The Ten Best and The Ten Worst Legislators
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Bounced through the session like a legislative accident looking for places to happen. She found them. Stunned the Criminal Jurisprudence Committee by proposing bills that were already law. Acted the playground brat: when a fellow Republican asked to be recognized in committee and was ignored, McKenna turned to him and, like a three-year-old in a sandbox, said, “Nyah-nyah-nyah.” He responded in expletive-deleted terms – and people drank toasts to him all weekend.
In Urban Affairs, allied herself with mischief-maker extraordinaire Randy Penington to form the 68th session’s Fun Couple. With Pennington egging her on, moved to appeal a parliamentary ruling by chairman George Pierce, a serious breach of legislative etiquette not to be undertaken lightly. After a stern lecture by committee vice chairman Al Luna, sensed the disapproval of her peers and timidly voted “present” on her own motion.
McKenna tried to play with the big kids, then fip-flopped like a demented acrobat when she saw her routines weren’t going over. Reached the depths with her mercifully unsuccessful efforts to resuscitate the defunct Ben Barnes bill, one of the sorriest special-interest measures of all time (named for former lieutenant governor – and law school dropout – Ben Barnes, it allows legislators to become lawyers without attending law school). Unable to win support for her own bill and dearly wanting to be a lawyer herself, McKenna trotted hither and yon searching for a host bill onto which she could tack the odious Barnes parasite. At the eleventh hour, latched on to an Oscar Mauzy bil, assuming it was vital to the senator; she was wrong. When pressed about her shenanigans, denied responsibility and pointed the finger at other members. Typically, ended up voting to reconsider her own amendment.
McKenna herself explains her antics as the errors of a freshman. But she perversely chose to ignore advice from the most-respected strategists and rules pros in the House, who counseled her not to appeal a chairman’s ruling and to go about her Barnes work in a straightforward rather than a sneaky way. That’s not enough to get you onto the Ten Worst list, and neither is picking Randy Pennington as your mentor – although that’s debatable. What made McKenna a Worst was her uselessness in the most fundamental legislative sense: she was incapable of making the decision her constituents sent her to make.
Randy Pennington, Republican, Houston
With his sepulchral eyes and narrow gaze, Pennington may be the only member who unfailingly looks as if he’s up to no good. It’s no illusion. A professional troublemaker, he abhors nothing so much as a dead calm. Some legislators come to Austin concerned about issues; Pennington comes hoping to bring the full powers of his office to bear against his enemies. And who might these enemies be? For starters there’s everyone who has ever run against him. A sore winner, regularly sues his beaten opponents. Took a sudden interest in housing authority reform this session; by golly if his latest opponent, Bob Graham, wasn’t an investor in a subsidized housing project. Tries to stick it to law firms that have supported his opponents too; killed one of Jimmy Mankins’ bills because attorneys involved in Mankins’ water authority bill had contributed to vanquished Pennington foe Bill Carraway. Another pet Pennington hate: the bad ol’ City of Houston, which annexed his Clear Lake homeland some years back. Threw the House into a turmoil when a Dallas hotel-motel tax bill came up for debate; tried to graft on an amendment to hobble Houston’s conventions center plans. Played the spoiler in Urban Affiars, where his chief role was to mess up the committee process by offering endless points of order and plotting untoward parliamentary ploys. Ignoring four months of committee negotiations over Houston civil service reform, staged such a parliamentary song and dance that even Urban Affairs chairman George Pierce – who received $2000 worth of millionaire Pennington’s campaign largess – got fed up. Glaring icily, Pierce slammed down his gavel and interrupted, “Mr. Pennington moves the meeting stand adjourned.”
Showed as little regard for legislative codes as for his colleagues. Sneaked through a controversial resolution demanding a Metropolitan Transit Authority audit (take that, Houston!), in violation of the universally held principle that the resolutions should be kept noncontroversial. Declined to answer questions about what the resolution did; then the instant it passed, scurried to the press table with an explanatory news release.
Some actually defended Pennington, saying that he was better this session than last. Poppycock. It was all on the surface. He has learned more about the game and has discovered how to mask his vindictiveness. But Pennington’s newly acquired veneer of civilization only makes him more dangerous.
Carlyle Smith, Democrat, Grand Prairie
Like Hester Prynne, wore a scarlet A around his neck – but his stood for “albatross.” The one member of the Legislature whose support for any cause was instantly fatal.
Spent the session launching assaults on embattled Speaker Gib Lewis; they turned out to be kamikaze missions. So inept at guerrilla tactics that he actually ended up creating sympathy for Lewis. Worse, he scared away others who might have tried, had Smith not preceded them; he gave dissent and independence a bad name.
Had every reason to know better. In three previous session he’d watched John Bryant and Ron Coleman (both now in Congress, to Lewis’ everlasting good fortune) put on a clinic on how to fight a Speaker. Alas, Carlyle wasn’t taking notes. Otherwise he would have known to:
Pick the right issues. Bryant and Coleman chose water, agricultural tax breaks, and school finance, where they could use the complexity of the subject and their superior knowledge to tack on clever amendments, sway uninformed members, hint that skulduggery was afoot, and earn the grudging respect of the opposition. But Smith concentrated on horse racing and banning open containers in cars – emotional issues where there was little chance of changing votes or winning anyone’s respect.
Never get personal. Bryant and Coleman played hardball, but always on the issues, trying to goad the Speaker into pettiness first. But when Smith asked the House to exhume the open-container bill from a committee graveyard, he made the error of trying to cast Lewis in the role of undertaker. The House disagreed – by more than a hundred votes.
Don’t waste your ammunition. The biggest danger for insurgents is that they try to fight too many battles. Eventually no one listens anymore. For Smith, eventually came early. He and an ally proposed an amendment to elect the PUC, with commissioners taking office on January 1, 1985. He lost. Then he proposed and amendment to elect the PUC, with commissioners taking office on January 2, 1985. He lost again. Then, yes, January 3, 1985.
Timing is everything. After they lost a battle, Bryant and Coleman let someone else fight the next one while their wounds – and credibility – healed. But Smith, after getting drubbed on the open-container vote, marched straight into the billboards floor fight – and got drubbed again.
By the time the session entered its last month, Smith carried such a stigma that members begged him not to speak for their bills or amendments. Ignoring pleas to stay away from the microphone, he mortally wounded his comrades’ attack on the worst bill of the session, a scheme to override local billboard ordinances. Lobbyists actually incorporated Smith into their strategies, searching for ways to prod him into opposing their bills. Said on: “There is not another member or lobbyist who wouldn’t love to have Carlyle on the other side. It’s worth an instant sixty votes.”
Mark Stiles, Democrat, Beaumont
A good ol’ boy gone berserk. First day of the session, freshman Stiles went around hugging Speaker Gib Lewis and slapping the parliamentarian on the back. Clenching a fat cigar between his teeth, he swaggered into a crowded elevator and bossed the House sergeants around. In short order he found himself on State Affairs and Ways and Means, two plum committee assignments usually denied freshmen. “Gee,” thought observers, “this guy must be going somewhere.” He was – straight downhill.
Promptly made a fawning declaration of non-independence to the press in which he all but vowed to kiss the hem of Gib’s garment daily. Appointed himself apologist for Gib’s failure-to-disclose woes: mere “zip-code errors,” pronounced Stiles. “If the Speaker stopped suddenly, Stiles’ nose would be broken,” snapped one disgusted freshman.
Took to calling everyone Bubba. Made sure little cartoon figures labeled “Bubba Likes It” appeared on members’ desk video screens when certain bills came up; actually thought it helped his cause. Failed to combine his Bubbaship with any real legislative skills, assuming that the Speaker’s blessing was all he needed to get his program through.
Charged into the legislative china shop with the horns of a bull but the hide of a rabbit. Bullied witnesses, yet couldn’t deal with adversity himself: made an art form of the hissy fit, huffing agitatedly back to his desk when thwarted at the mike. Stormed out in mid-hearing when committee chairman Fred Agnich held up his hunting bill. Unwisely called Agnich Daddy Warbucks in private; was then stunned when Agnich, with obvious relish, rose later in the session to smite another Stiles bill with deadly points of order.
Brought a new word into the legislative lexicon – “nimby,” as in “not in my backyard.” Had the most parochial legislative package imaginable, including an ill-fated nimby bill that would have repealed the statewide property tax appraisal system in order to solve some Jefferson County problems and another that would have outlawed hazardous waste disposal sites in Liberty County. When colleagues advised him that someone would surely raise points of order about the narrow scope of this bill, Stiles – feeling his sworn fealty exempted him from the rules – blithely assured them the Speaker would rule his way. He was wrong.
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