DATE: Saturday, August 2, 1997              TAG: 9708020313

SECTION: FRONT                   PAGE: A1   EDITION: FINAL 

SOURCE: BY LAURA LaFAY, STAFF WRITER 

DATELINE: RICHMOND                          LENGTH:  159 lines

DEQ CHIEF'S SELF-IMAGE REMAINS IMPERVIOUS TO CRITICISM

The chief protector of Virginia's environment is a former business teacher and corporate lawyer with a history of working for failed and beleagured coal, steel and oil companies.

He is a political appointee who, in the midst of the political shambles that is now his agency, insists he is not, and never has been, a political operator. Insists, in fact, that his legacy will be the de-politicization of the Department of Environmental Quality.

He is Thomas L. Hopkins, 48. And if you ask him, he's doing a heck of a job.

``I would like my legacy to be (one) of having gotten this agency back on its mission of environmental protection and away from the impression that there's something political afoot,'' he said in a recent telephone interview.

But few observers - environmentalist, industrialist or legislator - believe Hopkins' legacy will resemble anything of the sort.

At best, say insiders and DEQ staffers, Hopkins is a figurehead, installed to absorb the fallout from the pro-business policies of his boss, Secretary of Natural Resources Becky Norton Dunlop.

``I can't speak to how he sees himself,'' said Deanna Sampson, a former DEQ employee who now directs the Virginia Conservation Network. ``But he is not perceived as a champion in the environmental community.

``He's perceived as allowing politics and ideology to stand in the way of genuine resource protection.''

Even the Virginia Manufacturers' Association, which represents 500 of the industries Hopkins has been accused of coddling, has concerns about Hopkins' legacy.

``We need continuity and stability; that's very important for our members. And we have some real concerns about those things right now,'' said the group's spokesperson, Carol Wampler.

Hopkins is getting the job done, says his boss, Secretary Dunlop. ``He's a person who is very much committed to his work. I think he's done an excellent job of getting the agency focused on making the regional offices the lead entity. That's where the work of DEQ is primarly done now.''

Hopkins has been summoned before frustrated legislative committee members half a dozen times since January to explain everything from a purloined dirty tricks memo written by his public relations director to the recent restructuring of his agency. Through it all, he has remained obstinately dismissive of the criticism and the questions he has faced.

As a member of both the House Appropriations Committee and the Natural Resources Subcommittee, Roanoke Democrat Clifton A. ``Chip'' Woodrum has had several opportunities to question Hopkins.

``I don't want to be unduly harsh,'' Woodrum said this week. ``But it's very frustrating dealing with Mr. Hopkins. He will come to make a presentation, but he says very little that is substantive. He brings his subordinates, and they try to answer, but generally speaking, I find their answers nonresponsive.''

In Hopkins' view, such criticism is political.

``The environment has become politicized,'' he said. ``I'm not a political person when it comes to the environment. It's an election year here in Virginia. I am not political. I have said repeatedly that I have given instructions to strictly enforce the laws in Virginia.''

As for the concerns of legislators, ``I like to think they're acting in good faith,'' Hopkins said.

``And I try to work with them even if we don't see eye to eye on things. They have an oversight function, and I respect that. But I don't think they really, truly accept or understand the fact that I don't have an agenda.'

Hopkins describes himself as a ``conservationist,'' and ``one who believes strongly in the environment.''

``I'm reluctant to describe myself as an environmentalist because every time I pick up the newspaper someone who is described as an environmentalist is attacking me,'' he said.

``How have I coddled polluters? I have never coddled a polluter. And If I find someone who's coddled polluters I'll fire them.''

To illustrate the authenticity of his commitment to environmental preservation, Hopkins likes to talk about the years he spent growing up in the coalfields of West Virginia. More than one legislative committee has heard him talk about the environmental devastation he witnessed and his subsequent resolve to do something about it should he ever get the chance.

``When I was a kid there was tremendous pollution there,'' he said.

``You had steam locomotives and there were no controls on the trains. And they spewed out all this sulphur and whatever grade of coal would work in them. I lived in a hollow, and the air pollution was pervasive. . . . The river was black from the coal. There were no fish in the river. It was an environmental nightmare.

``Today you can go over there - you can catch trout out there. . . . It shows you how resilient the environment is if we do what's right.''

However the experiences of his childhood shaped his thinking, Hopkins went to work for the recently bankrupted and now defunct Westmoreland Coal Company after he graduated from West Virginia University's College of Law.

He also worked for the Kentucky-based coal division of Occidental Petroleum, where, he said, he was a lawyer involved in a $1 billion clean-up of chemical waste dumped into New York's Love Canal by Occidental's corporate predecessor, Hooker Chemical.

Hopkins' last job before heading back to Roanoke in 1987 was a two-year stint as legal counsel for the Kaiser Companies in Colorado Springs.

Kaiser, described in Hopkins' official state bio as a ``large natural resource company,'' was a coal and steel company with mines in New Mexico, Utah and Colorado. The company filed for bankruptcy in 1987. After that, said Hopkins, ``the writing was sort of on the wall.''

``The company was being reshuffled and reorganized. I just thought it was time to bail out and head back home, so to speak.''

Back in Roanoke, Hopkins opened a private law practice and taught at the National Business College, a small, for-profit business school now located in Salem.

It was during this period, he said, that he began to attend local Republican meetings.

``I knew some of the folks around,'' he said. ``They encouraged me to participate. They had meetings and I'd go to those and maybe help out.''

After the 1994 election of Gov. George F. Allen, Hopkins said, he ``offered to do what I could to help Governor Allen.''

``I actually was thinking more about a seat on a commission,'' he said. ``Like on the water board or Game and Inland Fisheries or something like that. I came down and met with Secretary (of Natural Resources) Dunlop, and that's what I thought I was interviewing for.

``And then, sometime in March, she called and asked if I would serve as the deputy secretary. So I told her I'd call her back, and I decided that at that point in my career that was something I wanted to do. . . . Then the vacancy came up for DEQ and I was asked if I was interested in that, and I was.''

Hopkins took over at DEQ in May 1996. His first act, staffers say, was to appropriate a large conference room for his office on the sixth floor of the DEQ building in downtown Richmond, and to cordon it off with a series of cubicle walls.

The walls form a narrow passageway leading to Hopkins' secretary's desk, stationed strategically to intercept anyone determined enough to venture that far. Staffers refer to the area as ``The Compound.'' They describe Hopkins as an isolated, Nixonian figure who rarely makes eye contact and likes to use the phrase, ``Heads will roll,'' in his memos.

``He never turns on his computer,'' said one staffer who asked not to be named because he fears retaliation.

``His secretary prints out his E-mail and puts it in a stack on his desk. I once heard him say he thinks there's a chip in there that might connect to (Richmond Times-Dispatch environment reporter) Rex Springston's computer.''

Hopkins, according to the staffer, keeps his office door closed and ventures out to go into an empty office in order to smoke.

Another observer, a former staffer who also asked not to be quoted by name, described the agency head as ``a very isolated individual.''

``He's not there a lot. And when he is, his style is to be aloof and isolated. That's reflected by the way he changed the office, the way he deals with folks and the way decisions are made.''

At a staff retreat two weeks ago, Hopkins stood before his employees next to a flip chart on which the letters T-L-C were printed prominently. T-L-C stands for trust, loyalty and challenge, Hopkins told the group.

``I expect loyalty from you all and you can count on me for loyalty to you,'' he told them.

It was, said several of those present, an ironic moment.

``How does anyone have the audacity to say that to people he's just done his best to lay off?'' asked one woman.

Characteristically, Hopkins has a different view of himself and the way he runs the agency. He is, he said, a ``definitely hands-on'' director whose door is open to any and all.

``I leave my door open unless I'm in a sensitive meeting or something,'' he said.

``I'm a far cry from being inaccessible. There's nobody that I'm inaccessible to. Anyone can send me an E-mail. I answer all my E-mails. They can call me. A permit writer in Abingdon can call me or write me an E-mail.'' ILLUSTRATION: Photo

Thomas Hopkins

[color photo appears on p/A1] KEYWORDS: PROFILE

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