Texas Senate belongs to one man
Patrick wields political skill and powers of the lieutenant governor efficiently and ruthlessly.
Baltimore, summer of 1962, and young Baltimoreans have their transistor radio dials tuned in to WCAOAM. Johnny Dark, the city’s most popular disc jockey, is spinning the Top 40 sounds, among them the surprise hit of the summer, Gene Chandler’s addictive “Duke of Earl” (“Duke, duke, duke, duke of Earl, duke, duke …”)
Young Danny Goeb, growing up in working-class East Baltimore, was no doubt listening. Bright, ambitious and hardworking, the teenager yearned to make something of himself, although becoming a powerful duke of sorts was surely beyond even his fertile imagination. And yet, decades later, through numerous personal permutations, several relocations and a couple of name changes, that same young man has arrived at a pinnacle of power and political influence.
Now 71, he presides over a massive domed castle in a dukedom far away from his hometown, holds near total command over an exclusive group of 31 mini-dukes and commands the fealty of millions across his vast domain. Danny Goeb, the man who became Dan Patrick, lieutenant governor of the great state of Texas, has come a long, long way from East Baltimore.
Elected to the state Senate from Houston in 2007, elected lieutenant governor in 2014, the former ballpoint-pen salesman, weatherman, radio DJ, TV shock jock, talk-radio provocateur, bar and restaurant owner, businessman, media magnate, author and filmmaker has made himself “master of the (Texas) Senate,” to borrow biographer Robert Caro’s description of LBJ as majority leader of the U.S. Senate. In the words of a longtime Texas political insider — a grudging Patrick admirer — “There’s no Senate anymore. It’s just Patrick.”
“As I walk through this world, nothing can stop the Duke of Earl,” the song goes.
As defined by the Constitution, the Texas lieutenant governor is arguably more powerful than the governor. Patrick’s predecessors — Ben Ramsey, Bob Bullock, Ben Barnes, Bill Hobby, Rick Perry — have taken up the gavel and used the power of the office for good or ill, but arguably none has used it more efficiently or more ruthlessly than Patrick. His predecessors, in the words of the aforementioned insider, “are not in the same league, the same universe, the same galaxy.”
Previous lieutenant governors could not have imagined getting almost every single thing their political hearts desired, as Patrick has this session. Perennially ineffectual Democrats, their ineffectuality reaching Palo Duro Canyon depths, can only watch in gape-mouthed awe.
Craven fellow Republicans accede power and independence to Patrick, because they know the selective populist has been a Texas Trump, before Trump was even cool. They are well aware he wouldn’t hesitate to ruin them politically if they cross him. Of course, they’re also mostly pleased with his legislative feat.
Upon sine die, Patrick’s triumphs will include the following:
• Abortion in Texas becomes, at least on paper, illegal once a fetal heartbeat is detected.
• Texans can now carry handguns without a permit or any kind of training.
• A package of bills making it more difficult than ever for Texans to vote is on its way to the governor’s desk.
• Large Texas cities and counties that might want to reimagine police duties by redirecting police funds will be punished by the state.
• Teachers who want their students to learn about implicit bias, the systemic effects of racism, or even just understand the New York
Times’ 1619 Project may be punished.
• A bill requiring schools and other public buildings to display “In God We Trust” signs in a prominent place has been sent to the governor’s desk.
• Patrick’s nemesis, Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban and his fellow sports team owners, must play the National Anthem before every game.
• King (or should we say “duke”?) of the notorious “bathroom bill” in sessions past, Patrick this session was pushing contentious legislation that would bar transgender student athletes from competing according to their gender assigned at birth. When the bill missed a critical deadline for passage, Patrick pushed Gov. Greg Abbott to call a special session so lawmakers could take it up again, along with a couple of other straggler bills that failed to cross the finish line.
Abbott, always casting a wary eye over his shoulder at a relentless potential challenger, has surprisingly refused to give in — so far.
“Say hey, yeah, yeah, yeah.”
So, maybe Patrick is not at the pinnacle yet, although ascending to the governor’s office could be a descension. Whichever office Patrick holds, we wonder what would happen if he applied his undeniable political skills to issues of importance to all his fellow Texans. What
if he eschewed vindictiveness and picayune divisiveness? What if he became a statesman?
Instead of leaning into smallminded, radio talk-show issues, so-called red-meat issues crafted to divide, what if statesman Patrick focused on solving the state’s inexorable environmental crisis? What if he used his drive and political shrewdness to make quality education more accessible to every Texan, regardless of income, race or social class? What if he pushed to make health care and health coverage more available to every Texan? What if he worked to prevent foster kids from being abused and neglected? What if he focused on securing the electric grid, so that Texans never again have to endure a winter-weather crisis like the one that took the lives of more than 200 earlier this year? What if he helped cities deal with their homeless populations?
Patrick’s lifelong ability to reinvent himself may be the best argument we know of for the theory of evolution, but Patrick the statesman is likely one chrysalis too far. Power for power’s sake is his life’s blood. Instead of a Patrick-inspired anthem to statesmanship in the coming years, the meaningless fade-out lyrics of a long-ago Top 40 hit are likely to be more apt.
“Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo/Dooooo-uke/Oh-oh-whoo-oh.”