THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1997, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, February 9, 1997 TAG: 9702080031
SECTION: COMMENTARY PAGE: J5 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Opinion
SOURCE: Margaret Edds
LENGTH: 79 lines
Sooner or later, it was bound to happen.
As surely as Michael Jordan takes command of a Chicago Bulls game, as certainly as Jack Nicholson turns even a bit part into a virtuoso performance, as predictably as an old Belushi clip elevates a segment of ``Saturday Night Live,'' so in each legislative session Dickie Cranwell eventually emerges from the pack.
This year, the moment - or moments - for the hawk-eyed, Democratic floor leader of the House of Delegates came during the Assembly's marathon session last weekend. For two days, the 54-year-old Vinton attorney dominated headlines, first crafting a win-win-win agreement involving unemployment taxes and worker protection, then raining mischief on campaign finance reform.
In the process, Cranwell demonstrated the good, the bad, the wise and the ugly in the legislator that Democrats most relish watching and Republicans most love to hate.
``When you're surrounded and the enemy is coming, there's nobody better to stand back-to-back with than C. Richard Cranwell,'' says Del. Chip Woodrum, a longtime friend and Roanoke Valley compatriot.
What the weekend performance revealed were several truths about the man who, with the departure last year of Sen. Hunter B. Andrews of Hampton, reigns as the current master of legislative politics in Virginia.
First, just when the pack is weakening with exhaustion, Cranwell hits his stride. He can work long. He can work late. And he can operate on multiple fronts. Last weekend, Cranwell was up until 4 a.m. on one matter, back in his office at 8 a.m. on another.
Second, he's at his best in behind-the-scenes negotiations. He has the insight to pick out the common threads among competing interests and the personality to prod/cajole/bully those parties into agreement.
His recent compromise melded into a tidy package the interests of Gov. George F. Allen who wanted a business tax cut, the AFL-CIO which wanted better unemployment benefits for workers and Cranwell himself who wanted such maladies as carpel-tunnel syndrome to be covered by Worker's Compensation.
He's navigated dozens of similar swamps, from welfare reform to gun control. A premier moment came a few years back when he dragged the National Rifle Association, state police and gun-control advocates into support for the nation's first instant-records check on gun sales.
Third, his grab bag of legislative tricks overflows. As with last week's campaign-finance-reform bill, which he made so broad that it is almost certainly doomed, Cranwell can skin a bill he dislikes every which way. He finds glee, not shame in covert tactics.
Fourth, his strength is his limitation. The junkyard-dog grimmace and cocky disdain that he heaps on foes may have gotten him where he is politically. But they will likely stall him there as well.
For that reason and a few others, including the repeated overlap of his legislative and business interests, he lost out to Norfolk Del. Thomas Moss on one cherished dream, becoming speaker of the House of Delegates. He is probably too controversial to ever become governor.
``He was rude. He was yelling. He had his finger in my face. It was a generally debilitating experience,'' said Julie Lapham, lobbyist for Common Cause, recalling her first appearance before the Courts of Justice Committee that Cranwell chairs.
Ironically, that is the very sort of politics that Cranwell in conversation deplores. ``Lordy, me,'' he sighs, revealing Tazewell County roots that have not been erased by his rise to millionaire-attorney status. ``I think things are in as bad shape (politically) as they've ever been.''
He attributes the problem to ``in-your-face, mean-spirited, if-you-don't-do-it-my-way you're-a-stupid-idiot'' politics.
``That's what Dickie has kind of made famous,'' responds Del. Randy Forbes of Chesapeake, Cranwell's Republican counterpart in leading floor debate.
But Cranwell and his closest friends see it another way.
``Compassion,'' says Carol Fidler, Cranwell's longtime assistant when asked for the characteristic that best defines her boss.
What he'd like to be remembered as, Cranwell says, is ``somebody who tried to take on the tough issues and see them resolved, particularly for folks that don't have the lobbyist they're paying $100,000 a year to lobby for them.''
He grew up well-off, but surrounded by poverty in southwest Virginia. The knowledge of how good people can be beaten by circumstance is a driving force as a lawmaker, Cranwell says.
His is a rugged, hard-scrabble kind of caring. Unforgiving. Unrelenting. Hard as nails.