The Ten Best (And, Sigh, The Ten Worst) Legislators
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Has a remarkable facility for expressing his controversial views without antagonizing the more conservative members. Fought the death penalty bill (HB 200) with a sureness of parliamentary technique and some of the most moving oratory to be heard on the House floor this session. Has a gift for focusing (and forcing others to focus) on the crux of a problem instead of the peripheral issues.
Not always punctual in tending to his committee assignments, but resourceful and quick-witted on the floor and a formidable opponent when he gets down to business.
Mesmerized House members with a personal privilege speech delivered after midnight at the close of the session on May 28:
"From a poor boy across the tracks, you cannot possibly know what it means for me to stand here with you. If we understand each other, then you tell the poor little black boy who still lives across the tracks and the poor little white boy who still lives across the tracks that they can be here too…Go home and tell the people we didn't do all we wanted to, but we tried."
Has announced he will not run for reelection in 1974 because of an inability to make financial ends meet on the $400-per-month salary a representative is paid.
THE TEN WORST
The following list of the Ten Worst Legislators contains eight Representatives and two Senators. They are listed in alphabetical order.
"Jumbo" Ben Atwell, 57, Conservative Democrat, Dallas. Chairman of the House Revenue and Taxation Committee under the ancien regime where he was put in the hands of the corporate lobby; now completely without influence. Reduced to cavorting around the House as a kind of brobdingnagian court jester (he arrived one day this session wearing a necktie the size of a Navajo blanket; members ho-ho-ho'd as cameras clicked, then winced as constituents' letters poured in demanding to know why the hell the legislature didn't have better things to do with its time.)
Personally beloved by almost every member, but few take him seriously. The classic surviving example of the "good ole boy" syndrome. Unlike Billy Williamson, his form of comedy serves no useful function because it doesn't relieve tensions in the legislative process, but instead mocks it.
Microscopic sense of public responsibility. Just enjoys being in Austin, and the Dallas Establishment keeps finding reasons sufficient unto themselves for sending him back. If missing from the Capitol, can usually be found at the Deck Club.
Charles Finnell, 29, Conservative Democrat, Holliday. Nicknamed "Zero" by his colleagues, a reference to their estimate of his intelligence. A sheep in peacock's clothing. Spend more time preening himself than he does reading bills, seems to have no guiding principle except self-admiration. His omnipresent comb is one of the most widely-discussed artifacts of the session.
Remarkable for his lack of candor.
In past sessions he usually waited to see what Bill Heatly did before pushing his own voting button; with Heatly's demise this session, has had a hard time figuring out whom to follow.
The consensus choice for "most insufferable" member of the House.
Glenn Kothmann, 45, Liberal Democrat, San Antonio. Described in the official Senate biography as "A man of quiet initiative." The initiative is imperceptible, the quiet is surely for his own protection. Easily the densest member of the Senate. People still cannot imagine how he got elected, much less reelected.
An object of derision by other Senators. "Let Kothmann carry that bill on the floor," one remarked to another during a lull, "so we can watch him try to explain it." Whenever he was entrusted with the chair by the lieutenant governor, parliamentary proceedings seemed to grind to a mangled halt.
So happy to be a Senator that he can't find time to be one. Would probably let his secretary vote for him, as he did in the House, except that the Senate requires voice votes. Has no legislative program of any consequence and seems proud of the fact. Passed only five bills, all strictly local. The lobby regards him as an easy mark. Despite his liberal-labor stereotype, he provided the crucial fifth vote that killed the telephone utility commission bill in subcommittee. The only urban legislator to vote consistently with the Farm Bureau.
Exceedingly vain, as though people were noticing. Owns (and wears) what must be the largest collection of black shirts since the March on Rome.
Mike McKinnon, 34, Conservative Democrat, Corpus Christi. The quintessential media candidate—a TV-station-owner who got elected on the strength of his pretty face and the reputation of his predecessor, liberal Democrat Ronald Bridges. (Corpus has gained some notoriety for its long line of awful Senators. Nobody thought they could come up with one worse than Bridges, but they did.)
His big problem: he's in way over his head. Frequently has to be told what to do, often by a sympathetic adversary who realizes his plight. Introduced exactly two bills all session, perhaps an all-time record low. Neither of them passed. Otherwise his legislative program consisted of a handful of simple resolutions—the usual stuff honoring hometown high school classes in the gallery, plus one welcoming Clinton McKinnon, his brother.
Earned special animosity from supporters of the newsmen's shield bill (HB 10) by posturing as a newsman and expostulating at length why the bill was unnecessary.
Tries to make up for his obvious inability to cope with his surroundings by all sorts of picayune, petty behavior—conduct which has led other Senators to regard him as the most obnoxious member of their very exclusive club.
James Nugent, 51, Conservative Democrat, Kerrville. Most mistrusted man in the House. Perhaps also the most misunderstood, but no one knows for sure. Fine intelligence, extraordinary ability, dazzling command of parliamentary rules and procedures. Can verbally cut a member to ribbons from the back microphone. Secretive, aloof, hostile to daylight. Nobody trusts him beyond a certain point, not even his friends. Nickname: "Supersnake."
A master craftsman—although, as Churchill once remarked, "craft is common both to skill and deceit." Devious, sneaky, rows to his object with muffled oars. Not above using others to do his dirty work while posing as a champion of the good, true, beautiful, and whatever else he thinks the Hill Country burghers will like. Carried the ethics reform bill (HB 1), orated on the sublimity of Ethics, and is widely suspected by other members of trying to sabotage the bill with behind-the-scenes maneuvering. Has spent 13 years of public life looking for people to play Faust to his Mephistopheles.
Lindsey Rodriguez, 41, Liberal Democrat, Hidalgo. Combines aggressive ignorance, a boorish manner, and a persistent, flypaper-personality into one of the most dismaying members of either house.
Has no idea of what is going on. Said one colleague: "he actually works at being dumb." After three terms, he still has not bothered to learn the most basic procedural rules, has been known to try to bring up bills for floor debate which have not even been heard in committee. Mystifies unsuspecting staff members and clerks, who cannot believe he is a Representative.
His support on the floor is an albatross for anything; his real damage, though, is done in committee. Will sit quietly while others reach a decision, then pop up with totally unrelated and disruptive objections. Temporarily stalled a bill renaming the State Finance Building for Lyndon Johnson by demanding that the question first be submitted to the U.S. Postal Service to see what they thought about it. Consumes an astonishing amount of legislative time with petty and incomprehensible objections, apparently for the sole purpose of letting the other members know he is thinking, which he is not.
"Not only is he stupid," said a member who has served with him for five years. "He wants everyone else to be as stupid as he is."
Henry Sanchez, 42, Liberal Democrat, Brownsville. On everyone's "worst" list except, presumably, his own. Has a conception of politics that bears no relation to any civics textbook. Spends a large portion of his time studying how to manipulate the special interests to his advantage.
Represents one of the poorest, most downtrodden districts in Texas, which he simply ignores once he gets to Austin for the Big Game. Opposed the minimum wage during his first campaign in 1967. Has apparently infinite capacity for the beer-and-barbecue circuit that constitutes politicking in South Texas. This—plus the fact that he is not smart enough to pose any kind of threat to the established Brownsville interests (meatcutters union, Farm Bureau, manufacturers' association)—keeps getting him re-elected. His races are becoming closer, however: last time he won by only 114 votes over a weak Republican candidate.
An example of the lowest common denominator in South Texas politics now that Anglo hegemony has been shattered.
Wayland Simmons, 32, Conservative Democrat, San Antonio. His only goal in politics is to survive and advance himself. Blithely indifferent to any other purpose. Most frequent descriptive comments from other members: "calculating," "common," "vicious."
Adorns his meager legislative program with bills designed to harass people who disagree with him or who didn't support him in the last election. Likes to set these bills for public hearing, force his opponents to take a day off work and drive to Austin to testify against them, then cancel the hearing moments before it is scheduled to begin. (Did this with HB 846, aimed at crippling the Bexar county auditor by placing him under the thumb of the county commissioners whom he is supposed to audit. The auditor has been involved in a bitter feud with Commissioner Tom Stolhandske, one of Simmons' law partners.)
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