3.—25.

The 23 other most powerful people in Texas politics.

THE FIXERS

Buddy Jones, 54, Austin
Rusty Kelley, 57, Austin
Bill Messer, 54, Belton
Mike Toomey, 53, Austin

A Nineteenth-Century Washington correspondent once described the lobby as a monster that inhabited the U.S. Capitol: “Winding in and out through the long, devious basement passage, crawling through the corridors, trailing its slimy length from gallery to committee room, at last it lies stretched at full length on the floor of Congress—this dazzling reptile, this huge, scaly serpent.” People who view politics from the outside, and even some who view it from the inside, see the lobby in exactly this way—as the unsavory nexus of money, influence, and public policy. And yet the First Amendment places lobbying on the same pedestal as freedom of religion, of speech, and of the press: “the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”

To be sure, lobbying will never be free of stench. Like prostitution, with which it is sometimes compared, lobbying is a contender for the title of the oldest profession. But the most powerful lobbyists are among the smartest, hardest-working, straightest-shooting people in Austin. They’re powerful because they can pass or kill bills that are worth millions of dollars to interest groups. Advocating for legislation sought by their clients is only part of their job; they are generous with advice, gossip, insight, friendship, and campaign cash.

None more than Buddy Jones, who had a brief career as a legislator—one term in the House, which ended with a losing race for the state Senate in 1982. The defeat was the best thing that ever happened to him. He returned to the House as executive assistant for then-Speaker Gib Lewis and began dispensing the favors and cementing the friendships that have catapulted him to the top tier of the Third House. His client list is said to be the best in town: AT&T, Alcoa, the Children’s Hospital Association of Texas, Continental Airlines, Farmers Insurance, General Motors, the Dallas Cowboys, H-E-B, Wal-Mart, banks, school districts. He broke new ground in 1998 by co-founding (with Bill Miller) HillCo Partners, a talent-laden consulting firm that does issue campaigns, lobbying, and public relations. Often lampooned by jealous colleagues for his ingratiating style, Jones is known for greetings like “You’re a great American” (to men) and “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” (to women).

Rusty Kelley is described by a word one seldom hears spoken of lobbyists: “beloved.” Many a lawmaker thinks of him as a best friend. He has a humble, self-deprecating style that is totally nonthreatening and ever so persuasive. Don’t be fooled into underestimating him—not that anyone does. He learned the ways of the Legislature as sergeant-at-arms of the House in the seventies and later as executive assistant to Speaker Billy Clayton. He earned his lobbying spurs by spearheading Ross Perot’s education reforms through the Legislature in 1984 and has been at the top of his profession ever since. Now with Public Strategies, his clients include American Airlines, Dell Computer, Dow Chemical, General Electric, General Motors, billboard interests, Southwestern Bell, Coca-Cola, the Basses, and some big-name Texans who want to keep their hand in what is going on in Austin, including Ross Perot Jr. and Peter O’Donnell. One of his coups was passing a bill that established a taxing district for the Texas Rangers baseball club and its managing general partner, and if you have to be told who that was, chances are you don’t know much about power in Texas.

Bill Messer has the best connection in the Capitol—no one outside Tom Craddick’s immediate family is closer to the Speaker of the House—and unsurpassed institutional knowledge. The latter he learned not only from his tour as a master legislator in the eighties but also from long conversations with his late father-in-law, petrochemicals lobbyist Harry Whitworth, one of the Big Four lobbyists of the fifties and sixties. Today Messer represents Whitworth’s old organization, the Texas Chemical Council, as well as State Farm, IBM, Liberty Mutual Insurance, McDonald’s, Union Pacific, the Texas Hospital Association, Southwestern Bell, and the redoubtable Texans for Lawsuit Reform, which—with Messer calling the signals and Craddick’s strong support—successfully backed sweeping pro-business changes in Texas tort law. Messer would really be sitting pretty had his longtime friend John Sharp, a Democrat, been elected lieutenant governor in 2002, but when Republican David Dewhurst prevailed instead, Messer couldn’t maximize his effectiveness in the Senate.

Mike Toomey doesn’t have a very impressive client list, according to the December reports at the Texas Ethics Commission. Just wait, just wait. Toomey had an immensely successful lobbying practice (led by tort reform clients) before he sold it to Messer in 2002, clearing the way for him to become chief of staff to his close friend Governor Rick Perry. He was positioned perfectly to fight for the toughest possible tort reform package, which had been a cause of his since he was a Republican legislator in the eighties. A self-described staunch economic conservative, Toomey didn’t advocate anything he hadn’t favored for years, and yet the idea of a lobbyist going into the governor’s office and taking stands that greatly benefited his former clients raised a lot of eyebrows. His return to lobbying for the 2005 session has raised a lot of eyebrows as well, and the eyes under those eyebrows are looking to see whether some of Toomey’s grateful former clients will soon become his present clients.

THE LOYAL OPPOSITION

Rodney Ellis, 50, Houston
Royce West, 52, Dallas

SOME FOLKS INVOLVED in politics would rather lose loudly than win quietly; they measure victory in volume rather than votes. Senators Rodney Ellis and Royce West are just the opposite: liberal Democrats who win by working behind the scenes with the GOP majority while remaining true to their principles. As for losing, it’s hard to say how they react, because it so seldom happens. Session after session, they’re the most effective Democrats in the Legislature. But they don’t operate as a unit; their personalities could not be more different. Ellis is a dapper dresser, as befits his work as an investment banker, and he moves on the Senate floor with flair and style, pressing the flesh, cutting deals, wisecracking his way through debate. “Dapper” is not a word that applies to West, who played college football at the University of Texas at Arlington and has the mammoth bulk of an offensive lineman. His size and legal training—he served as chief felony prosecutor in Dallas County—make him a formidable adversary. The two men owe part of their stature to Senate rules, which require a supermajority for passage of important legislation (redistricting aside) and encourage clubbiness over conflict. They’re members in good standing of the club, and no one messes with them. Ellis has won passage of hate crimes legislation, protections for indigent criminal defendants, and a college scholarship program for needy students. West’s concerns are redlining by financial institutions and credit scoring by insurance companies, equal access in university admissions and state contracting, and bringing a branch of the University of North Texas to Dallas—the city’s first and long-overdue public college, which is now a reality. Their success ought to be an object lesson for Democrats in both houses who can’t adjust to their party’s minority status and find whining easier than winning.

THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM

Kay Bailey Hutchison, 61, Dallas

POWER STARTS WITH the perception of power. That’s why Kay Bailey Hutchison is on the list. Right now, a little more than a year before the 2006 Republican primary, the wannabe governor looms as large as the actual one. Texas’ senior U.S. senator doesn’t inject herself into day-to-day events in Austin, but she doesn’t have to: Her influence on state politics is pervasive. No one is affected more than Rick Perry, whose every decision must start with the political consequences (it’s always been his modus operandi anyway). Every other politician with ambitions for higher office—Lieutenant Governor David Dewhurst, Comptroller Carole Keeton Strayhorn, Attorney General Greg Abbott, agriculture commissioner Susan Combs, and as-yet-unidentified Democrats who might think Perry is vulnerable—is in a holding pattern while Kay makes up her mind. Issues that are important to Republican primary voters—above all, school finance—take on added urgency because of a possible Hutchison challenge. GOP lawmakers are weighing whether to take sides or stay out of the line of fire. Hardly a political conversation takes place that doesn’t include speculation of the will-she-or-won’t-she variety. All eyes are on her, but if she decides not to run, the perception of power, and the power itself, will vanish in a nanosecond.

THE TOWN CRIER

Harvey Kronberg, 54, Austin

IF HE RESPONDS honestly when he fills in the “occupation” box listed on life’s countless forms, Harvey Kronberg will confess that he is, quite simply, a gossipmonger. In 1998 he bought the Quorum Report, a sleepy, Austin-based political newsletter, and turned it into a snappy online newsletter that is bookmarked in every Texas political junkie’s computer—and turned himself into the Capitol’s town crier. He added columnists, a calendar for daily political events, links to other political Web sites, and a must-read Daily Buzz that he posts in the late afternoon. Lest someone miss what he has to say, he sends blast e-mails to lure readers to his Web site (quorumreport.com) for updates on anything remotely connected to Texas politics: campaigns, court action, career changes, committee reports, and rumors, rumors, rumors. Want to find out the latest development in the state school finance litigation? Check Harvey. Want to disseminate some information anonymously? Call Harvey. Kronberg has no political agenda of his own, except to be the source of all information. Only paying subscribers ($250 a year) get the full story. But knowledge is power, and Harvey’s got both.