Category Archives: elections

It’s only a band-aid but I’ll wear it

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A new product came on the market in 1920.  The Band-Aid (registered trademark symbol is supposed to be here) became so popular that its name has become a generic term for anything that temporarily solves a problem.

Missourians will vote on a gas tax increase in a few days and I’m going to vote for it because I am part of the problem the proposed tax increase seeks to temporarily solve.

My car’s dash tells me all kinds of stuff including the cumulative fuel mileage since I bought the car in 2014.  This is the way it looked yesterday.

Another “screen” told me that I have driven this car about 63,000 miles.  In all of that driving, town and highway, summer and winter, short trips to the grocery store or longer trips to, say, Nashville or Indianapolis, this car has averaged 25.4 miles per gallon, pretty good for a 300 hp car that can hit 60 in a little over five seconds.

This car replaced one that got 26 mpg, tops, on a long trip.  Obviously I don’t burn as much gas in this newer car as I did in the older one making me one of those who doesn’t contribute as much in gas taxes with the present car as I did with my previous one. But I drive the same roads most of the time and cross the same bridges most of the time as I did with the previous car.

I am, therefore, one of hundreds of thousands of the people on our roads who are the collective cause of our Transportation Department’s long decline in financial ability to operate our highways.

As a good and responsible citizen who prefers not to replace his shock absorbers anytime soon or fall through a bridge floor, I’m going to vote to increase the tax on the gas I burn.

Frankly, it’s kind of a chicken way to go about it—a ten-cent increase that’s phased in during four years so the percentage increase is small enough that it won’t be too painful to the parsimonious Missourians who have been told for a couple of decades now that it’s okay to think state services and programs can get by on less and less and less and less because the people know better how to spend their money than the government does.

But the potholes and the patches have become such an inconvenience to motorists that maybe they’ll decide the government really can make better use of 2.5 cents than they can.

But this is only a band-aid.   Only a temporary solution.  A good friend is a reason the gas tax isn’t a long-term solution to the problems with our transportation system.

My friend recently bought a Tesla 3.   He likes it a lot.   He’s had it for about a month and has not put a single gallon of gas in it.  (Anybody who buys gas for their Tesla might be planning on setting the thing on fire.) Tesla claims drivers can get 310 miles out of a full battery charge but battery technology is moving quickly and when a 500-mile battery car hits the market at a reasonable price, watch out.

Even 310 miles isn’t bad.  We’ve been told Teslas come with a directory that can be called up on the big cockpit screen and shows where there are chargers—such as these we saw the other day at a fast foot place in Limon, Colorado. It’s like of like the printed directories that came out in the 1970s when a lot of people started driving diesels, showing them where there were gas stations with diesel pumps for cars.

You’ll notice there’s a Tesla like the one my friend has that is getting a re-charge while the driver is inside the Limon restaurant enjoying a casual cheeseburger or something.  Tesla says it has 1,359 Supercharger stations with 11, 234 superchargers like those in Limon. Plug in for thirty minutes and you’re good for another 170 miles.  That gets you to 480 miles with a lunch stop on the way.

Tesla is quickly getting competitors and that means prices will become more reasonable and that means more of us will be paying zero gas taxes before long.  I have thought that each of the last two cars I have bought would be the last completely gas-powered vehicles I would own.  A Tesla, by the way, will get to 60 in about half the time my current car does.

So a ten-cent gas tax increase (spread through four years) is only a band-aid.  It’s going to take more than a Band-Aid to permanently assure our road system doesn’t go back to gravel.  We hope those who formulated the ten cent (after four years) gas tax increase are thinking about what comes when tens of thousands of motorists don’t use gasoline or diesel fuel at all.

I’m going to vote for the band-aid.  The four-year phase-in means it’s flesh-colored so it’s not so noticeable.

Sounding the bugle call to public office

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—and why it’s a good idea to know who’s blowing it and how.

We pause this week in our reveries about Africa as we reach the halfway point between the primary election and the general election to share a story that we hope reminds voters that it is wise to be careful about all of the rhetorical horn blowing that is part of today’s campaigns.

Your faithful observer and listener once heard Hughes Rudd tell the story, “Bugle Call of a Georgia Mule,” at an economic development conference at the old Ramada Inn in Jefferson City. This was in the early to mid-1970s.

Rudd (in this old CBS News photo) was a Texas-born fellow who still had a pronounced Texas twang in his gravelly voice as he told stories on newscasts, commentaries, and on the speaking circuit.  He was called by various observers “bright and bristly,” or “deft (and) sardonic,” or “puckish (and) curmudgeonly.”  He achieved his greatest popularity as a correspondent for CBS and then for ABC. He used to finish his daily newscasts with two-minute commentaries that Ted Koppel referred to as “evenhanded malice.”

Rudd didn’t read the news. He told news stories. And that’s why he was so popular. Rudd, who died at the age of 71 in 1992, had come north to study journalism at the University of Missouri but quit after three years to join the Army Air Corps early in World War II.  He had 20/40 vision in one eye so the AAC sent him to the regular Army where he became a spotter pilot for artillery batteries.

Somebody, somewhere (maybe Rudd for all I know), wrote the story I heard Hughes Rudd tell that day in Jefferson City to an audience that became increasingly amused as the story went along.  We pass it along to remind political candidates they’d best know what they’re talking about.

One fine Georgia evening a Mrs. George Wood, now deceased, called a Dr. Marvin Satterfield, a veterinarian in Hardwicke, from her home in Bryan County. It was about her mule, Horace.  She was upset and said, “Doctor, Horace is sick and I wish you would come out and take a look at him.”

The sun was setting, but there was still plenty of daylight to see by.  After asking a few questions and hearing the answers, Dr. Satterfield said, ”It’s after six o’clock and I’m eating supper.  Give him a dose of mineral oil and if he isn’t all right in the morning, phone me and I’ll come and take a look at your mule. 

She wanted to know how to give the mule the oil so the doctor said it should be through a funnel.  Mrs. Wood protested that the mule might bite her. Then Dr. Satterfield, a bit exasperated, said, “You’re a farm woman and you should know about these things.  Give it to him in the other end.’ 

Mrs. Wood went down to the barn and there stood Horace, moaning and groaning and banging his head. He certainly looked sick.  She searched for a funnel, but the nearest thing she could find was her Uncle Bill’s fox hunting horn hanging on the wall. It was a beautiful gold-plated instrument with silver tassels. She took the horn and affixed it properly.  Horace paid no attention so she was encouraged.

Then, she reached up on the shelf where the farm medicines were kept. Instead of picking up the mineral oil, nervously, she grabbed a bottle of turpentine and poured a liberal dose of it into the horn.

Horace’s head shot up with a sudden jerk and he stood dead still at attention for maybe three seconds.   Then he let out a bellow that could be heard a mile down the road.  He reared up on his hind legs, brought his front legs down, knocked out one side of the barn, cleared a five-foot fence, and started down the road at a mad gallop.  Since Horace was loaded with gas, every few jumps he made, the horn would blow.

All the hounds in the neighborhood knew when the horn was blowing, it meant Uncle Bill was going foxhunting. So out on the road they went, following close behind Horace the mule.

People who witnessed the chase said it was an unforgettable sight. First Horace, running at top speed with a horn in a most unusual position, the mellow notes issuing therefrom, the silver tassels waving and the dogs barking joyously.

They passed the home of old man Harvey Hogan, who was sitting on his front porch. It was said that Mr. Hogan had not drawn a sober breath in 15 years.  He gazed in fascinated amazement at the sight before his eyes. Up until this day he hasn’t touched another drop.

By this time, it was good and dark. Horace and the dogs were coming to the Intracoastal Waterway.  The bridge tender heard the horn blowing frantically and figured that a fast boat was approaching.  He hurriedly went out and cranked up the bridge. Horace went kerplunk into the water and drowned.  The pack of dogs went into the water, too. They all swam out without much difficulty.

What makes the story doubly interesting is that the bridge tender was also the sheriff of Bryan County and was running for re-election at the time.  When the election day came, he managed to get only seven votes and those were from kinfolks.

Those who took the trouble to analyze the election said the people figured any man who didn’t know the difference between a mule with a fox horn up his caboose and a boat coming down the Intracoastal Waterway wasn’t fit to hold public office anyway.  

That’s the story Hughes Rudd told that day in Jefferson City.  We offer it in this campaign season to those who think they have heard a bugle call to public service.  We guess citizens will be the ones who decide which end of the mule summoned the candidate to the ballot and will vote accordingly.

It is what it is

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And what it is, is the last week of the second session of the 99th General Assembly of Missouri. This week had been a two-fer until Monday afternoon when the invasion of privacy case against the governor was dismissed.  Reporters until then had to try to keep one eye on the legislature’s actions and the other on the court actions in St. Louis.

This session seems to have had less pointed—and tiring—partisanship than some sessions in the past, perhaps because both parties have focused on a governor who has few friends among lawmakers instead of on the politics of each other.  Legislative leaders, particularly Speaker Todd Richardson and Senate President Pro Tem Ron Richard, have worked hard to keep the general assembly focused on its job, even when its job in the House of Representatives has included an investigation of the governor.

Both Richard and Richardson are leaving the legislature early next year when their successors are sworn in.  Richard has had his eight years in the House and his eight years in the Senate and the people in his district will never again have a chance to let him represent them again because of term limits.  Richardson could run for the Senate someday. But he has not filed for any office for this year’s elections.

Their jobs won’t really be done as of 6 p.m., Friday, though. The special session that can focus entirely on the governor begins half an hour later.  Lawmakers will have a month to decide if he should be impeached—and the attention of an investigating committee is increasingly focused on the governor’s dark money operations, some of which have produced attacks on legislators who have not forgotten or forgiven. And new revelations keep accumulating about the governor and dark money.

This has turned into a legislative session nobody signed up for.  Events since opening day and the later State of the State message from the governor have scrambled whatever the legacy this session leaves. Maybe that legacy will include a bequest for the 100th General Assembly to handle.

One of the densest shadows over this session is that of dark money.  Lawmakers have talked of doing something about it for years but haven’t done it.  It has become, regretfully, oxygen to too much of the political system.

Memory tells us that the best time to change a poor status quo is the year after an election when the pressure of winning another term is lessened for a few months.  Perhaps 2019 will be a good time to recall a couple of memorable things attributed to the colorful former Speaker of the California Assembly, Jesse M. Unruh, who said, “Money is the mother’s milk of politics.”

But his more important observation is, “If you can’t take their money, drink their booze, eat their food, (have sex with) their women and vote against them, you don’t belong here.”

Maybe next year’s lawmakers will be the ones to do more than complain about dark money.  Trouble is, many of them will have benefitted from it.

The Missouri Capitol has many mottos that were carved into its walls more than a century ago to inspire the public and its public officials to noble actions.  Maybe it’s time for a new one, starting with, “If you can’t take their money…..”

 

 

 

Getting an earful

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Among the greatest inventions in world history is the ability to record sound and movement. Until Thomas Edison came along with a waxed cylinder that preserved sound, there was no way to hear the great singers, orators, preachers, reformers—or others who shaped cultures unless you were where they were.  And until the motion picture, there was no way to preserve moving images of those who made those sounds.

Part of President Benjamin Harrison’s speech in 1889 is the oldest known surviving recording of a President’s voice. The oldest moving image of a President dates to 1897, a film of the inaugural procession of William McKinley.

The combination of sound and film appears to have been demonstrated in 1900 in Paris but it was more than twenty years before motion pictures with sound became commercially affordable to produce.

This around-the-barn-and-through-the-back-door kind of story-telling in which we sometimes indulge brings us to the story of the death of Judge Harry Stone on April 16.

Judge Stone was the fictional judge of a Manhattan night court, played by comedian and magician Harry Anderson.  A video of Anderson’s “Hello Sucker” night club act is available on YouTube.  At the end, Anderson passes along some advice from famed New York newspaper columnist Damon Runyon.

The advice is useful to heed during campaign years.

If you are a fan of great Broadway musical theatre or Hollywood musicals based on Broadway musicals, you recognize the names of Nathan Detroit and Sky Masterson as being creations of Runyon and main characters in Guys and Dolls.

The advice comes when Detroit bets Masterson one-thousand dollars that Mindy’s delicatessen sold more strudel than cheesecake a day earlier. Masterson refuses to take the bet and explains:

“When I was a young man about to go out into the world, my father says to me a very valuable thing.  ‘Son,’ the old guy says, ‘I’m sorry that I am not able to bankroll you a very large start.  But not having any potatoes to give you, I am going to give you some very valuable advice.  One of these days in your travels, you are going to come across a guy with a nice brand new deck of cards, and this guy is going to offer to bet you that he can make the Jack of Spades jump out of the deck and squirt cider in your ear.  But, son, do not take this bet, for if you do, as sure as you are standing there, you are going to end up with an ear full of cider.’”

Every two years when campaign time comes around, it’s advisable to recall that advice.  If you don’t, you need to always carry a towel.

‘Tis the season for crowing

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It’s a campaign year. Filing for state offices is ending. There’s something about this editorial from the July 17, 1924 Jefferson City Daily Capital News that struck us as appropriate.  Not sure exactly why, though.

The Lowly Rooster

The rooster is a gentleman chicken and serves as press agent for the hen. When the hen has laid an egg the rooster tells the world. Nearly all well-advertised products are excellent, and the egg is no exception.  The contents are untouched by human hands and the sanitary wrapper has no equal.  Things happen to the contents, however, despite the wrapper, and as a result eggs are divided into three classes: “strictly fresh eggs,” “fresh eggs,” and “eggs.”  When those of the first class are worth 60 cents the dozen, those of the second class are worth 40 cents and those of the third class are not worth a darn.  Ancient eggs are useful only in political and dramatic criticism.

When the rooster is very young nobody knows whether he will turn out to be a rooster or a hen; but in a short time he begins to develop spurs and a comb that confesses his sex, and then he is called a frying chicken. If he is a very small rooster he may live to a ripe old age and then, being deprived of feathers, head and feet, may be called a frying chicken still.  Very large roosters that live to a ripe old age may be treated the same way and called turkey.

The rooster has many traits in common with man.  He fights when required to repel an invader; he affects the mannerisms of an important citizen while at home and is cowed in strange surroundings; and when he gets atop a fence or in any manner climbs above his fellows, he crows about it.

Crowing is offensive, as a rule; but in the rooster’s case it is not objectionable for he is ready at any time to back it up with his spurs.  When he is engaged in an argument with another rooster he does not hug his opponent to avoid punishment, and if the enemy’s superior prowess and strategy drive him from the field he will retire to a little distance and there throw back his bloody head and crow to proclaim his spirit unbroken.

The rooster does no useful labor, but he begins crowing at about 4 A. M., and anybody with pep enough to wake up and begin strutting his stuff at that hour in the morning deserves the respect of mankind.   

Apply it as you will, if you wish.

Succession

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What happens when the office of Missouri Governor becomes vacant?   That’s an important question but a more complicated one is what happens when a vacancy in the office of governor leads to the vacancy in another office? We’ve been asked about this in recent days. And, as we emphasized last week, we do not want to anticipate what might happen in this difficult time for so many people, but people have asked. So we will explore that a little bit.

Before we plunge into today’s topic, we want to offer a clarification to our last column about impeachment. The Missouri Supreme Court does indeed handle impeachment trials of state officials EXCEPT in the cases of Supreme Court members and Governors. In those instances, the trial is conducted by “seven eminent jurists” elected by the Missouri Senate. We thank our longtime friend King Marc of Arcania, from whom we have not heard for too long. Arcania is a small kingdom within the Missouri Capitol. Now, on with today’s exploration.

Some recall that we offered some thoughts several years ago in the wake of the death of Governor Carnahan and the ascension of Lieutenant Governor Roger Wilson to the governorship.  That’s provided for in the Missouri Constitution.  After that——

Well, it appears to his non-lawyer that all of the cards are wild.

Blame Bill Phelps.

Back in 1972, State Representative William C. Phelps of Kansas City was elected Lieutenant Governor under the campaign promise that he would make the office a “full-time” job.  Full-Time Phelps, he was called.   Until then, the light governor’s main job was to preside over the Senate—a job the Missouri Supreme Court later limited—and to step in when the governor died or was incapacitated.

Well, Phelps created some new responsibilities for that office and the legislature over time assigned more duties to actually make it a full-time post.  So now we have an office that has obligations.  And if the person in that office has to move up to the big room on the second floor, what happens to those obligations?

Simply put:  They remain the obligations of an office that has no one to fulfill them.

The gubernatorial succession part of our Missouri Constitution says the President Pro-Tem of the Senate becomes the Governor if the Governor and the Lieutenant Governor die or are incapacitated.  It does NOT say the Pro-Tem moves up to Lieutenant Governor if that office becomes vacant.  Nor does it say the Pro-Tem assumes the responsibilities of that office.  It might be illegal anyway because that would mean that person would have one foot in the Executive Branch and the other foot in the Legislative Branch.  The Pro-Tem could not resign from the Senate and move into the Lieutenant Governor’s office because there is nothing in the Constitution that allows that. Besides, if that person resigned to take the office, he or she couldn’t take the office because their resignation would take them out of the line of succession.

The Missouri Constitution is silent on how the obligations added to the office since the Constitution was written more than sixty years ago are met when the office becomes vacant.

The office did go vacant for a short time in 2000 until Governor Roger Wilson appointed Lieutenant Governor-elect Joe Maxwell after the November election to hold the job until his regular term began in January, 2001.   The question was raised then, however, whether that appointment was legal.  The Missouri Constitution appears not to give the Governor the power to appoint someone who could become his successor should the Governor resign or become incapacitated. Maxwell has always maintained that legal experts consulted at the time felt the appointment was legal.

The legislature tried to solve that problem in 2013 but Governor Nixon vetoed it.

The bill would have left the office vacant until the next election.  It said that a staff member of the departing Lieutenant Governor would be picked to handle the ministerial duties of the office.  The Senate President pro tem would handle the Lieutenant Governor’s duties in briefly presiding over the Senate.  Nixon called that situation “confusing and untenable.”  He did not want the constitutional duties of the office turned over to a “vaguely defined staff member.”  He also noted the bill called for a general election for the office but did not mention a primary election.  That was important, he argued, because it meant the political parties would select the contenders for the office, not the people.

Nixon did not like the bill’s lack of definition of “ministerial duties” nor its failure to formally create a process to appoint the person to do those jobs.  His veto message questioned the propriety of having an unelected staff member replacing a statewide elected official, particularly if that position became vacant because of impeachment or criminal activity involving the office.

Those who follow Missouri politics will recall that the issue arose when Lieutenant Governor Peter Kinder was thinking about trying to replace Congresswoman Jo Ann Emerson, who had resigned to take a lobbyist job.  When Kinder did not win his party’s nomination, the issue faded away. At the time, Nixon—a Democrat—maintained he could appoint a new Lieutenant Governor.  The Republican-led legislature disagreed.

The issue now has arisen three times in less than twenty years.

There have been several times in Missouri’s history when the office stayed vacant until a new Lieutenant Governor could be elected. Eight times in the first seventy years of statehood the office remained vacant. The longest time was about forty-one months. That was the first time. Lieutenant Governor Benjamin Reeves resigned to join the party surveying the still-new Santa Fe Trail. When Governor Frederick Bates died in the summer of 1825, Senate President Pro Tem Abraham Williams, a one-legged shoemaker from Columbia, became the Governor. He was confronted by the question of whether the state could afford an election to pick a new governor or whether he should remain. He chose to have an election in which John Miller was elected to finish the Bates term and then was elected to a full term of his own. He remained the longest-serving Missouri Governor (in terms of consecutive years) until Warren Hearnes became the first governor elected to a second consecutive four-year term in 1969. Williams then returned to his Pro Tem role in the Senate.

There was no Lieutenant Governor after Lilburn Boggs succeeded Daniel Dunklin, who resigned to become United States Surveyor General for Illinois, Missouri, and Arkansas (he was responsible for the Missouri-Arkansas state line). M. M. Marmaduke succeeded Thomas Reynolds, who committed suicide in 1844 and the number two office remained vacant. Lieutenant Governor Wilson Brown died in office in August of 1855 and the office remained vacant until January, 1857. The office was vacant for eight months when Hancock Lee Jackson succeeded Trusten Polk after Polk was elected by the legislature to the U. S. Senate early in 1857. There was no Lieutenant Governor when Willard Hall replaced Hamilton Gamble, who died in office in 1864. The office was vacant for about eight months after Lieutenant Governor Joseph Gravely died in office in April, 1872. When Governor John Marmaduke died in office at the end of 1887, Albert Morehouse moved up to Governor and the office was not filled again until January, 1889.

Something interesting happened, however, in 1903 when Lieutenant Governor John Lee quit after admitting he had carried bribe money from the Royal Baking Power Trust to four Senators, buying their votes on a bill establishing the ingredients for baking Powder that shut down Missouri manufacturers and favored the Royal powder. Remember that one of the jobs of the Lieutenant Governor was to serve as President of the Senate. One contemporary newspaper account we have seen notes that Lee’s departure left the Senate without a presiding officer. Senators elected Pro Tem Thomas Rubey as the temporary presiding officer of the senate, i.e., the Senate President. With that designation, says the account, Rubey thus “fell heir” to the Lieutenant Governorship. Rubey is the only Pro Tem listed as a Lieutenant Governor.

The office was vacant for a few days when Frank Gaines died on December 30, 1944, a few days short of completing his third term in the office (which many years later made Peter Kinder the only person in Missouri history to COMPLETE three terms in the office. Walter Davis, who was elected to succeed Gaines, took office on January 8, 1945.

When Edward V. Long resigned to replace Senator Thomas Hennings, who died in the fall of 1960, Governor Blair did not appoint anyone to finish the term. Hillary Bush was elected a few weeks later and was sworn in in 1961.

Thomas Eagleton resigned just before Christmas, 1968 after having been elected to replace the retiring Stuart Symington. Symington resigned his Senate seat early so Eagleton could be sworn in a few days early, giving him some seniority over those who were not sworn in as senators until January. Governor Hearnes appointed William S. Morris to fill the rest of the Eagleton term until Morris could be sworn in for his own term as Lieutenant Governor.  That infuriated Pro Tem Earl Blackwell, a strong opponent of Hearnes (reportedly he was upset that Hearnes supported Morris instead of him in the campaign for the number two job), who threatened to throw Morris out of the chamber if he came in to preside.  Blackwell maintained the appointment was illegal. Morris didn’t darken the Senate’s doors until after he’d been sworn in for the full term.

The role of the Lieutenant Governor as the President of the Senate became so insignificant that in the 1980s, outgoing Pro Tem John Scott and incoming Pro Tem Jim Mathewson ousted the Senate President/Lieutenant Governor from the office created for that person and moved incoming Lieutenant Governor Mel Carnahan into some renovated committee rooms on a lower floor. What would have been Carnahan’s office became the Pro Tem’s office. When Kinder was Lieutenant Governor, he and the head of the Office Administration arranged for the Lieutenant Governor and the State Auditor to switch office rooms. The fulltime Lieutenant Governor’s office staff had expanded enough that it needed the extra space and most of the employees of the auditor by then worked in another state office building.

What’s the solution?  The legislature can try again to write a law.  Or a constitutional amendment that would fill the apparent void in the constitution.

When we wrote about this on the old Missourinet Blog several years ago, we suggested that the new governor appoint someone to serve in the office and carry out the duties of it, someone who would willingly become the target of a test lawsuit that could provide some clarity to what needs to be done to correct the problem—which means the lawyers on both sides would have to carefully word the lawsuit to achieve from the courts the desired result.  We suggested the person for the job be someone with no pretentions about using it for future political gain, perhaps someone with no particular party loyalty so neither party could make claims that the other was trying to take advantage of something.  The person would be content to be a footnote in Missouri history, a sacrificial lamb I think we called it, someone appointed to hold the office and see that its duties were carried out until such time as the courts and subsequent elections eliminated the problem.  A lot of people can gavel the Senate into session each day, call for the chaplain to pray, and run down the order of business before turning the gavel over to a senator to preside—which is what usually happens.

Perhaps the procedure used in the wake of Mel Carnahan’s death and posthumous election could provide a guideline for a clarifying law or amendment—allowing the governor to appoint a Lieutenant Governor to serve until the next general election when someone would be elected to complete the remainder of the term. As you might recall, Jean Carnahan served for two years in her husband’s place but lost a bid to serve he remaining four years.

Whatever. The answer is out there somewhere.

If only Bill Phelps had not decided to make the office a fulltime job…..

 

 

 

Are you smarter than a third grader?

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We wrote this a year ago and put it in storage until we needed it.  We noted the other day that Representative Dean Dohrman has introduced a bill requiring people wanting to graduate from college to score at least seventy percent on a civics test before they can get their diplomas. He says he hopes the bill spurs greater civic education in our colleges.

That has led us to dig out this piece:

Suppose you had to take a test to be a Missouri voter.  More important, suppose those wanting to hold public office, particularly the six statewide offices and legislative positions, had to pass this test. Be honest, now, those of you who have taken oaths of public office—How many of you would be where you are now if you had to match this third-grade requirement (We, personally, would be a little nervous if we had to do this)?

And for those who voted to elect these folks, could you have voted if you had to prove competence to deal with these issues?  It’s kind of a lengthy examination.  Extra paper will be allowed.

Explain the major purposes of the Missouri Constitution. Explain and give examples of how laws are made and changed within the state.

Examine how individual rights are protected within our state. Explain how governments balance individual rights with common good to solve local community or state issues.

Explain how the State of Missouri relies on responsible citizen participation and draw implications for how people should participate.

Describe the character traits and civic attitudes of influential Missourians. Identify and describe the historical significance of the individuals from Missouri who have made contributions to our state and nation.

Explain how the National Anthem symbolizes our nation. Recognize and explain the significance of the Gateway Arch and the Great Seal of Missouri and other symbols of our state.

Analyze peaceful resolution of disputes by the courts, or other legitimate authorities in Missouri. Take part in a constructive process or method for resolving conflicts.

Describe how authoritative decisions are made, enforced and interpreted by the state government across historical time periods and/or in current events.

Identify and explain the functions of the three branches of government in Missouri.

Describe the importance of the Louisiana Purchase and the expedition of Lewis and Clark. Evaluate the impact of westward expansion on the Native Americans in Missouri. Discuss issues of Missouri statehood.

Describe the migration of Native Americans to Missouri prior to European settlement in the state. Describe the discovery, exploration and early settlement of Missouri by European immigrants. Describe the reasons African peoples were enslaved and brought to Missouri.

Examine cultural interactions and conflicts among Native Americans, European immigrants and enslaved and free African-Americans in Missouri. Examine the changing roles of Native Americans, Immigrants, African Americans, women and others in Missouri history.

Examine changing cultural interactions and conflicts among Missourians after the Civil War.

Discuss the causes and consequences of the Dred Scott decision on Missouri and the nation.

Explain Missouri’s role in the Civil War, including the concept of a border state. Describe the consequences of the Civil War in Missouri including on education, transportation, and communication.

Compare and contrast private and public goods and services. Define natural, capital and human resources. Define economy. Explain supply and demand.

Conduct a personal cost-benefit analysis.

Define taxes and explain how taxes are generated and used.

Explain factors, past and present, that influence changes in our state’s economy.

Read and construct historical and current maps.

Name and locate major cities, rivers, regions, and states which border Missouri. Describe and use absolute location using a grid system.

Identify and compare physical geographic characteristics of Missouri. Describe human geographic characteristics of Missouri.

Describe how people of Missouri are affected by, depend on, adapt to and change their physical environments in the past and in the present.

Describe how changes in communication and transportation technologies affect people’s lives.

Identify regions in Missouri. Compare regions in Missouri. Compare the cultural characteristics of regions in Missouri. Explain how geography affected important events in Missouri history.

Research stories and songs that reflect the cultural history of Missouri.Describe how people in Missouri preserve their cultural heritage.

Identify facts and opinions in social studies’ topics. Identify point of view in social studies’ topics.

Present social studies’ research to an audience using appropriate sources.

Whew!!

How can anybody be expected to know all this stuff?  Aren’t you glad you’re not an immigrant seeking American citizenship? Actually, immigrants don’t have to go through all of this stuff.

But Missouri third-graders do.

What you’ve just read are most of the Missouri Department of Education’s grade level expectations for third grade social studies students and their teachers.  How well students perform under these guidelines determines how competent they are considered to be and, by reflection, how competent their teachers are.

The impetus for this goes back more than two decades, to 1996, when the Show-Me Standards were developed to gauge student performance.  The Show-Me Standards were replaced by the Missouri Learning Standards that were required by the legislature to be written because the legislature didn’t like the Obama Administration’s Common Core approach.  The MLS are pretty close to Common Core, though. The state education department says the standards “are relevant to the real world and reflect the knowledge and skills students need to achieve their goals.”  The department also says they work best when administrators, teachers, students and parents share the goals.

This state is big on “local control,” so the standards do not require local districts to closely adhere to them. Districts can still make their own decisions about textbooks and teaching strategies and curriculum. But they’re measured on a standard gauge.

Your observer/historian was chatting with another observer/historian in a local coffee shop a few days ago about these standards and we agreed on a regrettable fact about them.

These are standards for third graders.  The teaching of Missouri history used to be done in the fourth grade but the department has moved that teaching back to grade three now.

Consider this, then (we admitted it kind of scares us): Missourians went to the polls in November, 2016 and elected people who are in office today who have had little education in Missouri history since third or fourth grade and whose teaching in Missouri government was limited to elementary school or maybe a poli sci class in college.  State law requires American history and United States government courses in high school (but no world history or government studies is required in this undeniable era of globalization).

But there is also this:  Both of us believe it takes extraordinary people to turn written goals into personal learning for fifteen to thirty children of incredibly diverse personal and cultural backgrounds every day in our classrooms.  Our lamenting the fact that a lot can happen in the decade from the time one is an eight-year old third grader and when one is an eighteen-year old first-time voter is in no way intended as a swipe at the public education system.  Neither of us could confidently assume that today’s decisions and situations would be better if the study of yesterday’s decisions and situations were fresher in the minds of those who voted and those who were elected. But it would help, we thought, if learning and voting were closer together.

How would we cure that problem?  When we considered all the things our school systems have to do and all of the problems students bring to school with them, we have to confess neither of us is close to an intelligent solution.

But wouldn’t it be nice if all of us, voters, candidates, office-holders alike, had to be as smart as third graders?

There used to be some courtesy—

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It is hard to imagine that we will ever see something like this article that was in the Jackson Independent, published in Cape Girardeau County on January 5, 1828:

GOOD EXAMPLE TO ELECTORS

The following resolution was unanimously adopted at a meeting of the friends of General Jackson, held in Northumberland County, Kentucky—

Resolved, That we will through the contest for the Presidential Chair, disprove of any vulgar, harsh and unbecoming epithets, or language used, either in relation to our own candidate or the administration party, believing that such things tend to inflame the public mind unnecessarily, and have injurious effects upon the morals of our country.

—Where are those followers of Andy Jackson when we need them?

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2017: A legislative anniversary that isn’t

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This is the seventieth anniversary of the first meeting of Missouri’s Unicameral General Assembly.

Not.

We’ve lost track of the number of years somebody proposed reducing the size of our legislature, usually by doing something mathematical with the number of Senators.   For instance, having three House districts for each Senate district. Using current numbers, that system would cut the size of the House from 163 to 102.  There have been proposals to increase the membership of the Senate to 35, presumably to avoid tie votes, with three or four Representatives per Senate district, for a total House count of 105 to 140.

The proposals might have gotten through the Senate but not surprisingly have had zero chance to finding favor in the House.

There was a time, however, when Missouri came close to eliminating the entire Senate.  All 34 members.   AND cutting the size of the House by one-half to two-thirds!

Imagine Missouri joining Nebraska as the only states with unicameral, or one-house legislatures.

Nebraska’s capitol actually has two legislative chambers.  The Senate, which has a Speaker, meets in the George W. Norris Chamber. The other chamber, used for ceremonial purposes, is called the Warner Memorial Chamber and was used by the Nebraska Senate for a short time before the change to the one-house general assembly beginning in 1937.

Missouri was not among the twenty-some states that immediately started considering switching to one-house legislatures but we weren’t far behind.  The issue was being widely discussed by the spring of 1941.  But opponents feared putting the issue on the 1942 ballot would deflect interest away from another important amendment that would give legislators their first pay increase since the adoption of the Missouri Constitution of 1875.  Lawmakers were paid five dollars a day for the first seventy days of a legislative session and then only a dollar a day for each day afterward.  Supporters of the pay raise believed higher pay would attract better men for the legislature (few women had served by then). But one newspaper suggested the opposite, remarking, “The people might look upon this pay increase with favor if at the same time they had the opportunity to reduce the number of lawmakers by half.”

An organization of businessmen announced in the spring of ’42 that they would circulate petitions calling for a unicameral vote in November.  The constitutional amendment would hike salaries to as much as $150 a month with six dollars a day for each day on legislative business.

A petition drive led by former state Superintendent of Schools Charles A. Lee submitted about 85,000 signatures to the Secretary of State on July 1, calling for a one-house legislature of fifty to seventy-five members as of the 1945 session.

But the whole campaign blew up a few days later when Springfield Justice of the Peace Tom Burns, known as a “marryin’ justice,” and a colleague, Erwin A. Greenhaw, were charged with arranging to have thousands of signatures forged in a “signature mill” in Burns’ basement, paying women and girls three-dollars a day to fake signatures.  Lee’s committee had paid them more than $2,500 to gather signatures on the unicameral petitions. His group withdrew the petitions, which killed the drive for the vote in 1942.  Burns and Greenhaw were later convicted on petition forgery charges. Burns spent two years in the pen. Greenhaw was fined $500.

The incident led State Representative Edgar Keating of Kansas City to introduce a bill in the 1943 legislature  “In recent years the initiative petition has gone to the point of being a racket,” he said, a statement buttressed by the admission of Notary Public Lee Weaver, who said he notarized many of the petitions without ever seeing the person who supposedly circulated them, admitting he had done the same thing for Burns and Greenhaw in the 1936 petition campaign that took the state’s conservation department out of politics.

The House passed the bill on February 25, by a vote of 112-0 with 38 members absent.  The strong vote made no difference to the Senate, which sent the bill to the Criminal Jurisprudence Committee where it was never heard from again.

The issue returned in the long session of 1943-44 but was killed in a House committee when five rural members outvoted the two representatives from St. Louis city.  The amendment was similar to an amendment being circulated in a petition backed by a group called “Crusaders for Missouri.”

By now, a constitutional convention was underway, too.  A convention committee endorsed keeping the bicameral system, forcing delegate Stanford Lee Morton of Clayton to withdraw his unicameral proposal and plan to offer it in resolution form to the entire convention later. He wanted voters to have a choice when they voted on the proposed constitution but that idea was opposed by Con-Con President Robert E. Blake, an anti-New Deal Democrat from Webster Groves, and other delegates who wanted to send the proposed document to the vote as a single piece.  Morton had wanted an 81-member unicameral legislature with one Republican and one Democrat from each of the thirty-four senatorial districts and thirteen at-large members elected in partisan elections each of the state’s then-thirteen congressional districts.

When the Crusaders of Missouri submitted their petitions, Secretary of State Gregory Stockard ruled they were one day too late.  But the State Supreme Court said Stockard was mistaken and had to accept them.  This time there was no skullduggery and the petitions were found to have enough signatures to make the November ballot. The Crusaders plan called for a legislature of fifty to seventy-five members with a total payroll of $90,000 a year, the lawmakers elected in standard partisan elections to serve two-year terms. The 1945 legislature would decide the size of the new General Assembly, which would meet for the first time in 1947.

But the proposed state constitution got in the way.

The Missouri Supreme Court on September 27, 1944 guaranteed Missourians would get to vote on a unicameral legislature when it refused to review a Cole County Circuit Court ordering the issue to the November 7 ballot.

However, the convention voted the next day to send the proposed constitution to voters with a two-house general assembly retained.  And just before the convention adjourned with delegates singing one verse of “America” and a prayer that was the second verse of the song, the delegates set February 27, 1945 for voters to decide if Missouri would have its first new constitution in seventy years, a document 11,000 words shorter than the 1875 document that had been amended sixty times.

The Crusaders of Missouri decided to give up their campaign a week after that. The group said it feared its proposal would interfere with the adoption of the constitution.  Plus, adoption of a unicameral legislature in November would become meaningless if voters adopted the constitution with a two-house legislature in February.  The Crusaders asked Stockard to withdraw their plan from the November ballot.  But Stockard couldn’t do it.  Once on the ballot, it stays on the ballot, he said.

The Crusaders decided they would quit campaigning at that point.

On November 7, almost 365,000 Missourians voted for a unicameral legislature, only about 13-hundred fewer than approved calling the constitutional convention.  But 402,000 “no” votes were cast.  The unicameral proposition failed by just 37-thousand votes even though supporters had not campaigned for the last four weeks before the election. The plan carried St. Louis city and county and almost carried Jackson County. Outstate Missouri defeated it by 118,000 votes.

Missourians approved the new constitution in February, 312,032-185,658.  More than fifty-thousand fewer Missourians voted “yes” for the entire constitution than voted for the unicameral general assembly proposal.

A unicameral bill was introduced in the 1945 session but it was killed in a House committee with Miller County Representative Lucien Mace commenting, “It would take some of the power from the country and give it to the cities.”

The Sikeston Herald commented in its May 19th edition, “While the two-house system of government in Missouri may be cumbersome at times, it is believed in the capitol to be the best system yet devised to keep any section of the state from being the balance of power.”

Sikeston, of course, is part of rural Missouri.

And that is why 34 Senators and 163 Representatives still meet each year in Jefferson City.  And why we are not celebrating the seventieth anniversary of the Missouri Unicameral this year.

The founders and the 501(c)(4)s

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We honor fifty-six men today who were unafraid of being known although they knew their lives were at risk and an enemy was nearby. We should ask ourselves today how poorly we are keeping faith with them.

Your observer is intrigued by the idea advanced by some that people giving large sums of money to organizations that influence political decisions should be protected while the people on my quiet street who might give twenty dollars to a campaign cannot hide.

The issue came up late in the regular legislative session when some senators defending a colleague who was personally attacked by a dark money political action committee tried to pass a bill requiring such committees to disclose their donors.  Regular campaign committees have to list their donors in filings with the Missouri Ethics Commission.  But the Super PACs, as they’re called, are formed for people who don’t want anybody to know who they are or how much they give. And these organizations appear to attract big-money donations that can finance anonymous personal attacks on other individuals in the political system or influence leaders to see things their ways.

Defenders of the dark money organizations say the secret organizations are necessary to protect donors from political retaliation.  It’s a freedom of speech matter, they say; these people would not be free to express their political positions if they had to do so publicly.

That’s kind of hard for the twenty-dollar donor who lives next door to understand.  How is it that somebody who lives in a big mansion can afford MORE freedom of speech than the people who live on my street in nice but modest homes can afford?  Are not we all equal under the First Amendment?

Apparently not in today’s political climate.  Twenty dollars donated to a candidate or a cause requires your name be on a list that your neighbors of differing political beliefs can see.  And if the candidate you support makes irresponsible claims, you can be held partly responsible.  On the other hand, if your candidate shows inspirational leadership, you can take some of the credit.

It takes courage to donate twenty dollars in the sunshine.  Cowardice lurks in the dark where much bigger donations flow. Our nation was not born in such cowardice.

Let us ponder how different our nation would be today if fifty-six men in 1776 anonymously issued a broadside accusing King George III of all kinds of awful things. Suppose the accusations carried the tag line, “Paid for by Citizens for Free Colonies,” an eighteenth century Super PAC that was not required to file any reports showing who was behind the attack.

But they didn’t do it.  Various sources estimating the wealth of those 56 signers show Oliver Wolcott, John Witherspoon, George Walton, Robert Treat Paine, and Samuel Adams were estimated to be worth 100 British Pounds in 1776.  University of Wyoming professor Eric Nye, on his Pounds Sterling to Dollars: Historical Conversion of Currency website, calculates those five men would be worth $16,358 today.  On the other end, Charles Carroll III of Carrollton, Maryland and Robert Morris of Pennsylvania were worth 110,000 British Pounds in 1776 (http://www.raken.com/american_wealth/encyclopedia/1776.asp), which Nye calculates would be just short of $18 million today.  John Hancock of Massachusetts, whose signature is the boldest, was the third wealthiest at about $12.8 million in today’s money.

Five men who were well below today’s poverty level were joined by men who could buy my entire neighborhood in speaking freely to absolute power.  And they knew full well what “political retaliation” could await them.

Fifty-six men who knew they were risking the noose or the firing squad were unafraid to let it be known what they were supporting politically. They were unafraid to pledge their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor.

Our founders had the courage to proclaim their positions in the most public manner of their times. We became a nation because rich men and poor men, those living in privilege and those living in poverty, alike shared the personal courage to speak freely and openly.

What kind of people have we become that some of us are so afraid of “political retaliation” that is so mild compared to what our founders risked? What kind of people have we become that we will tolerate the argument that freedom of speech, the freedom to criticize those we elect, as well as the freedom to support those we select, should place those who can afford to attack from the darkness into a protected status?

Dare we continue to tolerate the noise from unknown voices in that darkness, and their defenders, and allow them to overcome the quiet sound of quill pens writing signatures on our founding document if we are to consider ourselves true descendants of those fifty-six men who had the courage to stand in the light?