Where in the world is Antonio Delgado?
Lieutenant governor not a major player in Gov. Kathy Hochul’s battles
HERKIMER — The state budget was nearly a month late. The governor had gone days without addressing the public. And Lt. Gov. Antonio Delgado was onstage at Herkimer Community College alongside the institution’s president and a stuffed, slumped diamond miner in full costume.
Cathleen McColgin delivered a warm, three-minute introduction as the 6-foot-4 Delgado momentarily stared off into space. An audience of roughly 100 listened as the former congressman from Schenectady spoke about brownfield redevelopment.
Delgado’s voice crackled through a malfunctioning microphone. “Can you hear me?” he said.
It was nearly a year ago that Delgado left Congress to become lieutenant governor, forgoing what was expected to be a bruising congressional campaign to become Gov. Kathy Hochul’s wing man. But after campaigning alongside her to win a full four-year term, he has been relatively absent during the governor’s biggest political fights since the election: the failed nomination of Justice Hector D. LaSalle as chief judge; an unprecedented (and now failed) proposal to increase housing; and recent changes to the state’s bail laws intended to increase public safety.
If there is a growing divide between the two, part of it is structural: Lieutenant governors in New York have relatively few official responsibilities other than occasional ceremonial duties in the state Senate and waiting around for the governor to be expelled from office by death or scandal. Two of New York’s four most recent governors were elevated to office that way.
It is far from unusual for these political partners to oper
ate in what can feel like parallel universes. But based on interviews with Albany insiders, Delgado’s distance from the Capitol’s political fray has been noticed.
The lieutenant governor declined to be interviewed for this story. In a statement, his spokeswoman said the lieutenant governor has “worked in partnership with Governor Hochul to build a safer, fairer and more affordable state.”
“This is a historic administration, and the lieutenant governor is proud to help advance inclusivity and equity alongside Governor Hochul,” Lauren Hale said.
Delgado entered the role amid upheaval. Hochul, who ascended to the office following the August 2021 resignation of a scandalplagued Andrew M. Cuomo, first picked state Sen. Brian A. Benjamin to serve as her lieutenant governor. Though relatively young, he was a veteran of state government who could serve as a go-between with the Legislature on thorny issues such as the fierce debate over the state’s bail laws.
But Benjamin resigned the following April after being indicted on federal bribery charges. Hochul was obliged to sign legislation that removed Benjamin’s name from the ballot so Delgado could be her running mate. She promised a new era of transparency and collaboration.
“I need someone by my side, who I can rely on for wisdom, guidance, advice,” Hochul said. “That person must be willing to put New Yorkers first and place a high priority on delivering results rather than playing partisan politics . ... I’m really proud to say I found that person.”
But with Delgado, the governor netted a partner who as an elected official has often been elusive to reporters. And in his first year as lieutenant governor, he has operated in the background of the administration, focused primarily on economic development issues.
At the late-April event in Herkimer — roughly 80 miles west of the state Capitol — Delgado began to deliver his typical remarks, a blend of stump speech and administrative talking points.
“We’re going to get it right,” Delgado said. “The sound system is going to work. I believe in it. I know I do. I know you do. We’re going to get there.”
As he tried to work through the technical issues, Delgado invoked the story of his upbringing and career: working-classturned-middle-class Schenectady kid whose parents held union jobs at General Electric Co.; Colgate University basketball star; Rhodes Scholar and Harvard Law School graduate. From there, he went from aspiring hip-hop artist to white-shoe litigator and then two-term congressman before becoming lieutenant governor.
But the audience struggled to hear him. “I’m about to abandon the microphone,” Delgado said. “I’m really close.”
The crowd egged him on. “Abandon it,” they shouted. He ditched it.
“As I was saying,” he said, projecting his booming baritone, “my family benefited mightily from the jobs they had. It created order, it created structure, it created stability in the household.”
Delgado segued to explaining some of Hochul’s budget plans. He buried his head in the lectern as he read lines that can be traced back to state websites and administration news releases.
By the end, as always, Delgado pivoted to his more existential message, one that often resonates regardless of the political makeup of the room.
“We’re living through some pretty challenging times,” he said. “A lot of extremism out there, folks who peddle hate or fear. There are a lot of folks who are feeling detached from thoughtful government — from responsible, competent, effective, caring government.”
“It is of the utmost importance that we get beyond the partisan polarization, that we get beyond being dogmatic with each other,” he continued.
When his remarks concluded, the event’s MC let people know they could take photos with Delgado. He joked that they should ask the lieutenant governor for better funding for state universities so they can get new mics.
In the line of onlookers, one person joked to another he was only there to see if he could block Delgado’s jump shot; another remarked how impressed he was that the lieutenant governor had been a rapper.
When each came up, Delgado offered an ear-toear smile, a firm handshake and a hug, if wanted. He bent down to meet people eye-to-eye. “Your boy’s at Colgate?” he enthusiastically asked a man 30 seconds after meeting him.
About 15 minutes after Delgado wrapped up, Hochul addressed reporters at a news conference in the Capitol’s ceremonial Red Room. She sought to make the best of the provisional defeat of her top policy goal, building 800,000 housing units. It had failed to gain traction with the Legislature, in part due to a divided Democratic conference that has
broken ranks with Hochul on major policy issues.
It was in that same ornate room where nearly a year earlier, Hochul had announced Delgado, whom she described as a “rising star,” as her second-incommand and noted how she would rely on his wisdom and advice.
Quiet on the judge
In the Bronx on Jan. 14, Hochul convened top Latino elected officials to promote LaSalle, her first pick for chief judge. He would be the first Latino to lead the state judiaciary. A state Senate committee was set to hold a consequential vote on the nomination.
Hochul noted the approaching holiday honoring Martin Luther King Jr. “We celebrate a man who stood for doing what’s right, and standing up to adversity, standing up to challenges in the pursuit of doing what’s right,” she said. “That’s what today is all about. That’s what Wednesday” — the committee vote — “will be all about.”
It was not clear why Delgado was not at the event: He had no public schedule that day. A day earlier, he had been in Albany; the day after the event, he was in New York City.
Delgado is of Afro-Latino heritage, with family roots in Cape Verde — and would, presumably, have been a powerful ally in the push to overcome progressive criticism of LaSalle.
But except for quotes from Delgado inserted into the administration’s news releases, he appears to have remained almost entirely silent on the nomination.
A few months earlier, Delgado was interviewed on a Black-owned media show, theGrio, and asked what it means to be an Afro-Latino in a position of political authority.
“We’re living in a time where there’s a lot of labels, a lot of boxing in,” Delgado said. “People are sort of lining themselves up according to whatever the identity might be.”
Delgado said he felt “very fortunate to be someone who is of mixed heritage” while also connecting “with all communities.”
Indeed, his entry into elective office came through winning a 90 percent white and extremely rural congressional district that Donald J. Trump won in 2016.
In its statement to the Times Union, Delgado’s office pointed to the administration’s economic
development work, but also his leadership of the state’s newly formed “hate and bias prevention unit” and efforts on “equity and racial justice work.”
The racial and ethnic issues became a focus during Delgado’s 2022 Democratic primary.
One of his primary opponents, progressive Ana Maria Archila, wrote in an op-ed in the Gotham Gazette that the issue is not whether Delgado should be able to claim Latino heritage, but rather the content of his work in Congress defending the community. That record “leaves little grounds for optimism,” she said.
Latinos would split on LaSalle’s nomination as chief judge as Hochul’s public and private efforts on his behalf failed to gain support among Senate Democrats. After the Senate committee’s rejection, the nomination was eventually defeated in a floor vote prompted at least in part by a Republican legal challenge.
LaSalle, and the governor, had lost twice — and
Delgado had mostly stayed on the sidelines.
‘Never get too cynical’
During the 2022 budget negotiations, reporters followed Benjamin around the state Capitol and sought his insight on the fierce debate over bail, especially concerning the lieutenant governor’s meetings with members of the Black, Puerto Rican, Hispanic, Asian Legislative Caucus.
Before his resignation just weeks after the final budget was enacted — with bail changes tucked in — Benjamin and Hochul had a standing one-on-one meeting every week, according to a source familiar with their interactions. Delgado, who is often on the road, generally has weekly calls with Hochul, as do their respective chiefs of staff. When Hochul was lieutenant governor, she rarely met with or spoke with Cuomo — years of distance that served her well as his administration faced overlapping scandals.
Delgado’s involvement in this year’s budget negotiation was far less substantial than Benjamin’s last year, according to interviews with lawmakers, lobbyists and advocates.
Although Delgado never served in the Legislature, many lawmakers view him positively. “Being a person of color, we see him as a bridge to the executive,” said Assemblywoman Michaelle C. Solages, chair of the Black, Puerto Rican, Hispanic, Asian Legislative Caucus.
On March 31 — the day the budget was technically due — Delgado spoke to a regional economic development council in Troy. In his brief time with the 22 local mayors and officials there, he talked about rebuilding downtowns.
He then appeared to go off-script: “I know there’s a lot of noise, a lot of conflict and back-and-forth out there in the world we live in — to speak broadly,” Delgado said. “You should never get too cynical, never get too pessimistic or down. Do everything you can to collaborate and build together.”
When lawmakers and Hochul finally struck a budget deal almost four weeks later, Delgado was once again not in the Red Room as the governor lauded another set of changes to bail statutes that she had muscled into the budget. The lieutenant governor was in Rochester awarding the state’s Medal of Valor to a former Rochester police officer.
Delgado’s ability to speak to a wide range of audiences was on display a few weeks later at the Olde Tater Barn in Schoharie County for an annual Chamber of Commerce awards dinner.
A mostly Republican
audience settled into the the banquet hall — a frequent wedding venue where a sign next to the buffet read, “When I said ‘I do,’ I did NOT mean everything!” When Delgado was introduced in this corner of what had been his old congressional district, the attendees rose from their beef tenderloin or chicken Marsala to deliver a standing ovation.
“This community embraced me, and whether you were a Democrat, a Republican or an independent, there was at least an attempt to be civil, thoughtful,” Delgado said. He turned to state Assemblyman Chris Tague, a Schoharie conservative who had received a bear hug when Delgado arrived. “We’re not going to agree on every single issue, right, Chris?”
Delgado touted the 18 bills he had ushered into law in Congress, including the last one, which was signed by “our former president” — Trump. He said it’s hanging on the wall in his home office.
“Next to your ‘Make America Great Again’ hat,” Tague said to thunderous
laughter.
In an interview, Tague said he wishes Delgado, his friend, had greater bandwidth in the administration. “Maybe things would be a little different in Albany if he was able to play a little bigger role,” Tague said.
He is not the only Republican to have theorized about a split. The GOP state committee recently sent an email archly noting that Delgado’s news releases and social media postings scarcely ever mentioned Hochul.
“Antonio Delgado clearly has his eye on higher office,” the email read. “… (It) looks like Kathy Hochul’s brand has become so toxic that even her handpicked No. 2 doesn’t want anything to do with her.”
On that gorgeous spring day in Schoharie County, Delgado wrapped up his speech with his usual pitch.
“Despite the noise and what you might see and hear, you look deep enough and you connect in a real way — it’s there,” Delgado said. “That’s how we patch this state together, this country together.”