Political Advice I Remember

by Richard Gilbert

Richard Gilbert

It saddens me when I hear people say, “all politicians are alike…and you can’t trust any of them!’

Saddens me in two ways. One, more and more folks are mostly accurate in that assessment. And two, I think back to conversations with politicians I admired and miss today. Still, I shall be ever grateful for the real nuggets of perspective they shared with me about how to be good in government service.

Politics, the word, stems from the Greek, “politikos,” which means “citizen” and should with that definition be a higher calling. For whom I worked in all or parts of his first four terms, Iowa Governor Bob Ray represented all that was noble about the title “politician.” But so did some others I met.

Here are three who have a special place in my pantheon of political heroes, in addition to Bob Ray.

A. ARTHUR DAVIS

A. Arthur Davis

I can’t claim a friendship with A. Arthur Davis, who was chairman of the Iowa Democratic Party in the mid-80s, served on the Des Moines school board, and was for a too short a time mayor of Des Moines. I met him one day when he stopped by the Register for a meeting.

I had admired Davis from afar. He was a named partner of the Davis Law Firm, enormously successful not only in the practice of law but as a guy who seemed to have a gift of getting people to reach consensus on difficult issues. The kind of problems that make school board and city government service so damn hard. Davis, despite his obvious partisan party affiliation, was widely respected by Democrats and Republicans as well.

So once I got past the handshake with Arthur Davis that day back in 1985, I asked him: “What is the secret to your success as a consensus builder?’ His answer has been a mantra for me ever since.

Arthur Davis said to me: “I never start mad.”

That was it! So straightforward and yet so profound. And even now, as I despair over the lack of civility we see in politics, I wonder what it would be like if more folks didn’t start mad when they confront the big issues of our time.

And doesn’t it make you wonder what political campaigns would be like if the candidates didn’t have to use the word “fight” in every other sentence? Fight, such as “Elect me to go to Washington to FIGHT for you!” It’s not just one party that overuses that word; it’s both of them. How much better would it be to have the candidate say: “I want to go to Washington and work with anyone willing to have a conversation to see if we can figure out together how to solve this cluster that confronts us. And I promise I won’t start mad!”

Arthur Davis died in 1997. He resigned from the mayor’s office a few months before his death, knowing his health was failing. He was only 69.

MAURICE (MO) BARINGER

Maurice “Mo” Barringer

I did consider Maurice (Mo) Baringer, a friend. He was elected Iowa State Treasurer in 1969 and served through 1982. Before that, he was a state rep from the Oelwein area and rose to the Iowa House Speaker. A Republican, Mo was an important Bob Ray supporter. He was wise, personable, and had a keen sense of humor. And he managed not to lose perspective despite a distinguished career in the Iowa state government.

Mo’s approach was a refreshing contrast to numerous elected officials who were very puffed up with their importance once under the golden dome.

In a conversation one day, Mo Baringer said to me: “I always keep in mind that working in this building is like sticking your arm in a bucket of water. So long as the arm stays in the bucket, the water sort of swirls around you. But when you take your arm out of the bucket, the water acts like your arm was never there.”

The observation was mainly true then (and probably now) for most of the statehouse players. But for Mo, it was a tad self-effacing. When his arm left the bucket, it did leave a good ripple. As a legislator, he was one of the driving forces behind creating the Iowa Community College system and Iowa Public Television. Both bi-partisan initiatives.

As State Treasurer, he played a leadership role in the restoration of Terrace Hill as the new governor’s mansion.

Mo passed away in 2011 at age 90.

SENATOR HOWARD BAKER OF TENNESSEE

A conversation I had in 1980 with Howard Baker, then a presidential candidate making the rounds with Iowa media before the caucuses, comes back to me every time I see some hopeful jockeying for presidential mention.

Baker first arrived in the national consciousness when he framed the now-famous question during the Watergate hearing: “What did the President know, and when did he know it?” He was a Tennessee Republican senator from 1967 to 1985, rising first to minority leader and then majority leader of the Senate. He became known as the “Great Conciliator.” He was known for brokering compromises, enacting legislation, and maintaining civility.

He dropped out of the 1980 presidential primary race after the early contests. He ran a distant second in Iowa behind the two-way tie for first by George H.W. Bush and Ronald Reagan. Then he endorsed Reagan.

His decision to exit the presidential sweepstakes was certainly political wisdom. But something he told me when we met in my office of the Quad Cities’ tv station I was managing made me think there was another reason for leaving the race.

Howard Baker said to me: “I believe that to run for president, you must shed yourself of the last vestige of humility, and I just don’t think I am ever going to be able to do that.”

In that moment, and ever since, whenever I see or hear someone start saying (or even hinting) to the nation, “Elect Me President,” I immediately suspect that person must have some screw loose or perhaps a dangerous character flaw. Where does one get off having an ego of such gigantic proportion that they put themselves forth as someone who can handle the biggest and arguably the worst job in the world better than anyone else among 330 million Americans?

Ironically, if Howard Baker had been successful, he likely would have made a good president, assuming he had managed to continue with that “shred of humility” still intact. On the other hand, perhaps the cable news outlets would have gotten bored with him quickly because he didn’t holler “fight” enough. Howard Baker died in 2014. He was 89.