ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Thursday, April 18, 1996 TAG: 9604180035
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-11 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: Ray L. Garland
SOURCE: RAY L. GARLAND
IT WOULD be hard to imagine a tribute to any defeated member of the General Assembly could bring more than 500 people and four former governors to the Williamsburg Lodge on a Monday evening. But it was done for former state Sen. Hunter B. Andrews of Hampton.
It was said there, as it has often been said before, Andrews did not suffer fools gladly, which surely constitutes an impediment to success in politics. When aroused, he could be a regular Bombastes Furioso. But the affection that rolled over him when he rose to respond to the tributes he had been paid was prolonged and heartfelt.
It wasn't simply his length of service. While long at just over 30 years, others have served longer and been remembered less. It was a sense that Andrews represented the end of the line - a true Virginia original whose like we would not see again. They wanted him to know how much they respected the energy and sense of mission he brought to the tasks of Senate majority leader and chairman of the Finance Committee.
The tone of the evening was set by state Sen. Henry Maxwell in the invocation: ``You know Hunter, Lord, he did things his way.'' That was it, the desire to prevail and the equally strong conviction he should prevail.
There was a lesson here on the secret of success in a legislative body - and in politics generally. But because there is no single path to success, it's hard to define exactly what separates the stars from the time-servers. But Andrews had it.
Seniority is important, of course. There are few callings in life requiring more knowledge and experience than legislating. A safe seat is also helpful, and Andrews had that for most of his career. This permits a longer view and the taking of certain risks. Leadership, after all, depends upon followership. And how do you get followers? By persuading others you are worthy - that your good opinion counts - and they will gain something by following you, or lose by not doing so.
For years, Andrews was able to make more or less binding commitments on state funding. The other 14 members of Senate Finance had first pickings, of course, on any spare cash in the state budget. But most of the other 25 members wanted something - or knew they soon would. They may resent having to come hat in hand, but they know somebody has to be in a position to say, ``Yes, let's put it in, he hasn't asked for anything lately.'' The sums involved were generally small in the context of a multibillion-dollar budget, but deeply appreciated and never forgotten.
There was a studied duality in Andrews' approach to politics. While always appearing the very embodiment of tradition and the personal antithesis of liberalism, he seized every opportunity to increase funding for education and highways. It wasn't that he had a mania for high taxes; it was simply that he felt Virginia's were too low to meet reasonable need.
At the event marking the end of his political career, Andrews recalled words he heard near its beginning - those spoken by Gov. Mills Godwin at his first inauguration in 1966: ``We are of the South, and proud to be of the South. But it is by the nation's standards we will be judged.''
Those were the hopeful days of introducing the sales tax to pay for building the community-college system, and much else besides. But Andrews was seldom satisfied the state was meeting its responsibilities - and still isn't. ``The time has come,'' he told us, ``when we've got to stand up and say we're going to meet our obligations to the young people of Virginia. We've got to be prepared to pay.''
The four former governors present - Godwin, Linwood Holton, Gerald Baliles and Charles Robb - might have seconded that sentiment. After all, the first three put through major tax increases with Andrews' strong support. While Robb didn't sponsor significant tax increases as governor, he has made up for it in the U.S. Senate.
The immediate past governor, Douglas Wilder, and Gov. George Allen sent their regrets, which was just as well. Their astringent fiscal policies had few fans in that crowd.
When Andrews arrived in the Senate in 1964, state spending was less than $1 billion a year. When he left, it was $16 billion. Of course, the population doubled and prices went up even more. And much of state spending today is driven by federal programs from which there is no practical way to remain aloof.
Andrews understood you couldn't run state government from a seat in the legislature, and would be foolish to try. He believed in backing established institutions. He knew, undoubtedly, there was waste and inefficiency, but insisted we keep our eye on the big picture of a growing Virginia and the constructive role such institutions as the College of William & Mary and the University of Virginia could play.
Almost alone among accepted members of the Virginia Establishment, Andrews remained loyal to the Democratic Party. If frustrated by the easy success of such palpable fakes as Robb in winning offices to which he may have aspired, he kept it to himself and did what he could to make them look good. And when Republicans, led by Allen, targeted his seat and took him down, he remained the good sport. While it might be said the stage was too small for the player, it was certainly a fine performance.
Though he never announced for it, Andrews almost certainly aspired to the governorship. He did make a half-hearted effort to win the Democratic nomination for U.S. Senate in 1978. But despite loyalty to party, it was changing too fast to be loyal to him. There was always too much of the grand manner about him to please the class-envy experts now controlling the Democratic Party. The grand manner notwithstanding, he remained too much the progressive ever to be entirely comfortable with the Republicans.
Ray L. Garland is a Roanoke Times columnist.
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