Before the dogwoods bloom

During a trip to one of my favorite Mississippi bookstores on the day before Thanksgiving, I purchased an autographed copy of John Grisham’s latest novel, “The Boys From Biloxi.” I knew I would be spending the week after Christmas in Biloxi and figured it would be fun to read the book while actually on the Mississippi coast.

Grisham, an Arkansas native, served in the Mississippi House of Representatives from 198490 before hitting it big as a writer. He understands the Southern legislative culture as well as anyone.

Deep in the novel, Grisham writes: “For the first three months of each year, the electorate held its collective breath as the state Legislature convened at the Capitol. The city of Jackson felt under siege as 144 elected lawmakers, all veteran politicians, arrived from every corner of the state with their staffs, entourages, lobbyists, agendas and ambitions. Thousands of bills, virtually all of them useless, were thrashed about in dozens of committees.

“Important hearings drew little

Floor debates dragged on before empty galleries. The House spent weeks killing the bills passed by the Senate, which at the same time was busy killing the bills passed by the House. Little was accomplished; little was expected. There were enough laws already on the books to burden the people.”

The lone difference between Mississippi and Arkansas when it comes to this passage is that Arkansas has 135 legislators rather than 144. Otherwise, those words could have been written about what happens in Little Rock.

More than two decades ago, when I served on the staff of Gov. Mike Huckabee, I became frustrated one day at the length of a legislative session. It’s one thing early in the session when skies are gray and it’s cold outside. It’s another thing entirely as April arrives, the dogwoods bloom, the fish are biting, and the race meet at Oaklawn enters its final weeks.

“Why on Earth won’t they adjourn and go home?” I cried out one afternoon.

A state Capitol veteran explained it this way: “Stop and think about it. A uniformed officer opens the door for them and addresses them by name. Lobbyists buy their breakfast, lunch and dinner. Afternoon drinks are also free. People at least pretend that what they have to say is important. They can stay out and party late at night. Once the session ends, that fellow goes back to being a small-town salesman with customers complaining and a spouse screaming at him. Would you want it to end?”

Having fun at the expense of the legislative branch is a long tradition in our state. Arkansas Gazette columnist Hardy Alton “Spider” Rowland wrote decades ago that rather than the constitutionally mandated 60 days every two years, Arkansans would be better off if the Legislature met for two days every 60 years.

Legendary Arkansas journalist Ernie Dumas once described Rowland as “a hard-drinking, wisecracking, brawling man-about-town whose cigar and black fedora cocked on the back of his head made him familiar on the sidewalks and in bars. ‘Southern Politics,’ the 1949 classic political science anthology about politics in Southern states, invoked Rowland’s metaphors to illustrate the peculiar nature of Arkansas elections.”

Another famous Arkansas newspaperman, editorial cartoonist George Fisher, drew cartoons of air raid sirens going off and women and children running for their lives whenever the Legislature came to town.

Legislators once were able to laugh at themselves. As Arkansas Democrat-Gazette political editor, I oversaw lists of the 10 best and 10 worst legislators following the 1993 and 1995 sessions. My favorite item from that era is the summary that an intern in our newsroom wrote one night after a drunken state Rep. “Nap” Murphy called to take issue with our choices. The terms he used for me and other members of the staff were, to put it mildly, colorful.

Too often these days we’re left with humorless, self-important buffoons who don’t know the meaning of wit. There are a lot of good men and women serving in the Legislature. I consider some of them friends. But too many legislators in recent years have stood by quietly, allowing the air to be sucked out of the building by these poseurs who specialize in performative anger.

The legislators I classify as the Know Nothings aren’t serious. They’re simply out to impress their generally uneducated, gullible social media followers. It doesn’t help that the Republican Party — that the vast majority of Arkansas legislators belong to these days — remains intellectually attention. and morally bankrupt at the national level.

Two talented conservative columnists, Bret Stephens and David Brooks, had an interesting discussion published in The New York Times. It centered on where conservatives like me — people who once were comfortable with the Republican Party but can no longer stomach today’s version — go now.

“When people get on a bad path, whether it’s drinking or gambling or political or religious fanaticism, they tend to follow it to the bottom, and either die or have a moment of clarity,” Stephens said. “I’ve been waiting for the Republicans’ moment of clarity — after Biden’s victory, or Jan. 6, the midterms, Trump’s dinner with Kanye West. I had a flicker of hope that the Kevin McCarthy debacle would open some eyes, but probably not.

“So many Republicans no longer get into politics to pass legislation. They do it to become celebrities. The more feverish they are, the better it sells. On the other hand, some Republicans who conspicuously did well in the midterms were the ‘normies’ like Gov. Brian Kemp in Georgia and Gov. Mike DeWine in Ohio. It gives me hope that the fever will eventually burn out, maybe after a few well-earned defeats.

“The solution is a Republican version of the Democratic Leadership Council, which yanked left-wing Democrats back to the center after presidential wipeouts and helped elect Bill Clinton.”

When I was the Washington correspondent for the Arkansas Democrat in the 1980s, I covered the DLC closely because then-Gov. Clinton was heavily involved. I remember taking chartered trains from Union Station in Washington to DLC meetings in Philadelphia and Williamsburg, Va.

Clinton understood the need for moderation. These days, it’s former Gov. Asa Hutchinson who understands the time has come for a similar move to the middle by the GOP. I’m not saying Hutchinson can win the GOP presidential nomination next year, but I’m glad he’s thinking about running.

“Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan rode waves of populist discontent,” Stephens said. “But as presidents they channeled discontent into serious programs and turned their backs on the right’s ugly fringes. Nixon created the Environmental Protection Agency and expanded the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. Reagan worked with Democratic House leaders to pass tax reform and amnesty to millions of illegal immigrants. Now, populist feelings are not harnessed to policies. It’s populism in the service of nihilism.”

“Nihilism” describes a number of our legislators. They have come to Little Rock this winter to divide and tear down rather than to unite Arkansans and build our state up.

“The supposed popularizers turned into angry populists,” Stephens said. “To borrow Warren Buffett’s take about investing, the movement went from innovation to imitation to idiocy. It’s how it embraced Donald Trump.”

I wish there were a way help the Arkansas Know Nothings understand that the culture wars they love to fight will never be decided at the state level. The goal of an Arkansas legislative session should be to ensure the tax structure is fair, and then pass a budget that best allows us to educate Arkansans and provide them the opportunity to succeed in the private sector.

Ladies and gentlemen of the General Assembly, please just do the job you were elected to do and then go home, preferably before the dogwoods bloom.