THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, February 26, 1995 TAG: 9502260074
SECTION: FRONT PAGE: A6 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY DAVID M. POOLE AND ROBERT LITTLE, STAFF WRITERS
DATELINE: RICHMOND LENGTH: Long : 139 lines
There is a spring in as Del. R. Creigh Deeds' step as he leaves his office around 8:30 Saturday morning for the start of the final day of the 1995 General Assembly session.
The Bath County Democrat knows that the 46-day legislative ordeal is almost over. The sleep-inducing committee meetings, the partisan bickering, the late-night social receptions soon will be history.
In a few hours, Deeds will drive west to reacquaint himself with his family and resume his law pratice.
Walking to the elevator, he tosses an apple as big as a softball.
``It's been sitting on my desk all session,'' Deeds says, ``and I'm finally getting around to eating it.''
9:25 a.m. Eleven Republican lawmakers converge on a Capitol meeting room to take a last-minute swipe at Democrats, who hold slim majorities in the Senate and House of Delegates.
Republicans claim that a ``sinister partnership'' between House Democrats and the powerful Virginia teacher's union conspired to kill legislation giving schoolteachers limited immunity from lawsuits stemming from their actions in the classroom.
``This is a pure union power play, nothing else - pure and simple,'' declares House Minority Leader S. Vance Wilkins Jr., R-Amherst.
Reporters ask few questions, knowing the teacher issue will get lost in the final day's frenzy to reach a bipartisan compromise on welfare reform.
10:20 a.m. A month ago, lawmakers were calling each other bums, wimps, cheats, spoilsports.
But this being the last day, the Senate opens with a collective - albeit figurative - hug. Lawmakers seem struck with some sappy no-hard-feelings sense of compassion. It would ooze from all corners of the chamber, if the Senate chamber weren't round.
Majority Leader Hunter B. Andrews and Minority Leader Joseph B. Benedetti present Lt. Gov. Donald S. Beyer Jr. with a $1,000 check, collected from all the Senate members. Beyer's wife is having a baby. And besides, ``he has always acted in a fair and non-partisan manner,'' said Andrews.
``Nothing could be more meaningful to me than working with you closely, and together,'' responded Beyer, president of the Senate.
Then Norfolk Sen. Stanley Walker commends Andrews and Benedetti ``for the fine and very fair way they have both performed.''
Andrews commends Benedetti and Walker.
``It was like Woodstock III,'' Sen. Charles R. Hawkins, R-Pittsylvania, says later. ``Love, sex and rock and roll in the mud.''
10:50 a.m. Jack Knapp is munching on a cinnamon-raisin bagel in a Capitol meeting room and watching the House on closed-circuit television.
Knapp, a lobbyist for the Virginia Assembly of Independent Baptists, is sticking it out to the bitter end even though the docket has been cleared of legislation affecting his group.
``I just know that these guys have a way of picking things up at the last minute,'' said Knapp, a 16-year veteran of the Assembly, ``so I try to stay around until the end.''
Knapp spent most of the session helping kill floating casinos and helping get preliminary approval of a constitutional amendment allowing churches to incorporate.
He calls it the most contentious session he's witnessed. ``It was a slugfest from day one. It seems to me, since the day we began, the battle lines were drawn and the swords were out.''
11:35 a.m. Norfolk Del. William P. Robinson Jr. is perched on a railing in the Old Senate Chambers, his black suede loafers resting on a chair.
``Can everyone live with that?'' Robinson asks, gauging the reaction of two lawmakers and two lobbyists gathered around him.
In the final hours, small groups of lawmakers - officially known as conference committees - do the people's business in hallways, on stairwells or any other place of convenience.
Robinson is heading a group that is trying to come up with language on a car warranty law that will satisfy used car dealers.
Del. Robert E. Harris finds a good moment to work in a story about one of his favorite cars. ``I had a station wagon that looked like a cream puff on the outside,'' Harris says, ``but it had 187,000 miles and it froze up driving back from Richmond.''
After a few minutes, the lawmakers and lobbyists reach a consensus.
1:59 p.m. It is still fairly early, but it's becoming a long day in the Senate. Beyer stands on the podium, gaveling bills into law, while the 40 members around him laugh, eat lunch, quarrel, chuckle or otherwise ignore the legislative spectacle.
Andrews, back to the podium, talks to his seatmate, Fairfax Sen. Joseph V. Gartlan, when something comes up that requires suspending Senate rules. Beyer calls on Andrews, Senate floor leader, to make the appropriate motion.
Andrews looks around confused, then stands and assumes a stately posture.
``Mr. President, I move we waive the reading of whatever we need to waive the reading of,'' Andrews said. Then he sits down and continues talking to Gartlan.
A moment later, Beyer calls on Gartlan. Same situation.
``I move we do whatever we're supposed to do,'' Gartlan says. Then he sits back down, continuing his conversation with Andrews.
2:45 p.m. In the House, Republicans try a parliamentary ploy to rescue a bill killed a few hours earlier in the Democrat-controlled Rules Committee.
The bid provides a telling exchange between House Speaker Thomas W. Moss Jr., D-Norfolk, and the Republican who wants to succeed him if the GOP can gain a majority in elections this November.
Republican Minority Leader S. Vance Wilkins Jr. - who aspires to be the first GOP speaker in modern history - rises to his feet and makes a motion to discharge the Rules Committee and bring the bill directly to the House floor.
The motion fails 58-38, causing Moss to chuckle from his perch on the speaker's podium.
Moss then asks a page to deliver a printed copy of the vote to Wilkins as a reminder that, at least for the time being, he and the Democrats are still in power.
7:10 p.m. Welfare reform has just passed both houses, and the Gov. George F. Allen wants to meet leaders in the Old Senate Chambers for congratulations and a photo opportunity.
``Where's the man? We did this for his convenience,'' Moss says, pacing.
Finally Allen shows up, smiling, shaking hands. ``Hey, let's get the lieutenant governor up here - good to see ya!'' Allen says to Beyer.
``What you did last year was a good first step,'' the governor continues to Beyer, who initiated test welfare reform in 1994, ``and I think we've just taken this thing a mile further down the road.''
Everyone wants a chance to say a word or two, and Del. David G. Brickley, D-Prince William, caps it off: ``This just shows that when we all buckle down and work together in a completely bipartisan manner, good things can happen.''
7:29 p.m. Back in the House, Moss is ready to gavel the session to a close. Many lawmakers, including at least half the Republican contingent, already have headed home.
The clerk announces a message from the governor. Cranwell tries to go ahead and adjourn, but Moss insists the governor is due this courtesy.
House clerk Bruce Jamerson reads the message.
Instead of the usual formal farewell, it is a reproachful lecture.
``On issue after issue . . . this General Assembly just said no to positive, constructive change. The spirit of compromise and honest debate, for which this august assembly has long been known, were casualties of the conflict,'' Jamerson reads on Allen's behalf.
Cranwell turns his back. Moss turns several shades of crimson.
And Del. Jay W. DeBoer, the Petersburg Democrat with one of the tartest tongues of the legislature, gathers his papers and walks out.
``Jackass,'' DeBoer sputters, going out the door. ``Mewling and puking to the end.''
KEYWORDS: GENERAL ASSEMBLY by CNB