THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, August 28, 1995 TAG: 9508260064
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY ROBERT LITTLE, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 215 lines
AS POLITICAL FRACASES go, it was said to have been quite a spirited brawl.
The state Senate was hashing some bill about the Lake Gaston pipeline, and the chamber, as expected, had become a pit for an urban vs. rural melee.
The commanders: a chain-smoking doctor from Virginia Beach and a grizzled banker from Windsor. Two southern-drawled senators named Holland. Brothers, side-by-side, yet battling from opposite political poles.
``This is urgent,'' declared Clarence Holland, the Virginia Beach skirmisher.
``Unfair,'' retorted Richard Holland, his Windsor counterpart.
``Important,'' said Clarence.
``Wrong,'' said Richard.
When the Senate scuffle subsided, the Capitol press corps rushed over to the Holland boys, expecting to see the brothers battered, licking their wounds. The obvious question surfaced.
``After all that,'' reporters asked, ``will you two be able to get along?''
``Pffft!'' Richard groaned, when reminded of the question. He reached for a smoke and looked away, as if to say no further response was necessary.
Then Clarence broke in, waving both hands away from his face as if the question were still floating around his head like a gnat.
``Lord, we've argued more over who was going to sit in the front seat of the car,'' he spat. ``Believe me, that was nothing.''
The two Hampton Roads brothers don't fight each other much, on the floor of the state Senate or anywhere else. They're best friends, in fact. Always get along.
But the two brothers aren't without their enemies these days: the Republicans who want their seats in the General Assembly.
Richard, 70, represents the rural vastness of the Isle of Wight-all-the-way-to-Appomatox 15th district. And 66-year-old Clarence - nicknamed ``Clancy'' since high school by a Richmond sports writer - hails from the comparatively urban digs of the 7th District in Virginia Beach.
The Hollands are proven political survivors. Richard has run virtually unopposed for 16 years, even after successfully battling a drunken driving charge in 1986. Clancy bested the Beach's 1991 Republican onslaught, though the $100,000 to $8,000 fund-raising advantage he had over his challenger won him just 1,800 votes to spare.
But as Republicans strategize a Senate takeover at this November's election, it seems the two Hampton Roads Democrats are ever in their sights.
Clancy faces retired Navy man Ed Schrock, and with Virginia Beach becoming more of a GOP stronghold, the Republicans are circling him like sharks - and expected to slosh around money like chum.
Richard is under a less-conspicuous assault, from financier Jerry Flowers. It's the senator's first challenge and is expected to be a strong one.
Make no mistake, the Holland brothers know they're in for a fight. But to the prospect of losing, they seem to have their usual, staid perspective on it all.
``Part of the job is that you can always lose the job,'' said Richard.
Said Clancy: ``We'll just have to wait, see how it goes and hope we can win.''
Their father, Shirley T. Holland, himself a 20-year General Assembly veteran, tried half-heartedly to warn the two away from political life. (``He said we'd lost our minds,'' Clancy said.) Their younger brother, Bill, a Richmond cardiologist, refused their urgings to follow.
Indeed, the brother senators can give little insight into their almost naughty affection for politics and its precarious power rush - except perhaps their father's example or the time each spent during high school as a General Assembly page.
It's as if they would have been content to live anonymous lives as frolicsome rednecks, had not their education and Virginia lineage dictated otherwise.
So look for no deep meaning behind the politics of the brothers Holland. No hardened philosophical slant. No sense of higher calling.
Look, instead, for some steady, reflective, maybe disjointed convictions, with a knack for the job's furtive workings. And a shameless taste for the pomposity of it all.
All of which can make the pair difficult to categorize.
Both speak of a humbling sense of historical responsibility, serving in the Virginia legislature. When so inspired, they treat the Senate floor almost as a temple, talking in flowery oration, using titles and surnames.
At other times, they transact the way others might in a brothel - chatting, smoking and otherwise loitering with friends until the time comes for another swaggering performance.
Richard and Clancy Holland can deliver political spin like the seasoned savants they are. But then they'll wink or slap your back, as if to say they didn't mean it. Or that maybe they feel a little guilty.
They don't look much alike, Richard with his leathery features, Clancy with glasses and light skin. They don't really dress alike either. Richard is always wearing a suit, Clancy often opts for a blazer.
But the two are unmistakably kin.
Both bellow into their microphones with the same lazy Virginia drawl when formally speaking, then whisper so loud the press takes notes. And yet they let out gut-busting chortles without ever making a sound.
When the Senate is in session, the Hollands seem both titillated and repulsed by the political machinations. They'll play the games and ply the party line, if it suits them. And they'll be among the first to break ranks when it doesn't.
For example: When General Assembly Republicans herded behind Democratic Sen. Virgil Goode's bill to relax rules for carrying concealed handguns, most Senate Democrats frothed. For hours, the Dems threw amendments at the bill, hoping to knock out its teeth.
But each vote went down, with Goode and the Hollands thwarting the Democrats' majority. Their Democratic colleagues, at times, fumed behind them, but the Hollands just slugged back sodas, twisted their menthols and smiled so hard their eyes disappeared into the folds on their faces.
And as usual, they explain their party defiance as one of practicality more than some ideological underpinning.
``People in my district want that bill,'' said Richard.
``Mine, too,'' said Clancy. ``Couldn't vote against it.''
Such frankness makes the Hollands some of the chamber's more inspired gossips, too - favorites among those seeking the nitty, un-spun gritty.
A conversation with the Holland brothers can be a lot like flying in a balloon. It's warm and fun and while it may be serious business, it makes you forget about the gravity of it all. There's a fair amount of hot air, too. And once it gets started, there's no telling where it might stop.
Consider this question: ``Why did you two decide to switch from town and city politics to state politics?''
The answer:
``I'm sure it was my father,'' said Richard, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands. ``That, and having been a page.
``Incidentally, those kids that are pages? Those who are attending? It's a very good education for those kids,'' he said.
``An unbelievable education,'' added Clancy.
``They make friendships that go on for years and years.''
``They sure do.''
``One of the things I liked when I was a page,'' said Richard, ``was that the members had passes to all the theaters. And living in Windsor, you know, going to a movie was a big deal. We'd have to go to Suffolk.''
``And that was right far away at the time.''
``The members used to let me use their passes, and I'd go to the movies.''
``My lord, there were three right there on Broad Street.''
``Oh yeah. And they had some vaudeville shows in one of them.''
``Sure. At National, they had a chorus line. My lord, they had on more clothes than you could believe - they wasn't thought to at that time - but if you could sneak in there and see the chorus line, boy, you thought you'd really been living it up.''
``You thought you'd been to a hoochie-coochie show.''
Get the idea?
The parallels between the two Holland brothers have existed since childhood. They mowed lawns together growing up in Windsor. Both were high school athletes and went on to college. Both did stints in the Navy.
Younger brother Bill did much of the same. So did their older brother, Shirley Jr., before he died during World War II, shot down flying a B-25 over Burma.
All four Holland brothers grew up in a tight, well-known Windsor family, founders of the Farmers Bank of Windsor and community mainstays in their house next to a church in the center of town. Clancy says he might never have left the Isle of Wight hamlet, but when he returned from the Medical College of Virginia in the early 1960s all the career opportunities were in Virginia Beach.
Their father ran Farmers Bank, just as Richard does today. And he spent 20 years in the House of Delegates, some as chairman of the Insurance and Banking Committee. Part of the Harry Flood Byrd machine, they say. Won 10 elections in a row.
Richard served 24 years on the Windsor Town Council before his election to the state Senate in 1979. Clancy did 12 years on the Virginia Beach council - two as mayor - and joined the Senate 12 years ago.
That's a combined 64 years hard time in public office. Neither has ever lost an election.
``Wouldn't know what to do if I lost,'' said Clancy.
``No,'' said Richard. ``Wouldn't know what to do.''
It should surprise no one, they say, that the two usually agree philosophically - at least when Lake Gaston isn't on the table. But when they disagree, people take notice. The tales abound about one Holland feud or another.
``I forget what the issue was, but Clancy and Richard were on opposite ends and it turned into one of those very emotional, heated kind of debates that went all over the chamber,'' said Jay Shropshire, a former Senate clerk and friend of the Hollands.
``Well, afterward, Mrs. Holland - that's Gladyse, their mother - she came up to me and said, `Jay, you've got to tell Richard and Clancy to stop fussing like that. Raising their voices and all. You've got to tell them to stop.' ''
``I'm not sure,'' he said, laughing. ``But I think that's the only time a senator's mother ever said anything like that to me.''
The brothers have been in politics so long both say they've lost track of all the reputations they've earned. If you give them time to think, they'll recite from their political crib-sheets stories of legislative success - Clancy battling for medical issues and welfare reform, Richard plugging banking matters, state finances, public safety and agriculture.
As such, they've earned a helping or two of professional respect among their politician peers. But ask friends or colleagues for a few thoughts about the Holland brothers, and the first response seems always the same.
``They're characters,'' said Shropshire. ``They're probably the funniest two guys in the Senate.''
``They're certainly a unique pair,'' said Sen. Robert Calhoun, an Alexandria Republican. He paused, then laughed. ``Uh, unique in a lot of ways.''
Ask the Holland brothers about this fall's campaign and you'd think you'd asked about a funeral. They get quiet and serious and then sort of shrug as if to say ``ah, well, what can you do?''
Ask them how they would feel serving alone - if one sibling were defeated - and they act positively stumped.
``They'll be targeting me, I think. I think that's been stated,'' Richard offered this summer, when the two were asked whether they think this year's race will be different from any other.
``And I know they'll be running against me. I've faced opposition every time I've run,'' said Clancy.
For a moment, they fell silent.
``Of course, you've won them all,'' said Richard.
``That's true. Yes, that's true,'' said Clancy.
Again, they both sat silent.
``So have you,'' added Clancy.
``Yes, uh huh. That's true,'' said Richard. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo by Paul Aiken
Richard Holland, left, state senator for Windsor/Isle of Wight, and
his brother Clancy, state senator for Virginia Beach, chat on the
steps of the Capitol.
KEYWORDS: PROFILE by CNB