In early December of 1994 my wife and I
drove to the State Capitol to meet Fred Dillingham who was then serving as the
area’s State Senator. I had called him earlier and pitched my idea of doing a
story detailing one of his last days as a Michigan legislator. This article
would include a retrospect of his career. He had decided not to run again and a
new senator, Mike Rogers, would be taking his place in January.
A
Fowlerville native, he had started out on the Livingston County Board of
Commissioners, winning a four-year term in the 1974 election. He was subsequently
elected as a state representative in 1978, serving in that position for eight
years. Then in 1986 he ran for the State Senate seat and won.
It was midway through his second term (in
the 1992 election) that voters approved a proposition to impose term
limits—holding senators in the future to two four-year terms. The way the law
was enacted, Fred could have run again. Instead, he opted to leave.
We arranged for a date convenient to both our
schedules when the Senate would in session. Arriving, we stopped off at Fred’s
office in the Farnum Building, visited with him and one of his staff members
for a few minutes and then the four of us headed over to the Capitol building.
Dawn and I were treated to a tour of the Senate chambers by the staff member
while Fred was in the caucus room with his fellow Republicans, plotting their
strategy. We were then able to obtain credentials that allowed us to sit in the
press gallery, a small enclave just off the floor. We were instructed, though,
to remain there until the recess was called.
So,
for about an hour-and-half we got to watch the Senate in action as members
considered a couple of bills. Throughout the morning I had been furiously
taking notes on what was happening for use in my planned article.
As it turned out, our visit included an
extra bonus. A luncheon had been planned that day at the nearby Radisson Hotel
to honor those senators (including Fred) who were retiring or otherwise
departing. We were invited to attend.
Dick Postumus, the then Senate Majority
Leader, hosted the affair. He started out the program by joking that “this is a
luncheon of lame ducks.” He noted that nearly a third of the 38 members would
be leaving office at the end of the session. The term lame duck, while referring to those 13 senators, also referenced the
fact that the legislature was in the midst of a lame duck session.
Each
departing senator was given an introduction and a plaque. Each of them, in
turn, gave a brief speech. Among those heading to the exit were several
well-known and long-serving members: John Kelly, Jack Welborn, Debbie Stabenow,
Lana Pollack, Jack Faxon, and William Faust.
All of those who were leaving had brought
along their respective staffs and took time in their remarks to introduce and
thank these otherwise unsung heroes of the legislature. Fred did likewise when
his turn came and then, alluding to his having bumped heads from time to time
with the leadership in the Republican caucus—said: “It’s been a lot of fun.
There’s been a lot of production. It’s been a time of trial and a time of
change, but it’s been very rewarding. As you all know, I’m very passionate
about issues. I feel I’ve been sent here to serve all the constituents in my
district, not as some feel I should, just the Republicans.
“I’m proud to have been a member of the
state legislature for the past 16 years. I’m proud to know all of you. I’ll
personally hold this experience close to my heart.”
I should add that Postumus, with whom Fred
had apparently not always agreed with in those party meetings, introduced him
as “my good friend and the most dedicated father I know.”
While I had my notes from the morning and
the unexpected bonus of the luncheon, I had also planned to do a one-on-one
interview with Fred for the retrospective part of the overall article. However,
due to the luncheon lasting as long as it did and scheduled appointments he had
during the afternoon, there was not enough time to do an interview. So I
arranged to come back and meet with him the following week.
On that second visit—this time by myself--I
sat in the visitor’s gallery while the Senate conducted its business that
morning and then waited for Fred in the hall after the session was adjourned. I
found a spot just outside the main entrance where the lobbyists are assigned.
The lobbyists on both of my visits were very much in evidence, working hard to
either see a bill get passed or defeated.
When Fred walked out of the chambers, he was
immediately met by a couple of men wishing to talk with him. I waited
patiently, soaking in the scene, watching the legislative sausage being made.
A
lame duck session is, of course, the last chance for numerous proposals that
had been introduced. If not acted upon before the final gavel is struck, then
the process of bringing them back for consideration begins anew.
Adding
to the sense of urgency that permeated the air was the realization that the clock
was ticking away the last hours on the careers of those 13 senators heading for
the exit, along with those serving their few remaining days in the State House.
The desire to leave a little more legacy, to have one last measure of influence
and impact, was (I could tell) compelling.
When Fred left office after that gavel was
struck later in the month, he went to work as an administrator for a company that owned numerous funeral homes
around the nation. He had earned a mortician’s license and had helped at the
family-owned funeral home in Fowlerville while growing up, so at first glance
this seemed a natural move.
But public service was in his blood. After
just 14 months he left that job to accept the position as the Executive
Director for the Livingston County Economic Development Council. After a long
tenure in that role, he set up a business and now works as an economic
development consultant.
Of that group of departing state senators at
the luncheon, only Debbie Stabenow moved onto higher office. She failed in her
bid to be governor, but found success running for Congress--first as a
representative and then as our current senior U.S. Senator. Dick Postumus was
not among those retiring that year. He continued on as the majority leader and
then was elected four years later as lieutenant governor in Gov. John Engler’s
third term. His bid to succeed Engler failed though when he lost to Jennifer
Granholm in the gubernatorial election of 2002. Engler could not run for a fourth
time due to term limits.
In remembering that long-ago visit, three thoughts
came to mine.
Term limits, just going into effect back
then, has changed the trajectory of Michigan politics and governance. Several
of those lawmakers serving with Fred that day would have likely have stayed on
for many more years given the opportunity, but a host of new faces and voices
would have never had the opportunity to serve. Among those who have been
elected to serve as representatives or senators, or both, for this area in the
intervening years have been Mike Rogers, Valde Garcia, Dan Gustafson, Cindy
Denby, and our current legislators, Joe Hune and Hank Vaupel. The latter three
are Fowlerville area residents.
Many longtime observers of Michigan government
do not feel that term limits has proven a benefit; that lawmakers do not last
long enough to form working relationships with others, including those across
the aisle, and that they lack the institutional knowledge to get results or to
take a long view of situations and proposals. They point also to a trend of
special interests exerting more influence than was true in the past and of
elected officials being too mindful of the partisan political calculations due
to their being worried about the next career move—either in another elected
office or a job as a lobbyist. The litmus test of party loyalty, they feel,
supersedes statesmanship and bipartisanship.
Yet,
I recall a Democratic legislator from the Upper Peninsula who controlled the state’s
purse strings thanks to his chairmanship of the Appropriations Committee and
his seniority. Anyone wanting to get a bill passed that involved money or a
project funded in their district was forced to cut a deal with him. His
constituents, based on past performance, would have kept him in office as long
as he wished. Only term limits broke this stranglehold of power.
Another impression from that visit, albeit
based on only a brief first-hand observation, was that lame duck sessions are
not necessarily a good idea. I witnessed the hurried activity to beat the clock
and get those pet bills and projects approved. Since then my impression has not
changed.
It seems to me that a lot of mischief is done
and controversial measures passed during this brief interlude between the
General Election and the end of the legislative session. Matters that should
have been addressed before the election and thus subjected to voter judgment
are instead held back for this post-election gathering when voter fatigue and
the holidays divert attention. To me the only activity that should occur during
this time period is for offices to be cleaned out by those who are leaving and
a farewell luncheon held in their honor.
Still
another take away from the visit was the physical sense of how alluring power
can be. Despite only a couple of days at the Capitol, I found myself drawn to
it like a moth to a flame. I saw reporters working their beats, asking questions
and scribbling the answers that would be used in an article, or else taping an interview
with a legislator that would be broadcast on a radio newscast.
“I could do that,” I thought. I could rub
elbows with these movers and shakers—such close proximity being one of the
perks for a reporter who covers politics along with state or national
government. Or, better yet, I could be one of those reporters whose face is as
recognizable as the officials he or she covers.
Well,
it proved a short-lived fantasy. Once back on the home turf of community
journalism, surrounded once again by a more modest set of movers and shakers,
the allure faded.
That has not been our only visit to the
Capitol. In the years since we’ve covered a couple of swearing-in ceremonies
when our area legislators (those from Fowlerville) were sworn into office for
the first time and, more recently, we’re been invited to several State of the
State addresses.
On each of those ensuing visits I’ve felt
the warmth of that flame and noticed others who, I suspect, also feel the
allure that power creates.
I
finally got to interview Fred when he steered me away from the crowd in the
hall to the nearby Republican caucus room. It was quiet there; only a few
lawmakers were present and soon just the two of us occupied the place. After we
sat down at the table, I took out my notepad and began asking my assorted questions.
Among them was the ‘why’ of his decision to
leave public office at this moment. He explained that he wanted a career change
away from Lansing and state government. He mentioned also that he planned to
remain in the community for the time being, explaining that “all my children
want to be Fowlerville graduates.”
Fred closed his remarks to me that day by saying
that he had two things he’d tried to keep in mind while serving in government.
“I felt it’s always important to have a good sense of humor, and I tried to
keep one; maybe not always as well as I should. And whatever I did, I was most
concerned how it played in Fowlerville. I wanted to make sure my hometown was
satisfied with my performance. We might not have agreed on different issues,
but I wanted my community to feel I was doing the best I could by them.
“They set high standards in a small town,”
he concluded. “I hope I’ve met them.”
A sense of humor. Trying to meet the high
standards set by your community. Serving all of your constituents, not just
those who share your beliefs or political party affiliation. I thought that was
a pretty good approach to public service back then. I still do.
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