I could go on, but as he once said to me, “I can read my own press releases, just tell me when I’m screwing up.”
One brief exchange during his campaign for governor in 2002 answers a lot of questions about Joe Schwarz. It was a moment I will never forget.
Joe was invited to appear before the editorial staff of the Observer-Eccentric chain of newspapers in suburban Detroit owned by publishing titan Phil Power. Befitting his name, Power was a commanding media presence in Michigan. Despite a strong friendship between them, it would be a demanding give-and-take session. These were seasoned journalists; informed, relentlessly probing and unwilling to cut any candidate slack, even if he was a good friend of their publisher.
The questions came fast and furious, not a softball among them. But thrust and parry on issues was Joe’s strong suit, and he gave no ground. His vision for the state was clear and he was eloquent in presenting his case. About halfway through the two-hour session, he was asked “What would you do about our deteriorating infrastructure, especially our crumbling roads?”
“If we need to raise the gas tax to finance improvements, we’ll do it,” the candidate responded without hesitation. The questioner shook her head in disgust. “How are you going to get elected governor with an answer like that?” she asked.
Joe looked her in the eye and immediately shot back, “Getting elected isn’t the be-all and the end-all, but telling the truth is.” The room went silent, for a full 30 seconds, but seemed longer.
That night driving home after dropping Joe off I replayed the day in my mind. I kept hearing his response, “Getting elected isn’t the be-all and the end-all, but telling the truth is.” And for me, it all made sense; all the arched eyebrows from my liberal friends wondering how this old Democrat could be cast in the role of Sancho Panza.
During my 36 years in politics, a number of elected officials have crossed my path. Some have known greater success on voting day than Joe Schwarz. But whenever I read about shallow, self-serving politicians who feel their office is an entitlement to privilege and license to arrogance, I call to mind a day when my friend Joe Schwarz looked a crafty journalist square in the eye and said what was in his heart.
“Getting elected isn’t the be-all and the end-all, but telling the truth is.”
By Joe Schwarz
I’ve had a long, productive, and rewarding career in public service. My first elective office was to the Battle Creek City Council followed by two terms as the city’s mayor. In 1986 I was recruited to run for the Michigan Senate, where I ended up serving 16 years. In 2004, I ran for the U.S. House of Representatives, where I served for two years.
In retrospect, my career has experienced peaks and valleys, with the peaks winning decisively over the valleys.
The bills and amendments, so urgent at the time, are now a distant memory. What is vividly recalled, though, are the people who made the journey so rewarding, the people and their stories.
When two state senators, John Kelly of Detroitand Gil DiNello of East Detroit, decided to settle a difference of opinion in old fashioned barracks style, a certain senator’s wife was with him on the Senate floor that day. During the melee, she was knocked off her feet. Did he determine if she was hurt? Did he leap to her aid? Did he seek assistance? None of the above. He was combing his hair. One must be ready for the cameras.
State Sen. Joe Conroy, a Flint Democrat, approached the podium on a day I was presiding and said, “Doc, something is wrong with Dave Holmes (a Detroit Democrat). His eyes are closed, and he hasn’t moved in 10 minutes.” I reassured Joe that Dave was only dozing; that his chest was moving methodically up and down and make no mistake, he is listening to the debate. Like Lazarus, he rises when it comes time to vote.
On another occasion when I was presiding, a colleague frantically approached the podium with a frenzied look on his face. “Dunaskiss just went down,” he informed me with a shaking voice. “I don’t think he’s breathing.” I rushed from the podium to the middle aisle of the Senate floor where Sen. Mat Dunaskiss, a Lake Orion Republican, had been speaking and quickly discerned not only had his breathing ceased but he was turning blue as well. His heartbeats were barely audible. I immediately started CPR. After a few minutes of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, he began breathing on his own. Approximately 10 minutes after he went down, the EMT’s arrived and took him to Sparrow Hospital. Due to quick and decisive action on the part of all who were involved, Mat Dunaskiss survived and returned to the Senate six weeks later.
There are other memories, warmly recalled.
In 2004, I was sworn in to the 109th U.S. Congress. I celebrated that special day with family and friends at the oldest saloon and political watering hole in Washington, The Old Ebbitt Grill. A list of those who imbibed there reads like a glossary of American history. Presidents, members of the U.S. Congress, prominent military leaders, cabinet officials – have all have held forth at The Ebbitt. Grant’s Bar, named after frequent patron Ulysses S. Grant, is but one of four bars in the venerable institution. It features an oil painting by Peter Egeli that replicates a Matthew Brady photograph of Grant. Purportedly, the Iran Contra deal was hatched at The Ebbitt.
By far, though, the greatest memories surround the people who crossed my path.
Harry Gast, a highly regarded Republican state senator from St. Joseph, was a valued mentor and friend. His vast legislative experience, and willingness to share, was a unique gift. Sadly, with term limits, the opportunity for quality legislators to acquire and impart their legislative experience is a thing of the past.
Following my appointment to chair the state Senate Appropriations Subcommittee on Higher Education, colleagues expressed their sympathy. My House counterpart was state Rep. Morris Hood, Jr., aDetroit Democrat. I was told he had a reputation for being difficult.
Morris and I knew each other only in passing. We decided to meet, just the two of us. We spoke of Michigan’s colleges and universities and how they were among the state’s most valuable resources. Our responsibility, we agreed, was to adequately fund them. That first meeting established what was to become a valued professional relationship, and an even more cherished personal friendship. During the 12 years Morris Hood and I co-chaired the Michigan Legislature’s Higher Education budget subcommittees, there was a funding increase every year. Partisan politics never entered our deliberation. The mutual respect we held for each other enabled us to resolve differences amicably.
Difficult to work with? Hardly. To his credit, Morris Hood didn’t suffer fools silently. He was an outstanding legislator who cared deeply for his state and its citizens. The manner in which he went about his legislative duties serves as an example to all current and future elected officials.
Democrat state Sens. Bill Faust of Westland and John Kelley of Detroit, two of my closest friends in the Senate, were from the opposing party.
Bill was an effective leader. His first undertaking as Michigan Senate majority leader was to conduct a long overdue examination of the Senate rules. Prior to that, the Senate functioned as 38 separate fiefdoms. With few boundaries and little or no accountability, spending was out of control. For some, that was fine. Once rewritten, the rules added sorely needed transparency to the Senate as a business and how it conducted itself as a legislative body.
Bill’s devotion to Michigan’s libraries is legendary. There were rumors—unsubstantiated of course—of weekly poker games in his office. As the fable unfolds, frequent guests at the game were members of the appropriations committee who controlled funding for the state’s libraries, Harry Gast among them.
While some speak of class, others quietly demonstrate it by their actions. The morning after Republican Senate Majority Leader John Engler’s successful campaign for governor, Bill Faust was the first to request a “personal privilege.” He congratulated the governor elect, but more importantly, he pledged to work with Engler and called for all to do likewise. His remarks were simple, yet profound.
John Kelley possessed one of the quickest and most facile political minds I’ve ever known. His ability to chart a quick and accurate journey to the heart of an issue set him apart.
Sadly, when Kelley’s name is mentioned, there are those who choose only to remember Peck’s bad boy and dwell on his late-night introduction of a resolution calling for the removal of the British Consulate from Detroit. Kelley, who wore Irish heritage on his sleeve, took advantage of the so-called “mom ‘n pop resolutions” that are introduced prior to the Michigan Legislature’s final adjournment for the year. Rarely, if ever, are they discussed or challenged, and usually approved with a perfunctory voice vote. Amidst the usual chaos of last-minute legislation, Kelley introduced his resolution and lumped it in with the others. Its passage created a diplomatic stir in Washington and Detroit, as the Michigan Legislature had adjourned for the year and could not revisit the issue until the following January.
I choose to remember John Kelley the Vietnam veteran who served his country honorably. After active duty, he earned a law degree and continued serving his country as a reserve officer in the Judge Advocate General’s office. He also earned a doctorate from Wayne State University where he later taught. He rounded out his career by serving as an instructor at the National War College in Washington.
Kelley was a close friend. A fascinating person and fellow Vietnam veteran, he possessed a magnetic and irreverent sense of humor. His sudden death left a void that is still felt today.
To name some of the interesting people who enhanced my journey is to unintentionally overlook others, namely those who formed my capable staff. They remain, in every sense of the word, family. Hovering over it all was our strong sense of loyalty to each other. Together our out-baskets were filled with legislative accomplishments and constituent services. And we also found time to pause and laugh.
Former legislative aide Louie Meizlish, now with the Oakland County Prosecutor’s Office, organizes staff reunions at least twice a year. While we’ve all charted separate paths, our lives are richer for having known and worked together. Those gatherings allow us all to visit a special time in our lives.
No elected official should be so fortunate.