ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Sunday, October 6, 1996 TAG: 9610070111
SECTION: HORIZON PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: TODD JACKSON STAFF WRITER
"It's something I've been thinking about doing for a while."
ON the road outside Appomattox, Virgil Goode grabbed some floss and started cleaning his teeth.
An inventory of Goode's weathered Ford sedan - where he spends a lot of time traveling from one campaign stop to another - speaks volumes about him.
There's no high-tech car phone or Corinthian leather briefcase. There's the floss. And there's a bottle of rubbing alcohol he uses to wash his hands. And there's a plastic Coke bottle half-full of Listerine to keep his breath fresh.
"That's one thing you realize when you're campaigning all the time," he says. "You don't get time to brush your teeth."
And then there's the trunk. It's packed with campaign paraphernalia from signs to bumper stickers to Goode's politicking staple - colored pencils with his name on them.
And there's the cluttered backseat, where Goode catches cat naps after weary days on the campaign trail, though he still has the uncanny ability to wake up and warn his wife, Lucy, who's driving, that she's about to make a wrong turn on the rural back roads of Mecklenburg County.
Goode, who turns 50 this month, has been campaigning since 1973, the year he got more votes than the other five candidates combined in his first race for state Senate. At the time, he was fresh out of the University of Virginia law school, and had yet to find out that he'd passed the bar exam.
Now, after 23 years as a state senator, Goode wants to leave the state capitol in Richmond for Capitol Hill in Washington.
Why would Goode want to leave a position of influence in the state Senate to become a member of Congress?
"It's something I've been thinking about doing for a while," Goode answers simply.
But there's more to it than that.
Goode, whose maverick populist-style, Phi Beta Kappa smarts and downhome personality made him unique among state legislators, wants to make a difference for the southern part of Virginia at the national level.
During this year's campaign, Goode has been most closely associated with "Blue Dogs" - a clan of conservative Democrats in Congress - but he really should be placed in a category by himself.
He is a true rural Renaissance man.
His lanky physique and country common sense have prompted some of his friends to compare him to the country's most famous frontier politician - Abraham Lincoln.
Goode's determination to do what he thinks is right made headlines in the state Senate this year.
Battle lines were drawn as the Senate prepared to organize. Last November's elections produced a 20-20 split among Democrat and Republican members.
Goode stood alone among Democratic senators and demanded that his Republican counterparts be given shared-power.
If he had stuck with the Democrats, Lt. Gov. Don Beyer, also a Democrat, would have cast the deciding vote and the party would have controlled the Senate as it has since the turn of the century.
But, political pressure from his own party aside, Goode wouldn't waver.
The most powerful legislators in both parties wooed him.
Goode could have accepted a Republican offer that would have made him chairman of the finance committee - the most coveted spot in the Senate. Or, Goode could have accepted a deal from his party mates and watered down his stance to give the GOP equal powers.
In the end, Goode accepted a position as one of the Senate's budget conferees who negotiate the final version of the budget with the House of Delegates, but he didn't sell out to either side.
"Whatever Virgil Goode says you can draw a line by it. There's not too many [politicians] like that anymore," said Barry Morrison, a state meat inspector from Lynchburg.
Morrison knows Goode because the two have conferred on meat industry issues in the past.
"When you call Virgil it's like talking to your friend next door. He listens to what you're saying," Morrison said.
However, while there's no doubt that Goode has few enemies among his constituents in Southside Virginia, there are other legislators who are perplexed and, at times, angered by his positions.
Sen. Louise Lucas, D-Portsmouth, publicly complained that Goode had "gone nuts" when he refused to help the Democrats organize as the majority party in the state Senate.
In a Washington Post article in January, Lucas described how at an after-hours legislative reception Democrats walked away when he arrived. "It was like somebody sprayed Raid," she said. "As soon as he walked in, everybody scattered. It was the same everywhere he went. They treated him like a pariah."
But, Lucas later showed up at a news conference Goode held to announce his congressional run.
Some Democratic leaders say some of the party's legislators are supporting Goode's congressional bid because they want him out of the state Senate.
Case in point: Last month, Democratic Rep. L.F. Payne, whom Goode is trying to succeed, announced during a news conference at the state capitol that he's running for lieutenant governor next year. Laughter burst out when state Sen. Richard Saslaw, D-Fairfax County, who attended the announcement, later quipped, "We've got just the guy to replace him."
While Goode's political philosophy - he's a Democrat who's anti-abortion, pro-gun and pro-tobacco - hasn't endeared him to some of his peers in the legislature, they are complimentary of Goode the man.
Former Senate Majority Leader Hunter Andrews, a Democrat from Hampton, was one of the most powerful and fiery politicians in Richmond for decades.
Goode and Andrews didn't always see eye-to-eye.
When asked about Goode, though, Andrews says: "He's a very independent person quite intelligent. He represents his constituents in an admirable and capable way. But I had constituents to represent, too."
Goode, during his state Senate years, has always been a voice for rural Virginia.
It bothers him that Northern Virginia now has a bloc of nine state senators who can swing important votes in their favor without any effort at all.
"They don't even have to get out of their seats," Goode said.
Goode, on the other hand, rarely sits in his.
He usually sleeps about five hours a night.
"Six is real good," he said.
He is a tireless campaigner. On a Wednesday in September he spent the morning campaigning and appearing on a local television talk show in Martinsville. He drove back to Rocky Mount and dropped by his office, where a Patrick County couple had stopped in to see how his campaign is going. From there he drove to the annual Beef Festival in Appomattox. After handing out pencils and shaking hands for two hours, he jumped in the car and sped off to Chase City to attend a local fair.
But Goode's mind remains sharp amidst the hustle and bustle: Before leaving Appomattox, he stops his car and runs over to a tree to tack one of his signs up. There's one already tacked to the other side of the tree, but Goode's not satisfied because people can't see it as they leave the Beef Festival.
Goode is at home on the campaign trail.
A woman at the Chase City Fair says to him: "Tired of this yet?"
Goode, unbeknownst that a reporter is listening, says: "Oh, no. I love to campaign. I really do."
His picture - he gets to every community barbecue and ribbon cutting that he can - frequents local newspapers.
Goode's wife, Lucy, has a keen understanding of her husband.
She admits that their home is not hooked up to cable TV.
"We can barely see the few stations that we do get," says Lucy Goode. "Virgil doesn't watch much television."
In the time that Goode isn't politicking, he reads.
That includes newspapers.
"And he reads speeches of other politicians, too," says Lucy Goode.
Speeches of other politicians?
"Yeah," she says, "he really likes that kind of thing."
Not that that should surprise anybody.
Goode is a political junkie.
He collects campaign memorabilia. The prize of his collection, he says, is a 1832 Henry Clay medal worth several hundred dollars.
At the Chase City Fair, he and Bill "Stump" Thompson, a Mecklenburg County farmer and a friend of Goode's, found a few minutes to talk about the hobby they share.
Thompson, who on this night is introducing Goode to people he needs to meet at the fair, recently made a bulk purchase of some 1950s era campaign items at a Hillsville flea market. He tells Goode the price he paid.
"You paid too much for that," Goode tells Thompson.
"Yeah, you're probably right Virgil," Thompson replies.
Later, Thompson says he decided a while back that once his friend L.F. Payne left Congress, he was going to stop taking an active role in politics.
"But then L.F. introduced me to Virgil," he says. "I got to know him. You know, Virgil is the kind of man we need in Washington. He's a man of the people."
Many are wondering just what kind of congressman Goode would be.
Goode says he's just going to do what he's always done - represent his constituents the way they want to be represented.
He says he won't march lock-step in either the Democratic or Republican army.
House Speaker Newt Gingrich and former GOP presidential hopefuls Steve Forbes and Alan Keyes have made campaign stops for one of Goode's 5th District opponents, Republican candidate George Landrith.
Landrith says if he's elected he'll slide right into power position in the Republican leadership in Congress.
There's been no such maneuvering by Goode.
He says he's received nary a phone call from influential Washington Democrats, and that's OK with him.
"I did go up with L.F. and he introduced me to some of the Blue Dogs," Goode says. "I know Rick [Boucher, who served with Goode in the state Senate]. And I did meet a representative from Kentucky who seemed like a real nice guy."
Payne, who's gearing up for his lieutenant governor campaign next year, said he's filled the Blue Dogs in on Goode's background, and the group is ready to accept him with open arms.
Goode's center-of-the-road track record isn't going to hurt him, Payne says.
"With things the way they are in Washington between Democrats and Republicans, those who can work with both parties are going to be very much in demand.'
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