The Best and the Worst Legislators 1995
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Gubernatorial appointments. Another blow: Barrientos had to step down as chairman of the Nominations Committee when Bullock decided that a Republican governor deserved to have a Republican head the committee that screens his appointees. A graceful loser he was not. Questioning Nolan Ryan, named by Bush to the Parks and Wildlife Commission, Barrientos asked, “Can you tell me one thing about why you think you’re qualified to serve on this board?” Then he asked Ryan to autograph a baseball. When billionaire Lee Bass, who was being reappointed to Parks and Wildlife, testified that the agency’s record of hiring minorities had improved by 3 percent during his tenure on the board, Barrientos broke in with a sarcastic “whoopee.” Once, in floor debate, he made so many references to the way he had run the committee that his successor, Teel Bivins of Amarillo, finally rebuked him publicly: “I’m the chairman of the committee now, Senator, not you.”
Austin bashing. Near the end of the session, Barrientos criticized his colleagues for passing a series of developer-backed bills that restricted Austin’s right to control suburban growth. Twice he filibustered into the late hours in a futile effort to sway his colleagues. The local media were duly impressed, but Capitol insiders were not. They knew that most senators would never have voted to meddle in the local affairs of a colleague for whom they had respect. That was the problem with Barrientos’ churlish behavior. The ability to function in the Senate depends entirely upon relationships, and Barrientos alienated senator after senator. He hurled down his microphone and turned his back when one tried to debate him. He asked the Department of Public Safety to investigate a nominee from another colleague’s district, without notifying the other senator first. In a conservative year, the Senate’s dwindling bloc of liberals needed all the help it could get. But Barrientos was too bitter to be of any use.
The Bad Old Days
Kim Brimer
Republican, Arlington, 50. The word that comes to mind is “shameless.” Kim Brimer is a throwback to the bad old days, when powerful legislators did as they pleased, oblivious to public policy and contemptuous of standards of behavior. He carries sleazy bills, engages in ruthless power plays, and plunges into controversy as if it were his favorite swimming hole.
No special interest legislation raised more of a stink this session than Brimer’s booze bills. The first was a bonanza for current package store owners, who would be insulated against further competition. The brainchild of industry lobbyists, the bill proposed to limit the number of liquor stores in every county in the state: a maximum of three in small counties and one for each 10,000 people in big counties. No new stores would have been allowed in the Houston, Dallas, and Austin areas; San Antonio, Fort Worth, and El Paso were close to the maximum. Brimer defended his measure as a way to stop the proliferation of liquor outlets in poor neighborhoods, but a concerned black legislator rejected the argument and an official with Mothers Against Drunk Driving described the motive for the bill as “strictly greed.” To speed the bill through the House, the committee that oversees liquor, which Brimer sits on, used a parliamentary ploy that is supposed to be reserved for noncontroversial items. Fortunately, the bill died in the Senate.
Brimer’s other liquor bill was even more odiferous. He embraced a Senate amendment that bestowed upon a handful of families the exclusive control of the distribution of liquor in Texas for all eternity: The bill gave each family a monopoly territory that could be passed on to future generations. That didn’t pass Governor Bush’s smell test, and he vetoed it.
Brimer never seemed to run out of bad ideas. Another of his measures gave police departments the right to conduct surveillance on and compile information about any juvenile who associates with people suspected of being in gangs, even if no criminal conduct is involved. Toby Goodman, a fellow Tarrant County Republican who is no law-and-order softie (he passed the governor’s juvenile justice reform bill), objected: “If you allow law enforcement agencies to compile information on people who have not committed crimes, every kid is at risk.” But Brimer prevailed.
Brimer’s involvement in workers’ compensation issues provided him yet another opportunity for mischief. He had been the chairman of a House-Senate oversight committee that was due to be replaced by a new board in September; the Senate, reasonably enough, said it was their turn to have the chairmanship, but Brimer wanted to keep the position for the house—meaning, presumably, himself. That battle lasted all session until Brimer capitulated on the final day. It was so unnecessary. Brimer has the skill to succeed by playing the game out in the open. But he would rather operate in the back alleys.
Bombing Out
Warren Chisum
Democrat, Pampa, 56. Last session Warren Chisum made the Ten Worst list because he was nothing more than a demagogue. This session he made it because he tried to be more than a demagogue—and failed miserably. He calls to mind the description of a turn-of-the-century English politician: “Dangerous as an enemy, untrustworthy as a friend, fatal as a colleague.”
The chairman of the Conservative Coalition got off to a bad start by flouting ethics laws against soliciting campaign contributions within thirty days of the start of a session: He held a caucus fundraiser on the eve of the session, contending that the ban applied only to individual legislators, not groups. When embarrassed House members tried to eliminate the loophole, Chisum fought them (unsuccessfully) and refused to reveal the coalition’s contributors.
He was his usual self on the House floor, zapping bills with amendments and points of order so often that members, adopting a ritual begun last session, whistled the sound of falling bombs whenever he approached the microphone. His amendment to prohibit the Texas Commission on the Arts from funding any project that includes sexually explicit displays was so broadly worded that Senate critics said it would require draping the statue of the Goddess of Liberty atop the Capitol. “Are you ready for what Representative Chisum is going to do to this bill?” Senator John Montford asked a colleague who was trying to pass an innocuous bill involving the arts. “There are not going to be many performing arts that escape his keen mind relative to reprehensible conduct.”
Chisum’s worst problems arose when he tried to get involved in substantive legislation. He didn’t do his homework, and he couldn’t be persuasive in debate. He tried to pass a controversial bill giving immunity from lawsuits to companies that voluntarily disclose violations of environmental laws. But when opponents started to ask hostile questions, Chisum couldn’t explain the bill; the best response he could offer was, “It’s not my intention to cover up any wrongdoers.” Fearing that certain defeat loomed, two other backers of the bill took over from Chisum as floor managers and passed it.
Many House members like Chisum, whose elfin stature and dry wit make him a sort of town character. But they don’t respect him. In the final hours of the session, Chisum went to the microphone with an innocent motion to suspend a procedural rule, making it easier for the House to clear its calendar. Instantly a long line of members, conservatives and liberals, Republicans and Democrats, formed at the back microphone to ask questions. Why do we need more time? Chisum couldn’t give a clear explanation. How many items are eligible for the calendar? Of course, he didn’t know. The motion failed by a huge margin. The message for Warren Chisum was clear: You can’t be a demagogue for 138 days and expect to be treated as a serious legislator on the 139th.
Honk! Honk!
Frank Corte
Republican, San Antonio, 35. Mercenary. Mendacious. Malicious. Petty. Meet Frank Corte, one of the more dismal products of democracy to reach the Legislature in many a year. Let’s take it from the top.
Mercenary. In a flagrant display of self-interest, Corte, who owns apartments, led a floor fight against a bill to provide deaf tenants with strobe-light fire alarms. The bill’s sponsor explained that she had reached an agreement with landlord groups for the tenant to provide the alarm and the landlord to pay for the wiring and maintenance. “I think you might be telling me this is one of those agreed-to bills. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” Corte asked. She was. But he kept up the attack and the House killed the bill.
Mendacious. Along came another apartment bill, this one strengthening the rights of tenants with regard to their security deposits. When Corte led the fight against it too, the sponsor said, “Representative Corte, we have talked about this and I asked if you had any questions. You said you didn’t like it, and then as I recall, you said you wouldn’t work against it.”
Malicious. A delicate compromise had been reached on Governor Bush’s tort reform bill putting a strict limit on punitive damages—but Corte wanted to make it even more strict. Members were in a bind: If they voted against the amendment, they would look soft on tort reform. If they voted for it, they might wreck the deal. When the Republican point man for tort reform pointed out that his amendment breached the agreement everyone had worked all session on, Corte smirked, “If you’re gonna tell me the governor’s gonna veto this bill ‘cause this amendment goes on, that’s a choice he’s gonna have to make.” The point man said, “I’d appreciate it if you’d pull your amendment down.” Corte wouldn’t. A Democrat was more blunt: “I think it’s a little obnoxious for members to have to vote on this amendment.” Corte wouldn’t relent—but he lost, 116-27.
Petty. All session long, San Antonio legislators squabbled over a federal judge’s threat to regulate the pumping of water from the Edwards Aquifer if the state didn’t come up with a plan of its own. Just when the issue seemed resolved, Corte killed the bill with a point of order. Said Senator Jeff Wentworth, a fellow San Antonio Republican: “I think it was extremely shortsighted and petulant of Frank Corte… It wasn’t in the interest of anyone in Bexar County, San Antonio, or especially in the military bases for this bill to be defeated.”
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