The Ten Best and The Ten Worst Legislators
Nineteen people you voted for and one you didn’t.
What went wrong with the 67th Legislature?
Why, at sundown on the final night of the session—usually a time of frenetic last-minute bill passing—were members wandering aimlessly about the House and Senate chambers? Why did the session’s four most important issues—congressional redistricting, water planning, college construction, and property tax reform—come hopelessly unglued that last day? Why did the session fail?
The answer, curiously, is that it didn’t. The unresolved business will be taken care of in July and August, and what difference, really, does two months make? The truth is, this was one of the smoothest—and most productive—sessions in years.
Indeed, it is hard to remember such a something-for-everyone session. The Legislature raised the interest ceiling, but it also raised the welfare ceiling. It declared war on drugs, but it also okayed the sale of low-cost generic drugs. It did knuckle under to the governor on wiretapping (among other things), but it at least made that odious law more palatable by setting a 1985 expiration date.
The reason that all these bills passed while the big issues bogged down is simple. Although there is occasional squabbling between liberals and conservatives, city and country folk, and Republicans and Democrats, Texas is enjoying an era of good feeling, caused mainly by the state’s robust economic health. A rising tide lifts all boats; all the diverse factions are caught up in the larger consensus that things are basically okay as they are. And any proposal that threatens the existing order—say, an earmarking of the state surplus for water projects—makes people nervous.
Unfortunately for those who like their politics steeped in conflict, the current atmosphere in the statehouse is more redolent of study, hard work, and—can it be?—agreement. Almost every piece of major legislation that passed was the product of a behind-the-scenes agreement: interest rates were passed by a coalition of banks, auto dealers, and retailers; products liability was hammered out between trial lawyers and their victims at Speaker Billy Clayton’s insistence; and generic drugs passed because this time the Texas Medical Association agreed to let it.
In fact, the only contentious voice was the governor’s. Unlike last session, Clements got just about everything he wanted. But like last session, he showed no real leadership on issues outside his personal agenda. (Fighting crime is fine, but it hardly constitutes a vision for Texas’ future.) Meanwhile, the Senate descended into near-terminal gentility with the departure of feisty veterans Bill Moore, Babe Schwartz, and Tom Creighton. Minus that trio, it became more than ever a reflection of its presiding officer, and to say that Bill Hobby is low-key is like saying Eddie Chiles is slightly upset. Hobby was content, like Clements, to focus on a few items—albeit weightier ones like education and finance. He was no match for the governor when they clashed over tough issues like wiretapping. And as for the House under Clayton…well, more on that later.
As always, our criteria in selecting the Ten Best and the Ten Worst did not include political philosophy—which is less and less important in a consensus state—but did place a premium on technical skill. A good legislator understands power and uses it skillfully but without malice, he sees the big picture, and he has unassailable integrity. The qualities that define a bad legislator are more elusive. We have always held that stupidity may be forgiven so long as it is not accompanied by aggressiveness; the very worst legislators are those who have power and misuse it.
To determine the Best and Worst, we talked to almost two hundred people, including legislators, Capitol press, legislative aides, lobbyists, and state agency scouts. The final list represents a consensus of the votes of the Capitol community, tempered by our own observations.
In addition to the legislators who reached the pinnacles and the depths, a few deserve honorable mention. In the Senate, the absence of Moore, Schwartz, and Creighton let senators shine who had been overshadowed in the past; three were John Traeger of Seguin (a workhorse who passed more than sixty bills), Peyton McKnight of Tyler (the heir to Moore’s Senate tough-guy title), and Carl Parker of Port Arthur (who plays the clown but is nobody’s fool). In the House, Gerald Hill of Austin was a superb chairman of the Elections Committee and a force in redistricting. Tim Von Dohlen of Goliad preformed a nearly impossible feat: he drew up and passed a House redistricting plan that got over 120 votes. Bennie Bock of New Braunfels and Stan Schlueter of Salado did yeoman’s service on the nuclear waste and redfish bills, respectively.
Both the Best and the Worst lists underwent tremendous turnover in the last two years. Among the white hats, only Ron Coleman, Lloyd Doggett, Bob McFarland, and Craig Washington repeated. John Bryant and Bob Davis had to be content with special awards. Grant Jones lost his place when the Senate Finance Committee fell apart around him. Nub Donaldson quit to become a lobbyist, and Lance Lalor left—why would anyone do a thing like this?—to become a Houston city councilman. Babe Schwartz lost his race for reelection.
The black hats did not have a single repeater. Bill Hollowell of Grand Saline just couldn’t match last session’s performance for rural demagoguery on the Appropriations Committee. And though Senator Bill Meier of Euless looked like a real comer with his sneak attack on money market funds (the session’s single dirtiest trick), he just didn’t carry enough other lobby trash to make the list. Of the rest, two had the good grace to retire, and one had the bad fortune to get beaten, but most just had the excellent sense to keep quiet. Thank heaven for small favors.
THE TEN BEST
Billy Clayton, 52, conservative Democrat, Springlake. So outstanding in his fourth term as Speaker that he caused us to set aside the tradition that presiding officers are ineligible for the Best and Worst lists. It wasn’t just that he ran the House evenhandedly, or that he sponsored some of the most significant legislation to pass the House in years, or even that he made a miraculous comeback from his Brilab trail of a year ago; what above all else earned Clayton his place among the Ten Best is the way he understood and used power.
Against all advice, announced early that he wouldn’t run for reelection, thus making himself a lame duck; then proceeded as if he held a lifetime appointment. Operated on the theory that influence is like a savings account—the more you use it, the less you’ve got—and used his office to direct rather than demand. Retained control of the House by waging peace; on controversial issues, brought opponents together behind the scenes to work out their differences, avoiding bitter floor fights where he could be forced to choose between autocracy and anarchy. Result: bills that in years past had divided the House sailed through with little dispute; it took two days debate school finance in 1979 but less than two hours in 1981.
If Clayton had one whip among his carrots, it was the possibility that he could intervene in redistricting to punish his enemies; instead, he intervened to rescue them. Told Dallas County legislators he would not go along with a plan to get rid of his longtime nemesis and rival for Speaker, John Bryant. A grateful Bryant admitted, “He’s probably fairer than I would have been.”
Sponsored a substantial campaign ethics bill as an outgrowth of Brilab, during which he was acquitted of conspiracy following his failure to report or return a $5000 cash contribution. Among old practices now outlawed: failing to disclose personal use of campaign funds, accepting cash donations in excess of $100, and holding campaign fundraisers during a legislative session. Also sponsored a controversial (and unsuccessful) plan to set aside part of future state surpluses for water projects, nicknamed the Slosh Fund by people who didn’t understand it, which apparently included everyone but Clayton.
The best gauge of Clayton is that after four terms as Speaker, he cannot be said to have a personal enemy in the House. The small amount of grumbling is mostly cynicism—the conviction that Clayton wouldn’t have been so fair in redistricting or so concerned with ethics had he not planned a statewide race (probably for land commissioner) in 1982. Even if that’s true, so what? Politicians ought to want to do good things so they can be elected, and they ought to be elected for doing good things. That’s not a weakness; that’s a strength.
Ronald Colman, 39, Democrat, El Paso. First rule of the Texas House: outsiders don’t win. Exception that proves the rule: Ron Coleman.
Urban, liberal, partisan to the core, non-team member Coleman got things done against all precedent and logic by dint of sheer natural ability and hard work. Which was doubly remarkable because this session he wasn’t just the leader of the serious opposition, he was the serious opposition. Retained his effectiveness by working outside the limelight whenever he could; maneuvered others into fighting his battles for him; kept the Clayton team off balance by engineering a surprise attack that kept most legislation from reaching the House floor during the first sixty days—thus reducing the number of bad ol’ bills he’d have to fight. After that, not a day passed that Clayton’s minions didn’t fret over what Coleman might have in store for them.
A superlative legislative mechanic; spent most of his time fixing other members’ bills. His own legislative agenda consisted largely of cleaning up last session’s bill to fund an El Paso urban park (saving taxpayers about $24 million in the process). But many a bill left the floor carrying a little Coleman baggage in the form of corrective amendments.
In particular, played guardian angel to urban school districts; single-handedly defended the gains he won for them last session against the predations of a ruralleaning appropriations committee. The committee’s formulas favored rural districts; Coleman pointed out the oversight to Clayton, who pointed it out to the committee chairman, who (doubtless remembering bloody school finance battles of yore and realizing that the last thing any bill needs is hostile Coleman waiting to snipe at it on the floor) hastily accepted a Coleman-written amendment to the appropriations bill.
Tinkered with the bill even further on the floor. Wanted to add $200,000 for deaf infants; craftily proposed to take it from funds earmarked for Capitol construction. What member dared vote against him? Deleted a provision forbidding the Parks and Wildlife Department to accept donated land; used a point of order to kill a rider allowing schools to teach religion; slew outright a $2 million porkbarrel amendment by wily veteran Bob Davis of Irving.
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