The Ten Best and (Sigh)…The Ten Worst Legislators
Could any public body, anywhere in the world, be quite like the Texas legislature?
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Accorded a high degree of respect by the lobby for his insistence on knowing some facts before making up his mind. Said one business-oriented lobbyist: “You can’t just go and say, ‘Hi, Grant. I need you,’ like you can with so many of these guys. He says, ‘Tell me why. Give me the reasons, the arguments on both sides.’” Can’t be bulldozed, a trait which doesn’t endear him to certain high-powered lobbyists who are accustomed to getting cooperation without any back talk; said one such: “I told him what we needed, and he said, ‘Could you get me a memorandum on that?’ Hell, I don’t have time to fool with memorandums for senators.”
Honest, and a gentleman. Not the folksy, backslapping type, but nevertheless has won the admiration of Senate liberals who might have been expected to put him into the deep freeze after he narrowly defeated Tom Moore of Waco, a beloved liberal stalwart, in the 1972 Senate race.
Carries a large legislative program emphasizing fiscal, agricultural, and insurance affairs—with a conservative slant, of course. Author of the bill with the most intriguing title of the session: “The Uniform Minnow Act.”
Jim Mattox, 31, Liberal Democrat, Dallas. As close as anyone has come this session to being “the leader of the loyal opposition.” Unlike many Democratic liberals over the years, who rant in the Members’ Lounge and bitch at Scholz’ but fall curiously silent on the floor, Mattox is an indefatigable fighter who sometimes seems to be in a half-dozen places at once.
The most dedicated and effective political organizer among House liberals since the days of Bob Eckhardt—and, for that matter, a better organizer than Eckhardt. Founded and managed the House Study Group, an association of 63 moderate-to-liberal members who met to discuss legislative strategy every Wednesday at 8 a.m. Just getting the fun-loving liberals out of bed for an 8 a.m. meeting was a stunning accomplishment by itself, but the HSG actually had some influence on the session.
Spurns the mediator role, which he pursued intermittently with little success in 1973. Prefers to be a watchdog and a fighter for liberal causes, a kind of player-coach who both calls the shots and carries the ball. When Representative Tom Uher vowed that a utilities bill would never emerge from the committee Uher chaired, Mattox led a delegation to the Speaker, threatened to tie the floor into parliamentary knots, and won an immediate pledge to release the bill. Well prepared on a broad variety of subjects; can cut through confusion to clarify an issue in floor debate.
Hampered by a strident nasal voice (made more abrasive by the House PA system) and a tendency to sound inflammatory even when he isn’t, both of which make him less-than-persuasive with conservatives without reducing their respect for him as a worthy adversary. Means as much for the liberal side as Hutchison has meant for the conservatives.
An unlikely candidate for the liberal leadership: a former assistant to Dallas’ hellfire-and-brimstone District Attorney Henry Wade and a fundamentalist Baylor Baptist who gingerly sampled his first Brandy Alexander this year.
Has his eye on Republican Congressman Alan Steelman’s seat next year; with a choice between two such quality politicians, Dallas could do a lot worse.
Wayne Peveto, 36, Moderate Democrat, Orange. Best known this session for taking on a politically thankless but badly needed chore, the reform of property tax administration, and doing a superb job on it. With careful preparation and hard man-to-man persuasion, he got 84 cosponsors for the bill by the day it was introduced, thereby insuring that more than half of the 150-member House would take a fatherly interest in its passage.
A successful lawyer who uses his courtroom skills in committee to slice through double-talking witnesses; shredded oil company lobbyists who claimed that the Texas petrochemical industry would pull up stakes and move to Louisiana if the legislature increased their taxes. Made a monkey out of a RiceUniversity economist speaking against a proposed refinery tax by (among other things) forcing the professor to admit that he had been paid to prepare his testimony. Manages to display the tenacity of a bulldog without seeming personally antagonistic.
Won’t back away from tough, controversial issues and wins surprisingly often. One example: led the floor fight to abolish the office of County School Superintendent, once an important position but now an anachronistic sinecure carefully guarded by its well-paid occupants. Was successful in the House, but like so much of his program, his victory was largely snuffed out in the Senate.
His main weakness is a distaste for power politics. When the property tax bill fell under the disapproving eye of Lieutenant Governor Hobby after passing the House more than 3-to-l, he might have rescued it from certain death in subcommittee by threatening to blame Hobby publicly for its failure; but he doesn’t play the game that way.
Popular in his home district and respected by his colleagues: a comer who’s certain to be a star in future sessions.
Aaron R. “Babe” Schwartz, 49, Liberal Democrat, Galveston. The best technician in either house, an expert on everything from the rules to appropriations. Has no equal at passing bills, just as old foe Bill Moore has no equal at killing them. Only Moore can match him in floor debate; when the quality of the Senate began to decline in 1973, the two had to call a cease-fire because no one was left to break up their pitched battles.
A dominant force, as usual, on the Senate Finance Committee and the appropriations conference committee. Had another productive session in the field which propelled him to legislative stardom in the late Sixties—coastal resource management—by passing bills authorizing a superport, establishing an oil spill cleanup fund, providing state sponsorship for the Intracoastal Waterway, and planning for freshwater inflows into its coastal estuaries. He also passed two bills aimed at cutting medical malpractice insurance rates.
Perhaps his most valuable legislative asset is an uncanny sense of timing—the ability to make the right move at the right time. In the middle of an uphill battle to pass a bill establishing a state human relations commission, the Capitol was shaken by a clap of thunder from a storm raging outside; cutting off his impassioned argument in mid-sentence, Schwartz shook his finger at his colleagues, said “The Lord’s talking to you,” and asked for an immediate vote. He won.
A former liberal gadfly turned pragmatist; the mere mention of his name is enough to evoke sneers in some liberal circles. Not a sellout in the classic sense of the word (he is definitely not for sale) but rather a tradeout—someone who swapped conscience for clout. Distinguishes between pragmatism (which he admires) and expediency (which he doesn’t), although only he knows where he draws the line. Still fights some quixotic battles though, such as his campaigns against confirmation of former John Birch Society member Walter Sterling (appointed to the UT Board of Regents) and Hilmar Moore (appointed to the Public Welfare Board); both efforts were doomed to failure. Other losing battles this session: his bills to protect the right to privacy, establish a state-owned superport, and put an end to fraudulent land sales. It is a true measure of his stature that he is respected by his colleagues as much for his failures as for his successes.
Max Sherman, 39, Conservative Democrat, Amarillo. One of the two or three finest public servants in state government, at the top of everyone’s Ten Best list. Conscientious, fair, thoroughly decent; a high-type person in a place that has too many of the other kind. The sort of senator you read about in civics textbooks but seldom encounter in real life.
Served efficiently and impartially as chairman of the Senate Natural Resources Committee, a position that could easily have gotten a less-gifted West Texas conservative at furious cross-purposes with urban environmentalists. Takes the time to make himself aware of bills that are truly important and to treat them accordingly, even if he’s opposed to them—something that too many chairmen (especially in this year’s House) were unwilling to do. Doesn’t run his committee on favors (“I’ll help your bill if you’ll help mine”) or on status (preferential treatment for senior colleagues).
Represents the upper Panhandle, a remote section more like Kansas than the rest of Texas, which often feels ignored by the population centers in the state’s eastern half; its success in getting its needs considered depends heavily on whether it sends effective legislators to Austin. Sherman proved his worth by expertly carrying a water development bond constitutional amendment that environmentally minded East Texans strenuously opposed as a back-door method of financing the Texas Water Plan (since the water for West Texas would be siphoned away from East Texas lakes). Though West Texas senators are hopelessly outnumbered, the proposal sailed through easily, with even deep East Texas Senator Don Adams voting for it: a personal triumph for Sherman, and an indication of the esteem in which his colleagues hold him. (Lieutenant Governor Hobby’s support didn’t hurt, either.)
Has authored some of the session’s most important legislation: a uniform Administrative Procedure Act, the strip mining bill (far superior to the House version), and an energy conservation development fund.
His only fault—if it can be called that—is that he’s not rambunctious enough; a Senate composed of 31 Max Shermans would be the best Senate in the country, but it wouldn’t be any fun to watch. “Sure he’s the best,” said one top Democratic party leader, “but God he’s dull!” The kind of person who might have worked his way through law school selling Bibles—which he did.
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