‘It’s Republicans against Republicans’ in Montgomery
County party’s longtime chairman stepping down, leaving fierce divide among members in Houston suburb he turned into conservative stronghold
CONROE — Wally Wilkerson looked down as his political foe praised him, incorrectly declaring the Montgomery County Republican Party meeting to be the last that Wilkerson would preside over as chairman. “Thank you for all your service, sir,” said Jon Bouché, a tea party-backed candidate running to succeed him.
It was a charged moment. Wilkerson, 89, has chaired the county GOP for 56 years. He is retiring not because he wants to, but because Bouché and others stripped him of power, causing a split between those loyal to the longtime chairman and those who oppose him.
Wilkerson is slight, with a strained but firm voice. He hates to see his party at war. Still, he spent the meeting standing stubbornly in front of the dais, rather than sitting with those who helped bring on his decision not to seek another term. “It’s Republicans against Republicans,” Wilkerson said.
This divide — moderates vs. tea party, establishment vs. grassroots — colors the end of Wilkerson’s widely admired run transforming the Houston-area suburb into a conservative stronghold.
As Texas becomes more diverse and counties such as nearby Fort Bend lean blue, Montgomery County Republicans are determined to keep their county of 600,000 bright red. Some argue for adhering more strictly to tea-party principles. Others back Wilkerson’s more inclusive approach.
Their split reflects the broader conservative conflict seen be
tween those who cheer on President Donald Trump’s in-your-face rhetoric and those who miss former President George H.W. Bush’s decorum.
On March 3, Republican primary voters will choose between Bouché, a 54-year-old real estate agent, and Bryan Christ, a 44-year-old IT consultant backed by Wilkerson. Whoever wins takes over a party so at odds that each side files its own financial reports.
“We have to modernize this party,” Bouché says.
For Wilkerson, it’s perhaps one last big fight.
“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” he says.
Wilkerson began his career as a family doctor in Conroe in 1958, before The Woodlands existed, and the county population was fewer than 30,000.
Dwight Eisenhower’s 1952 presidential bid drew Wilkerson into politics. After the founder of the county’s GOP moved, Wilkerson became chairman in 1964. He liked the idea of limited government. Voters deserved a choice, he believed.
Wilkerson recruited candidates, encouraging them to meet people face to face. He remembers telling one he couldn’t win unless he knocked on so many doors that he wore holes in his shoes.
Change came slowly. A Republican first won county office in 1978, two years before Ronald Reagan would lead the party to sweeping victories. By Wilkerson’s count, Republican candidates in Montgomery County have won every contested race there since 1994.
As political strategist Karl Rove saw it, Wilkerson led the county GOP’s rise, helping George W. Bush that year get elected governor. “King Wally,” Rove nicknamed him.
In the office, “Dr. Wally’s Wall of Memories” chronicles the success, and thousands of pieces of political memorabilia are archived in the back. “Without him, I don’t think there would be the Republican Party that we have today,” supporter Dorothy Woodall says.
Another fan, Charlie Parada, called the operation “a well-oiled machine.”
Then came the opposition: Reagan
Reed, 23, became a party precinct chair in 2016. He respects Wilkerson, he said, but he didn’t think anyone should be in charge for that long, with such a top-down approach.
So Reed and a small group outlined a new party structure, drawing from a Travis County strategy used to oust a controversial party chair. They brought a copy to the headquarters that Wilkerson set up decades ago to give credibility early on to the group, which he jokes was so tiny it could have met in a phone booth.
Reading the document, Wilkerson felt surprised. He thought they were letting their emotions get the better of them.
“You’re going to divide the party,” he recalled saying. “There’s no question about it.”
To build the party, Wilkerson said, he subscribed to the so-called Reagan philosophy that anyone who agreed to 80 percent of the platform could be a Republican. He didn’t take seriously the stricter tea-party perspective, opponents say.
Precinct Chair Brian Crumby, 62, felt Wilkerson and the party treated him like a “right-wing radical,” he said. “You just walk in and you can feel the rejection.”
The tea party had emerged across the country after Barack Obama became president. It caught on in Montgomery County, where a campaign rally for candidate Trump in 2016 drew a boisterous, overflow crowd.
More people were riled up over principles that defined their lives — such as the Constitution and biblical values — said Betty Anderson, 72, a precinct chair. She credited Trump with giving them hope.
In 2018, tea party-backed state Rep. Mark Keough defeated incumbent Craig Doyal to become county judge. Wilkerson staved off a closely watched challenge from another tea-party favorite.
There were more hurdles ahead. In a spirited meeting on June 26, 2018, precinct chairs voted 39-32 to adopt the new bylaws. The party would be run by a steering committee that would include Wilkerson as a single member.
He didn’t buy their argument that it was about modernizing and decentralizing; he thought it was about control. “These bylaws were designed for one thing,” Wilkerson said before the vote, “to overturn the results of a county chairman election.”
The victory horrified backers of “Dr. Wally,” as he is known. While opponents thought him dictatorial, supporters thought he was treated in an unkind way.
“I’ve never seen him get angry with anyone; I’ve never seen him treat anyone with anything less than respect,” said Alice Melancon, a supporter. “For him to be going out like this, with this hanging over him, I think is just so unfair.”
Wilkerson said he felt the party was doing so well it turned on itself. This happened in other counties, he knew; the Republican party chair in Galveston resigned under similar pressure around the same time.
That didn’t mean Wilkerson was giving up. He’d worked too hard to let his party end up in shambles, he thought.
Wilkerson dug in. He challenged the bylaws, but the Republican Party of Texas upheld them. The county party gave him back some control; he refused to turn over the bank account.
John Wertz, treasurer of the restructured party, which raised its own funds, thought Wilkerson’s behavior fueled the divide. “They kind of whine about it and say that we’re trying to split the party,” he said. “We’re like, ‘Guys, get on board here.’ ”
Every morning, Wilkerson walks with his wife, Neddie Jane, then heads to the party office. He chats with those who stop by, including, recently, a man in a “Trump train” cap who picked up a Trump yard sign.
The man lamented Hillary Clinton was not in prison. Wilkerson, his lips often drawn in a thin smile, showed no opinion.
Wilkerson talked on a recent Thursday on the phone at his desk, where papers pile high and Fox News streamed updates of Trump’s acquittal by the Republican-led Senate. A stuffed elephant — one of many he’s collected — stretched over the monitor.
That evening, he planned to attend a candidates’ forum. Women’s groups such as the one hosting the event expect him, but in a break from a previous no-endorsement policy, he also went to campaign for Christ.
If Christ is elected, Wilkerson plans to carry on his party work. Christ is optimistic he can heal the group through sheer will. “I think it’s just the spirit of openness that they’re wanting,” he said, “so I think you can get there.”
Wilkerson arrived to the crowded forum in time to hear his name announced. Attendees ate redand-blue star-shaped cookies. Parada, one of Wilkerson’s defenders, wore a T-shirt that read, “United We’re ‘Red’ Divided We’re ‘Blue.’”
Parada hoped everyone would remember the good Wilkerson had done more than the recent power struggle. “I’m not a runner,” Wilkerson has said. “I’m a fighter, too.” From the back of the room, he raised his hand to wave.
“For him to be going out like this, with this hanging over him, I think is just so unfair.”
Alice Melancon, a supporter of Wally Wilkerson