The Ten Best and The Ten Worst Legislators
(Page 3 of 7)
Unequaled at judging the effects of hostile amendments in the heat of debate, the most precarious and volatile moments in any bill’s rite of passage. Knows which he can accept so as to defuse the opposition and which he has to fight in order to preserve his bill. May have saved the interest rate bill from decimation when, after losing a preliminary vote against a John Bryant amendment, he judged not to prolong a doomed fight, accepted the amendment, and helped break the opposition’s momentum.
One of the few players on the Clayton team distinguished not by loyalty but by ability. Took a fairly independent voting line. “He’s reasonable about any vote that doesn’t hurt his district,” said a black legislator. In fact, frequently supported key black issues like shoring up the school breakfast program and forcing Texas A&M to end the neglect of its stepchild institution, Prairie View A&M. despite his reputation as a point man for the business lobby, he seldom advocated their position on the microphone except on his own bills and could not be counted as an unquestioning pro-business vote. Sided with Bryant to help kill a loan shark bill; also voted against cutting back consumers’ rights to sue for deceptive trade practices.
A changed man from last session, when he was frequently assailed as being petty, vindictive, and flighty. The metamorphosis was attributed by some to his desire not to alienate any potential votes this session, by others to his desire not to alienate any potential votes next session—when, one frequently hears (though not from Donaldson), he’ll be back as a lobbyist for the savings and loan industry. If he decides to stay, Donaldson, with his technical ability and polyester good-old-boy style, has to be reckoned as a leading candidate to succeed Billy Clayton as Speaker in 1983.
Grant Jones, 56, conservative Democrat, Abilene. The Legislature’s most ardent devotee of hard work; a beast of burden for whom the yoke is reward, not punishment. Spent the session, like Sisyphus in Greek mythology, pushing a heavy boulder uphill; unlike Sisyphus, actually reached the summit—then looked for more boulders to push.
Jones’ record: reformed property tax administration, implemented tax relief, revised the consumer credit code, increased state tuition grants to students at private colleges, and updated state strip-mining regulations. Any two would have made a good session for anyone else; for Jones all five were a mere fraction of his work load, since as chairman of the Senate Finance Committee he was also the chief architect of the appropriations bill.
The only senator who could have filled the void left by retired Finance chairman A.M. Aikin; had the unquestioned integrity and universal respect necessary to hold together the committee’s collection of Senate heavyweights with easily bruised egos. Said one Senate staffer: “Everybody jives and tricks each other except him. He’s the only one you can believe on every issue.” An indication of his colleagues’ esteem came on the first day of the sensitive tax relief conference committee: the other Senate conferees decamped to the floor, leaving Jones alone to bargain with five House members about areas of disagreement.
Played an important role early in the session by standing up to Governor Clements’ demand for wholesale cutting of the budget. Said Jones: “We are a modern industrial state with modern responsibilities. If we are serious about returning power from Washington to those governments closer to the people, then states must not shy away from accepting responsibility.” For a lot of legislators, the statement would have been nothing more than clever rhetoric; when conservative, sober Grant Jones said it, the impending budget battle with Clements was over before it began.
Lance Lalor, 32, liberal Democrat, Houston. A walking refutation of the idea that to succeed in the Texas Legislature you have to be a good old boy. His demeanor on the floor is straight from Isaiah—“Stand by thyself, come not near to me; for I am holier than thou”—but it doesn’t curtail his effectiveness.
Represents a district that epitomizes modern Texas (the Warwick, Rice University, the Texas Medical Center, the Astrodome); fittingly, is the Legislature’s leading urban advocate—a distinction, alas, for which there are too few contenders. In a body where most members’ idea of urban legislations is a bill to improve the firemen’s pension fund, Lalor was able to pass two bills that could have a salutary effect on the quality of city life: one earmarked around $16 million a year for creation of urban state parks, the other would help arrest the decline of older neighborhoods by providing for low-interest commercial loans backed by revenue bonds.
Effective despite the fact that he doesn’t try to be liked, doesn’t care if he’s liked, and isn’t liked; succeeds mainly by doing his homework (he lined up 102 cosponsors for his urban parks bill) while others are sampling Austin’s manifold pleasures. Lalor’s idea of a night on the town is a Wendy’s hamburger followed by reading the bills on the next day’s calendar. One lobbyist who talked to Lalor about a complicated mortgage revenue bond bill was impressed when Lalor asked him about a law review article mentioned in a footnote to another law review article, then was dumbfounded to discover Lalor isn’t even a lawyer.
One of the new breed of liberals who opposes restriction of competition by anyone—particularly the government. Upset more traditional libs (but scored points with conservatives) by carrying the so-called Beneficial Finance bill eliminating the ceiling on the maximum number of offices one loan company may operate. His philosophy made him a natural advocate of the Sunset process: woe to the regulatory agency that wouldn’t accept public members on its board or agree to put its money in the State Treasury. Probably the House member most responsible for whatever success Sunset had.
A full-time legislator, Lalor is still working. At midnight on June 4, a week after final adjournment, Lalor was sitting in his office as usual, poring over conference committee reports from the last week of the session. The 67th Legislature is a year and half away, but for Lalor, it’s time to get ready.
Bob McFarland, 38, Republican, Arlington. The House’s high priest of conservatism, heir to the mantle of Ray Hutchison (who left the House after two sessions on the Ten Best list to run unsuccessfully against Bill Clements in the GOP primary). Has a genius for applying rational argument to the legislative process and making it stick. A strong advocate and mature adversary who doesn’t hate anybody when the fight is over.
Regarded as a comer when the session began; established his arrival beyond all challenge by tackling a bill to reduce penalties for charging usurious interest. Won the admiration of liberal and conservatives alike for his even-handed performance: eliminated the old law’s draconian provisions (the penalty for exceeding the 10 per cent interest ceiling on a thirty-year $50,000 loan was almost $250,000) without letting lenders off lightly. House handicappers had rated the prospects of passage at no better than fifty-fifty; McFarland was so persuasive the vote was 89-40.
Took on an even tougher assignment: finding common ground between defense and trial lawyers quarreling over the right of consumers to sue for injuries caused by defective products. Took the defense lawyers’ bill and became a one man recycling center, turning trash from both sides into a respectable bill he then passed over fierce resistance. In debate, maneuvered like a pool player: one could almost hear the thwock…plop of the ball as he rattled off his argument, racked up the point, and left himself in position for the next shot.
A member’s member who has the qualities colleagues value most: doesn’t play arm-twisting games (he was the only member of the notorious Calendars Committee not at the top of someone’s enemies list) and is straightforward (“He’ll tell you, ‘I can’t go with you on that’; he doesn’t waste my time,” said a liberal member) but not dogmatic (one of the few Republicans who voted to increase child welfare payments).
The most conservative dresser in the House—favors navy suits without a hint of pattern—he walks around the floor absolutely erect, looking exactly like the ex-FBI agent that he is. Retains an uncanny street sense which helps him judge the mercurial moods of the House, but is totally free of the macho ex-cop syndrome: even passed a bill stiffening penalties for police brutality. Said one highly regarded Capitol lobbyist: “He impresses me more than any member of the House.”
Babe Schwartz, 52, liberal Democrat, Galveston. The scene: the floor, Friday, May 25, 11:00 p.m. In an hour, the 72-hour rule will take effect; any bill not passed by midnight is effectively dead. Inside the brass railing, Babe Schwartz is working the floor: telling jokes, slapping backs, counseling with the presiding officer, holding up one finger to signal an aye vote, running over to make certain a potential ally is voting correctly. It is a textbook show of how to pass a bill. There is only one thing wrong: this is the House chamber; Schwartz is a senator.
No, Schwartz wasn’t lost; he was just showing why he belongs on the Ten Best list for the fourth time. He’s a pro: never loses interest, never fails to follow through, never misses a trick, never has an off day; he may go down swinging but he never gets called out on strikes.
My Library
