THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, February 5, 1995 TAG: 9502050037
SECTION: FRONT PAGE: A1 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: REALPOLITIK GOES TO RICHMOND
SOURCE: BY KERRY DOUGHERTY, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: RICHMOND LENGTH: Long : 111 lines
Virginia is just a slither away from having an official state reptile.
About time, too.
A bill honoring the timber rattlesnake was just one of scores of pieces of legislation debated on the floor of the House of Delegates this week.
If you've never seen the House take up an animal bill you've never really seen the democratic process in action. You would be especially proud when the visitors' gallery is packed with schoolchildren, and our dignified lawmakers begin barking like dogs. (That's a little thing they do during voice votes on any bill pertaining to animals, and you would be surprised just how many of those there are.)
What a terrific civics lesson for these kids.
``If we acted like that in school we'd be suspended,'' said Terri Allen, a senior at Virginia Beach's Tallwood High School, after several hours observing the House action.
Allen and several of her advanced-placement government classmates visited the Capitol on Thursday. You could tell from the amazed looks on their faces that they were learning lots of things they didn't know about state government.
What exactly were the legislators doing that would get them kicked out of Tallwood?
``For one thing, they were doing a lot of mooing,'' Allen said.
Yes, Terri, they were. But then who can resist a hearty bovine cheer during debate on a farm-vehicle bill?
After watching the House in action you don't think Patrick Henry and Thomas Jefferson; you think David Letterman and Sean Penn.
On the right side of the House floor is the so-called ``Coffin Corner,'' where the Democrats' aging Young Turks sit.
They do lots of things that would warrant a trip to the principal's office at Tallwood. They slouch, they talk out of turn, they heckle, they whistle. They bark and they moo.
``All in favor of HB 1958 (which regulates the sale of unweaned puppies and kittens) say aye,'' Speaker Tom Moss said at one point.
``Woof, woof, woof.''
The woofs had it.
On the left side of the room is the self-proclaimed ``Amen Corner,'' where the righteous Republicans roost, just praying to seize the majority. The Republicans harrumph a lot and try to look distressed about laws making it easier to buy alcohol in Virginia. (Not to be outdone by the wisecracking Democrats, those zany Republicans got together and wore matching red, white and blue neckties one day last week.)
The crackpot lawmakers don't confine their comments to animal sounds, either. When Moss pauses for more than a moment, the Coffin Corner contingent begins whistling the irritating theme to ``Jeopardy.''
And that's not all.
One Republican delegate has smuggled in an Audubon bird caller, which he surreptitiously squeaks during animal bills. And a delegate on the Democratic side has one of those electronic noisemakers that sounds like incoming missiles. He holds it on his lap and fires it periodically.
There are certain bills that lend themselves to levity, and the reptile bill brought out the beast in both sides of the House.
Amid the bird calls, snake hissing, barking and missile sound effects, Democrat Ward Armstrong of Martinsville jumped to his feet to object to yet another declaration of officialdom.
``Did you know Virginia has an official drink?'' Armstrong began before being drowned out by a chorus of ``milk.''
Armstrong continued: ``We also have an official fish.''
``Brook trout,'' came the reply in unison.
``We have an official folk dance,'' he said, laughing.
``Square dance,'' was the reply.
``A state boat,'' Armstrong said.
``Chesapeake Bay Deadrise,'' the delegate chorus called.
``We have an official dog.''
The woofs were deafening as the delegates alternated their yells of ``the American foxhound'' with barking.
``Do we need an official reptile?'' Armstrong asked.
``Yes,'' came the resounding reply followed by a chorus of bipartisan woofs and hisses.
``Maybe next year, we'll be asked to vote on Seiko as the official watch, and Shu's as the official after-hours hangout,'' he said, referring to a popular bar where the politicians go to unwind after a hectic day of barking and mooing.
``Real legislating needs to become the official state work,'' he scolded, drawing a round of woos and boos from his colleagues.
The reptile bill passed.
Another bill that sparked legislative levity was one exempting the Budweiser blimp from Virginia's ban on outdoor advertising of alcohol. Sponsor Bill Robinson said the blimp passes through Virginia airspace at such heights that is not really an advertisement.
When the bill was brought to the floor for preliminary motions earlier last week, a few Republicans peppered Robinson with questions about where this might lead: first the Budweiser blimp, what next, Jack Daniels balloons at the local 7-Elevens?
``This was supposed to be noncontroversial,'' moaned Robinson.
``Those that never drink alcohol get upset,'' Moss sniped from the Speaker's chair.
On Thursday another Robinson bill, this one to alter the food to beverage sales ratio in restaurants, passed despite spirited opposition from Republicans.
As the close vote of 56 to 40 was electronically recorded, the Coffin Corner chorus began singing ``Happy birthday, dear Billy.''
This was a reference to a controversial bill passed several weeks ago on the birthday of its sponsor, Bernard Cohen of Alexandria. Since then, every time a contested bill squeaks through the sponsor is serenaded with a birthday song.
A word of caution to government students: Don't try this at Tallwood.
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