Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, February 6, 1994 TAG: 9402060053
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: A-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: DAVID M. POOLE STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
They snickered at his efforts to write conservative beliefs into law.
They swatted him down when he rose on the House floor and argued for checks on their power.
They split their sides a few years later when they heard that the rough-hewn road contractor aspired to become speaker of the House of Delegates.
"Vance Wilkins as speaker? My Democrat friends and I used to laugh at that. It was the biggest joke," state Sen. Elliot Schewel, D-Lynchburg, recalls.
They aren't laughing now.
Wilkins, through his dogged recruitment of Republican candidates around the state, has carried the GOP within four seats of controlling the House of Delegates for the first time in history.
If that happens - and it could happen as soon as 1995 - Democrats would face the prospect of addressing Wilkins as "Mr. Speaker."
Some senior Democrats say privately that they might quit rather than humble themselves before Wilkins.
"It just kills" them, says one legislator who asked not to be named. "They look over and see Vance Wilkins, who looks like he couldn't find his [rear end] with both hands, recruiting these candidates - and they win."
History may record that Democrats, blinded by power and arrogance, did not see Wilkins coming before it was too late.\ \ Tireless worker
He has risen through the ranks of the General Assembly without the benefit of a law degree, a powerful mentor or a winning personality.
He has pulled himself up through sheer determination.
"When he makes up his mind on something, he usually goes right after it until he gets it," says Billy Sandidge, a retired clerk of court in Amherst County.
Wilkins, 57, is the oldest of three children. His father, who still lives in Amherst, ran a construction company and was one of a handful of Republicans in town.
The younger Wilkins grew up raking leaves, cutting wood, slinging the Lynchburg News, sweeping floors at a grocery.
Those who have encountered Wilkins through the years swear they have never seen such a tireless worker.
Former campaign aide Jim Beamer recalls retreating to his motel room on election night in 1985, after Wilkins had defeated a tough challenger, in hopes of sleeping late for the first time in weeks.
"At 4:30 in the morning, someone started pounding and kicking on my door," he says. "It was Vance out there yelling, `Get on up, boy.' "
Wilkins wanted to check damage from floodwaters that struck just before the election. Beamer, now legislative liaison to Gov. George Allen, says the two drove country roads all day and most of the next night.
"Something is flogging him," says Doug Harwood, editor of The Rockbridge Advocate. "He is a man possessed."\ \ Man of contradictions
Wilkins is a bundle of contradictions.
He is such a strong believer in public service that he donates his $17,640 salary from the General Assembly to a nonprofit foundation, which distributes the money to civic groups around his district. Yet he has a history of minor ethical lapses ranging from unpaid taxes on property he owns to interceding on his wife's behalf in a policy and salary dispute with the Amherst County Board of Supervisors.
He has a libertarian streak that has allied him with the American Civil Liberties Union on at least one occasion. Yet he is so conservative, particularly on law and order, that he suggests Virginia might reduce the number of repeat criminals by studying China, a country where suspects are jailed without a trial and tortured in prison.
He is a champion of family values who has fought against sex education in public schools and birth control counseling for teens. Yet he left his wife, the mother of his six children, in 1982, and married county librarian Leona Doggett.
He pays for schoolchildren to visit Monticello so they can understand the lofty ideals of Thomas Jefferson. Yet he can play bare-knuckle politics that would make a Chicago ward boss wince.
At a GOP retreat in 1985, Wilkins asked University of Virginia political analyst Larry Sabato if Republicans should go after then-state Sen. Peter Babalas, who was facing accusations of selling votes.
Sabato advised steering clear of the issue, lest Republicans appear they were hitting a man when he was down.
Wilkins, in so many words, asked if that wasn't the best time to hit him.
Wilkins, an engineer, sticks out in a legislature replete with lawyers in flannel suits. He is a cattle farmer and certified welder. His oversized hands are rough from years of labor. His dark hair is slicked back on his skull, and his smile reveals a wide gap between his front teeth.
His mountain twang is hard to decipher because he swallows several words in a single gulp when he gets to talking too fast, which he often does.
His lack of finesse has led many political foes to underestimate his intelligence.
"He is deceptively knowledgeable," said Del. Lacey Putney, I-Bedford. "He has a mind like a computer."\ \ GOP from scratch\ Wilkins took an interest in politics after he returned home in 1960 from a stint in the Air Force.
He refused to follow the steps of a friend who won a seat on the Amherst County Board of Supervisors by aligning himself with the local Democratic machine.
"He took the easy way," Wilkins recalled with disdain.
Wilkins set out to build a Republican organization from scratch, a task that appealed to his independent nature, his love of a challenge and his belief that Virginia needed a two-party political system.
"He stuck by it when nobody gave him a chance," said Alice Webster, 85, a longtime Amherst County Republican.
In the early 1970s, Wilkins ran twice for the House of Delegates and lost both times. The party refused to nominate him for a third try in 1975.
"They thought I was a loser," he said.
Wilkins refused to give up. A plaque on the wall of his spacious office on the sixth floor of the General Assembly Building in Richmond sums up his philosophy:
Press on. Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education alone will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.
After his two defeats, Wilkins began spending his spare time at school fairs, church picnics and rescue squad suppers to build a grass-roots network.
The work paid off in 1977, when Wilkins won a seat in a two-member district that included Lynchburg, Amherst and Nelson counties.
In his 16 years in the General Assembly, Wilkins has gained the reputation as an obstructionist who refuses to kowtow to the Democratic majority, even if his actions assure that few crumbs from the state budget fall into his district.
An advocate of limited government, Wilkins takes pride in the number of initiatives he tries to kill, not the amount of bacon he brings home.\ Objective: Speaker\ "Wait until he gets some real power," Sabato says.
Indeed, Wilkins sounded like a "pork barrel" politician last fall while campaigning for Bud Brumitt against House Majority Leader Richard Cranwell, D-Roanoke County.
Wilkins promised to take care of the Roanoke Valley if Cranwell, the area's most powerful benefactor, lost his seat.
"I will be speaker," Wilkins declared at a Vinton press conference. "I'm a country boy. You're not going to lose anything if you lose Dick."
Democrats are not the only ones worried about the prospect of Wilkins as House speaker.
Privately, some Republican legislators admit they are uncomfortable with Wilkins in that role.
One concern is style. Wilkins' country-boy persona is out of character with the overwhelmingly suburban GOP caucus.
Another is ideology. Wilkins is one of the General Assembly's most conservative members, who can be unbending in his opposition to gun control, gay rights and abortion.
Then there is the question of statesmanship. Wilkins has been unwilling to work with Democrats, something that would be expected of the speaker.
"He has the makings of a good speaker, but he would have to look at a broader perspective," said state Sen. Charles Hawkins, R-Chatham. "He is focused now on partisan politics."
Despite these concerns, Republicans say it would be hard to imagine a House GOP majority not electing Wilkins as speaker. It would be like denying glory to the general who led an army to victory.
Twenty-two of the current 47 House Republicans won their seats since Wilkins took control of candidate recruitment four years ago.
"I would have to think there would be an awful lot of loyalty there," said Del. Allen Dudley, R-Rocky Mount.
In 1990, Wilkins sold his construction business and lit out across the state to recruit GOP candidates. Gaining a Republican majority - and becoming speaker - has become his single-minded focus.
Dudley, one of nine Republican freshman this year, says Wilkins' persistence was crucial in his decision to enter the race for an empty seat.
"I don't know if you can say I was `on the fence' when he first came to see me. I don't even know if I was near the fence," said Dudley, a banker.
"I made the final decision to run, but he assured me he would be there for advice and counsel, and he stuck with that straight through."\ \ To repay Democrats\ If he were to become speaker, Wilkins says he would give Democrats a taste of the indignities that have been heaped on Republicans for decades.
Wilkins says a Republican majority would be justified in stripping most Democrats from key committees - at least for a few years.
He notes that House Speaker Thomas Moss named only five Republicans to the 22-member Appropriations Committee this year, even though the GOP represents nearly half of the 100 House members.
"I will certainly show them every courtesy in '95 that they show me in '94," Wilkins said. "Whatever they think is fair this time, I think will be fair next time."
Asked if that means Republicans will cynically switch from oppressed to oppressor, Wilkins replied: "It might be hypocritical to do it forever. But it might not be hypocritical next time. If that is what they think is fair, they shouldn't complain about it next time."
Wilkins said he would want to amend the state constitution to require proportional committee assignments before giving Democrats a fair share of power.
"If we do the right thing, they can come right back to do the wrong thing and put us at a disadvantage," he said.
Wilkins vows to push for other reforms, overturning the heavy-handed way in which Democrats have:
Drawn boundaries for legislative districts that make no sense except to preserve Democratic majorities.
Selected judges through a secret process based more on political loyalty than qualifications.
Created holes in ethics laws that allow legislators to represent clients before state agencies they regulate and avoid reporting gifts from some lobbyists.
"I feel sure we will be different than the Democrats," Wilkins said. "They say power corrupts. But if we remove these things, it might not corrupt us as much."
Wilkins has won the grudging respect of Democrats, who recognize the role he has played in putting their backs to the wall of the House.
"I have to give him credit for the hard work he's given to the party," Schewel said.
Democrats vow to run someone against Wilkins in 1995, in hopes of knocking him off or, at the least, keeping him too preoccupied to help GOP candidates elsewhere.
Wilkins, who has not faced a serious challenge since 1985, is taking nothing for granted. Democrats redrew his district in 1991 so that more than half of his constituents live on the other side of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Staunton and the counties of Augusta and Rockbridge.
Wilkins is girding for the final phase of the fight he started 30 years ago, when he stood alone and pounded his fists against the foundation of the Democratic machine.
"If you don't quit, you can't hardly lose," he says.
Keywords:
PROFILE, GENERAL ASSEMBLY 1994
by CNB