Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, February 5, 1991 TAG: 9102050130
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: B-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Ed Shamy
DATELINE: RICHMOND LENGTH: Medium
But this is the Virginia General Assembly.
The august body is meeting now - House of Delegates in the room with the periwinkle-colored drapes; Senate with the purplish curtains.
Monday morning, the talk was of money. Big money. Nine-figure money that would stop you or me cold. Something to do with the lottery and the budget deficit. Something far too complicated and boring to qualify for space here.
Suffice to say, though, that Del. Alan Diamonstein, D-Newport News, was pretty worked up about it and was talking in terms of fiscal responsibility.
"This is a sincere opportunity for this body to determine who sets the agenda here . . ." he was saying.
In real life, somebody says that to you, and you start wondering if you programmed your VCR to tape "L.A. Law" tonight.
Diamonstein was casting this bill - one of hundreds in the hopper - as perhaps dictating the future of the free world and, very possibly, life on this planet.
There are 100 members of the House of Delegates. While Diamonstein spoke, A.L. Philpott stood at strict attention at this giant carved-wood desk. Philpott, who is from Bassett, is the speaker of the House. That means he has the deepest voice.
The remaining 98 members of the House devoted much of their attention to breakfast, most of them having been up late the previous night thinking about dinner.
Del. Jackie Stump, a coal-country Independent, was draining a plastic-foam cup of coffee. Del. Tommy Baker, a Radford Republican, likewise was hitting the java.
"We're about to use up one of the last reserve funds we have . . ." went the debate about lottery money.
Del. Henry Maxwell, D-Newport News, was having an ethical problem of another sort. He was trying to slowly, stealthily, silently, unwrap some chocolate chip cookies in his desk. They crinkled and crackled.
Not that the noise much mattered. Private caucuses, complete with knee-slapping, guffawing interludes, ringed the meeting room. A steady drone, like a distant Piper Cub on a summer's day, provided the audio foundation in the room.
In real life, someone carries on a conversation while you're talking and you smack their head or you walk out.
Del. Steve Agee, R-Salem, wagged a finger in a small box of raisins.
"In the final negotiating process, the reserve will not survive . . ."
Legislative pages scurried with trays between snack bar and podium.
The sharp report of a can of Diet Pepsi being opened. A pretzel cracked.
". . . fiscal prudence . . ."
More coffee over this way, please. Pass that creamer, if you would.
". . . this money may not be available . . ."
Apples. Lots of delegates ate apples.
The lottery thing, they voted on. It either passed or was killed, it's hard to remember.
In real life, it was lunchtime by then.
by CNB