passionate architect, Simonsen wends his way to work from his Sugar House Tudor on a gas-saving scooter. He speaks Norwegian, dabbles in Danish and Swedish and marvels at Scandinavia as his urban-planning muse.

The 39-year-old Mormon and Primary chorister is as comfortable teaching kids to crescendo - or concocting delicacies behind a grill - as he is designing some of the most environmentally sustainable structures Utah, Idaho and Wyoming have ever seen.

But during these first 18 months serving the city, the man reared in Austin, Texas, also has tweaked the establishment - often losing in 6-1 votes - on a Sugar House zoning upgrade, downtown's divisive sky bridge and more.

"I probably had some false hopes and aspirations that I could make things happen faster," Simonsen says over a plate of goat-cheese tamales at a smart Capitol Hill bistro.

But friends and colleagues predict he will continue to press for progressive policies - even if the odds seem stacked against him.

Texas to Oslo to Zion

Born in Salt Lake City, Simonsen quickly was whisked to Texas for his father's medical career. It was in Austin, a city heralded for celebrating its weirdness, that his formative years would shape his perspective.

At the University of Texas, where he would win his wife, Heather, after a dogged courtship, his politics also would morph. After a Republican taking on Texas Democratic legend Ann Richards for governor uttered an "almost obscene" comment about rape legislation, Simonsen quickly scraped the GOP candidate's bumper sticker off his car. His near-straight-Republican habit, inherited from his parents, also was ditched.

Simonsen would go on to campaign for Ross Perot - and, later, Ralph Nader - and currently likes Hillary Clinton.

The step seems bold since his parents hail from conservative stock. Simonsen's mother emigrated as a teen to Utah from Germany, where her family's LDS lineage dates back three generations. Simonsen's Danish great-grandfather served as mayor of Brigham City in the 1920s. The sycamores lining Brigham's quaint Main Street remain his living legacy.

Still, as frisky as he felt in college, the budding architect's worldview wasn't cemented until he served an LDS mission in Oslo, Norway. Taken with its "mobile society," Simonsen would return to school to focus on urban planning. To this day, he is surprised more returned missionaries' social habits are not deeply influenced by their time abroad.

"We covered half a continent without an automobile," he remembers of subsequent European travel with more than a little awe.

"It's always refreshing to have someone who has lived in other places and knows how other cities work," says Elizabeth Giraud, who served with Simonsen on the city's Historic Landmarks Commission. "He's a pretty sophisticated person."

An offer for his wife to pursue journalism, teach and complete a master's degree at Brigham Young University steered the then-Chicago-bound couple to Utah in the early 1990s. Once here, they bounced between Provo, Salt Lake City's Marmalade district (where Simonsen now does his drafts at his firm's office in a remodeled LDS church) and even did a stint back in Waco, Texas, before landing in Sugar House.

During the past decade, observers say, Simonsen has distinguished himself as an architect dedicated to green design. And he has developed a taste for civil service.

Cerebral without being showy, according to the mayor, Simonsen is committed to the notion of creating community.

"We're not drinking buddies," Anderson says, "but I have tremendous respect for him. And I only wish we had more people like him on the council."

Planning, not politics

A Lego buff in his childhood, Simonsen decided he wanted to be an architect in the fourth grade during a family trip to the museums of Washington, D.C.

"I was fascinated by structures," he recalls.

By his mid-20s, he had arrived in the industry. And he has parlayed that passion into a seat on the City Council.

But Simonsen's journey into politics was paved by a grass-roots planning interest, not a partisan agenda. Before his 2005 election, he was active with the landmarks board and the community council, where he established a reputation as a shrewd but fair preservationist.

"When Soren was there, he never brought his 'C' game," says former landmarks member Willy Littig. "There was never anyone who I disagreed with more, but there was no one I respected more either."

Simonsen lives what he preaches. His Tudor cottage purrs after an energy-efficient overhaul. He takes long work trips in a bio-diesel VW bug, which, he proudly offers, beats nearly 70 percent of hybrids for fuel efficiency. And his "Blue Sky Renewable Energy" and "I Buy Local First" stickers, affixed to his office door, are more than slogans.

"He's truly a visionary," says Colleen Rush, CEO of Swaner Nature Preserve. "He has helped us design an extremely innovative, unique and world-class building [just outside Park City] that is really going to be a showcase for the entire state."

Besides his slew of eco-friendly buildings, Simonsen also has served as a consultant for commuter rail and transit routes.

His green tint aside, Simonsen has a practical sense. He wants to see Utah's capital change zoning rules to allow for more basement rentals in desirable neighborhoods. That, he says, would allow better housing options for young people as well as the elderly on fixed incomes.

'Daddy call'

Every night when he comes home, Simonsen makes a clicking sound that gets the kids running. His wife, a former reporter for KTVX Channel 4 who has published four books, calls it his "daddy call."

"He gets in the door and he's down on the ground playing with them," Heather Simonsen says. "He gets it. He knows that's when you bond."

Outside of movies - and a healthy dose of books - Simonsen also escapes with the family to Silver Lake in Brighton. And he spends summertime chunks canoeing and hiking near a family condo in Big Sky, Mont.

"I've got white-trash taste, and they're a class act," says Bryan Jewkes, a close friend from Draper who often barbecues with the Simonsen clan.

Jewkes loves to "razz" Simonsen when he reads about defeats like the sky bridge.

"He doesn't walk around with this agenda," Jewkes says. "But he always kind of makes people step back and think."

Freshman folly

Soon after surviving a six-person primary and winning the council's Sugar House seat, Simonsen made waves.

He pushed for legislative action to overturn the Sugar House rezone in a bid to save the neighborhood shops from multistory chains and condos. That alienated stakeholders, who still hoped to settle the dispute with talk.

"If he had done more homework, maybe [the negotiation] would have been reopened," explains Helen Peters, former chairwoman of the Sugar House Community Council. "It was a young politician's misstep."

Simonsen quickly found it frustrating to be the council's freshman - a sentiment that persists as he openly questions the panel's priorities. He butts heads most often with Councilman Dave Buhler, a mayoral candidate who Simonsen says doesn't take the community's interest to heart.

"I don't particularly respect his set of principles," he says.

Buhler notes, "Soren is very sincere, but he has a lot to learn."

He may get his chance. Right now, Simonsen has ignored a whisper campaign bent on drafting him into the mayor's chase. Instead, he plans to run for a second council term in two years.

"I'm not an administrator," he says. "I would be a much more effective policymaker as a council member."

For now, Simonsen fans must hope that is enough.

His wife is happy either way: "I'm just constantly grateful I married a man who's not afraid to fight against thunder."

djensen@sltrib.com