Statesmen and Mischief Makers: Volume Iii: Officeholders and Their Contributions to History from Kennedy to Reagan

By Scott Crass

My first two volumes of Statesmen and Mischief Makers portrayed the stories of officeholders who had tremendous impact on politics at the national level, either by way of Presidential proximity, legislative accomplishments or simply through living a life of idiosyncrasies that made a great anecdote - or two. Governors and big-city Mayors are no different. There were smart leaders, courageous leaders, visionary leaders, and inevitably, small-minded and even unscrupulous leaders. In other words, leaders who were anything but. Whatever the case, the Governors that ushered their state structure into a modern era or the Mayors whose cities have become the cultural meccas with landmarks that attract millions are all people who deserve recognition. And yes, so do the people who ended up on the wrong side of the law and went to jail. Volume three examines these individuals. All presided within the times of Kennedy to Reagan. All are Statesmen and Mischief Makers. And all are told here.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514469750

Scott Crass

The author’s first word could easily have been “politics.” Scott Crass’s passion for politics may have been fueled by his first book on U.S. presidents, given to him by his mother, Madeline, at the ripe young age of 5. He quickly wore out the pages, prompting his mother to buy a replacement. Scott has been a devoted student of Presidential and Congressional politics ever since. Scott obtained his B.A. in Political Science and Communications from Monmouth University in Long Branch, N.J., and achieved his M.A. in Counseling at the same institution. A New Jersey native, Scott has always been drawn to his beloved Jersey Shore, where he enjoys spending much of his free time. Besides politics and the Shore, Scott is a fan of music of all kinds, including oldies, swing, Strauss waltzes and the sounds of another Jersey treasure, Frank Sinatra. He lives in South Brunswick, N.J and thrives by a personal motto, “Failure is only our enemy if it does not serve as our guide.”

Book preview

PROLOGUE

T he first two volumes of Statesmen and Mischief Makers was an incredible success! My goal was to bring to you a compendium of biographies of two sets of political officeholders. One revolved around a group of individuals whose recommendations, endorsements, or opposition ultimately either shaped a major political figure’s life or had bearing on Congress as an institution. My subjects included Presidential candidates, Congressional opponents, or members of Congress who simply gave their respective generations—and future ones—a little something to talk about. The second set featured tidbits, anomalies, and just plain interesting stories about political figures who had scant, if any name recognition outside their home states, but who nonetheless made contributions worthy of remembrance. While a few of those figures might have been household names, that is why I call them footnotes to the developments in history. However, the impact that they had on the nation was m ajor.

Volume III of Statesmen and Mischief Makers continues that direction only my subjects are either Governors or big city Mayors. Many of my statesmen – and in at least a few cases my mischief makers, were masters of romanticism, collegiality, adventure, and bravery. My research left me astonished as to how many of these individuals dutifully served our nation in war, the bulk of them part of the Greatest Generations whose medals and battle-scars they earned in political combat were nothing compared to their experiences in battle. There is Jay Hammond the pilot turned Alaska Governor who was one of just four of eighty classmates to return from World War II alive. There was Edgar Whitcomb the swimmer who battled sharks to swim across the Bataan Peninsula to escape near certain death from the Japanese. He would later lead Indiana. Others embody adjusting to the post-war period, getting their schooling, beginning their professions and eventually, discovering that their niche was indeed public service.

My mischief makers could boast of innovation and collaborative skills as well but, let’s just say it’s how they used it that defined their place in history and that wasn’t always positive.

While all have stories - positive and negative - that are equally as important as those in volumes one and two, the difference is that their ultimate legacies rest more firmly in their home states than nationally.

John Love is an example. The three-term Governor of Colorado will never achieve fame outside of his state, but the role he played in shaping it both socially and economically is breathtaking.

Virginia’s Linwood Holton served a fairly tranquil four years in office, but when he escorted his daughter to a newly desegregated school despite protests and death threats, it was a shot heard round the nation for advocates of the status quo. Holton is hardly alone. Many governors and mayors portrayed in this volume confronted the changing tide of racial attitudes, which resulted in intense tests of leadership. All embraced these challenges with flying colors.

When the Reagan administration wanted to build a storage tanker that would go under Puget Sound, Washington’s John Spellman, also a Republican, was subjected to pressure the size of Mount Rainier to sign off. His decision would make or break the party. But at the end of the day, he said no because it wasn’t in the best interest of his Washington. On the other side of the country, New Jersey’s Bill Cahill so firmly resisted pressure from his fellow Republicans on everything from partisan political appointees to fighting for an income tax he deemed necessary, that at the end of his tenure in office, the state press corps presented him with a blue box of two brass balls.

Then we have the men who epitomize the textbook definition of the word statesmen. William Milliken and Robert Ray, who governed Michigan and Iowa simultaneously for 14 years, were defined as much for their decency and ability to bring divergent factions together as any tangible accomplishment – and there were many. Their stewardship on behalf of refugees, clean air and social justice made them true gems for humanity and each were textbook definitions of inclusion, congeniality, and respect exist.

When racial instability wasn’t on the plates of these governors and mayors, economic instability was. Former New York Governor Hugh Carey is one of the clearest examples. During a period in which New York City was in its darkest days, Carey’s ingenuity and ability to reach out was credited with saving the day and the city. Abe Beame was New York’s Mayor at the time, and Carey bypassed him. Beame wasn’t happy. I profile him as well.

Several Governors, such as Washington’s Dan Evans and Oregon’s Tom McCall, were legends in their time; others played hard and lived long. And tucked into a countless number of profiles is leaders who made their states more user-friendly by modernized their government agencies and infrastructure that serves their people.

Beyond tangible accomplishments I’ll profile leaders who reversed one-party dominance of their state capitals. You’ll meet African-American Mayors whose elections signified another racial barrier being slammed shut, Democratic Mayors who ended Republican dominance, and so-forth. You’ll learned how some, like Colonel Sanders’ business partner, could vault into the Kentucky Governorship. Finally, you’ll see just how with leadership comes innovation. Ever travel along the Verrazano–Narrows Bridge? It was seen through during the tenure of Mayor Rbert Wagner. Ever hear of the Moon Walk or the French Quarter? They had to originate somehow and New Orleans Mayor Moon Landrieu, in a quest to better his city, made them happen. Yes, we’ll witness how leadership and persuasion skills combined to give states and cities the attractions that makes their areas so well-known.

Predictably, for many of the stories of greatness, there are more than a few on the other end of the spectrum. As yet another example, Dan Evans’ successor, Dixy Lee Ray, wasn’t always on the right side of publicity, but like so many subjects, that’s what makes her story a story (and her little dog too). Tennessee’s Ray Blanton was so unscrupulous – in fact hands down more so than any of the 350 subjects that I portrayed in three volumes, that he was removed from office with hours to spare in his term. The reason: by pardoning a number of dangerous inmates, he had seriously jeopardized Tennesseans safety. The reason his own party felt the need to act against the clock was that had they not intervened, he would have pardoned a handful more. Last but not least, here’s a familiar theme. We’ve all become too familiar with the corruption surrounding Illinois Governors. If you think that’s new, you’d be wrong as two of four men who held the Governor’s chair in an eight year period had ethical skeletons in their closets.

Of course chief executives of either their cities or states are also titular leaders of their parties. So it will be fascinating to read how they impacted events by coming out for a Presidential candidate or two, such as Kennedy, or, how they even sidelined the career of another along the way (Bill Clinton’s career was temporarily derailed when he lost the Arkansas Governor to a businessman named Frank White).

In short, all of my subjects have bios that deserve to be told even if, at the end of the day, few might know who they are. They are indeed statesmen and mischief makers.

Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE

Minnesota Had Three Governors

Named Anderson(sen) In 16 Years

Historic Tidbit: Shortly after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, Prime Minister Winston Churchill went to the White House to stay for a few weeks and plot strategy. One day, he was dictating to his aide stark naked when there was a knock at the door. Come in, Churchill replied. It was FDR and he was understandably startled to see his counterpart from across the ocean in the buff. Churchill, however, dismissed it in stride. You see, Mr. President, he said, I have nothing to hide from you."

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C. Elmer Anderson, Elmer L. Andersen and Wendell Anderson

all served as Governors of Minnesota within 16 years of one

another Images via the Minnesota Historical Society

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C. Elmer and Elmer Andersen fish around 1960 (left) while Wendell and

Elmer L. share an amiable moment a decade later (right)

Images via the Minnesota Historical Society

W hen it comes to tidbits and anomalies, this chapter was just begging to be written. In a 16-year period, Minnesota had three governors with the last name Anderson - and two were named Elmer (one was spelled Andersen). The surname is derived from German ancestry, and the name Anderson/sen is a reflection of the state’s heavy German popula tion.

The ironic thing about all the Andersons/sens was that their careers all ultimately ended in defeat. The first, C. Elmer, lost a standard election - no fireworks - to Democrat Orville Freeman in his bid for a third term. The second, Elmer L. Andersen, beat Freeman, but lost his next race by an extremely narrow margin that wasn’t confirmed until the following March. The third, Wendell, squandered a tremendous amount of goodwill by appointing himself to Walter Mondale’s Senate seat, then getting ditched by a landslide margin when the race came up for a full term. Given his popularity before his self-promotion, that was quite the fall. Here’s another oddity: both Elmers made their mark by buying the companies that employed them.

Among the three governors, Clyde Elmer Anderson may have been expected to advance the farthest. He became Minnesota’s Lieutenant Governor in 1938 at just 26 years old, beating far more seasoned pols for the GOP nod. The man who was elected Governor that year, Harold Stassen, was an ancient 31 years old and appeared to be the person for whom the term Boy Wonder was created. According to the Minnesota Historical Society’s website, Anderson credited his Swedish surname for the victory. What was astonishing was that tickets were elected separately, so voters were entrusting him with tremendous power when he was at an age when most would first be graduating from law school. But his connection with Stassen enabled folks to coin the new reign, the diaper brigade.

However, the rapid rise wasn’t surprising for someone who had started as a newspaper delivery boy at E.W. Schmidt’s only to buy the company years later (his goal was to become a physician but a lack of money forced him to drop out of school).

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Elmer L. Andersen greeting well-wishers at his 1961 inaugural

Photo via the Minnesota Historical Society

Anderson held the position of Lieutenant Governor for more than 12 years – longer than any other Minnesotan, and finally got the top slot when the incumbent governor, by then a Democrat, resigned. Up to that point, he had been called The Forgotten Man of the Republican Party. Freeman beat him in 1954 and Anderson resumed the helm of his magazine distribution company. But in later years, he served as mayor of two separate towns - Nissewa and Brainard- the latter of which he held for ten years until being voted out in 1986. He passed away in 1998 at age 85 at which time Stassen was still living. Anderson, he said did an outstanding job as governor, noting, He came in kind of unexpectedly, but he stepped in and carried on in a way that had the general approval of the people. Wendell Anderson, whom the Minnesota Post notes had served in the legislator with many who had served under Anderson said they considered him by far their favorite governor. He was tremendously effective in a quiet way. He was not eloquent, but effective. Meanwhile, his wife of six decades, Lillian (they had courted for six years prior) passed away just six months after Elmer.

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C. Elmer Anderson with his young family taking advantage of Minnesota’s

winter excesses

Photo via the Minnesota Historical Society

Elmer L. Anderson had been a Minnesota businessman and State Senator when he ousted Freeman, then a rising Democratic star, in 1960. Freeman had his problems, most notably declaring Martial Law during a strike in Alberta Lea; this action was later found to have been in excess of his powers. Having been on the short list of John F. Kennedy running mates, though, Freeman was still the favorite to win another term. But Andersen, who used the swing hit Elmer’s Tune at his rallies, wound up edging him 51-49% even as Kennedy was narrowly carrying the state.

Anderson’s childhood was anything but easy. He was born in Michigan to Norwegian immigrants who separated when he was six and died within a year apart during his teenage years. He was afflicted with polio at nine and spinal meningitis later. Young Elmer displayed a precociousness for skills and it started with selling. I love selling. I love the interchange with people. A good salesman gains influence on another person’s mind. That makes selling quite a serious undertaking. Another affection Andersen had was for books. From an early age, he was a voracious reader, routinely buying books for ten cents each and late in life would donate much of his collection to the University of Minnesota. In appreciation, University officials would dedicate a library in his name.

In 1932, Andersen married Eleanor Johnson, a classmate. It was a romance that would last 72 years (she would pass just two months before her 100th birthday seven years after Elmer). She would serve as his chief counselor in nearly every endeavor he undertook and as a result, he credited her with making all of his accomplishments possible.

Andersen worked at the H.R. Fuller Company before purchasing it for $10,000 and assuming ownership. Throughout his career, he would come to be known as a very generous boss. He offered retired workers health benefits and instituted a family leave policy long before either became remotely fashionable (I always had a philosophy at Fuller that making a profit was not our No. 1 priority).

Andersen was often known for bringing back presents (books, candy), to his employees when traveling abroad. One employee, Irene Eckert noted that, We all benefited from his philosophy of life and how people should be treated. He set an incredible example to follow. He would enlighten employees with humor and stories. He’d greet families of employees by saying, I’m Elmer. I work with… He would keep in touch with employees and correspond with them when they were ill. Another employee said, their dedication to their employees is unparalled. But these characteristics were not simply on display for his employees. His obituary said he greeted all people with unfailing courtesy, good humor, and gentle wit.

It was in 1949 that Andersen won a special election for the State Senate and may have become the state’s Republican version of Hubert Humphrey when it came to pushing for social progress.

Andersen was a Republican from the days of yore. As he said years later, I remind people I want to be known as a liberal Republican. If that’s a dirty word, so be it. In his time in the Legislature, he had advocated increasing the rights for citizens with disabilities. He fought for gifted education, a Metropolitan Planning Commission in the Twin Cities, and the first Civil Rights Act and Fair Employment Practices Act. He continued this push for progressive legislation during his Governorship and pressed for Indian reservations on the Iron Range.

Andersen also pushed for the creation of several new state parks and pressed the state Senate to pass the Fair Housing Bill, another landmark in civil rights legislation. The highway safety legislation he championed resulted in a substantial drop in fatal accidents. He also managed to enact the income tax withholding, a goal that had been elusive to Freeman.

What Andersen ultimately came to be known for, however, had nothing to do with policy. Five governors’ races (four of which were in New England) had outcomes that could have gone to recounts in 1962. Minnesota was the other. And boy, was it close.

Most think Washington State’s seesaw governor’s race of 2004, decided by 129 votes, was the closest in modern times, but the scene was actually Minnesota in ’62 and Andersen was on the losing end of it. His bid for a second full term against his Lieutenant Governor, Karl Rolvaag, came up short by 91 votes out of 1.3 million cast, perhaps the tightest governor’s race in 100 years - and certainly in Minnesota. On the 50-year anniversary of the election, The Minnesota Post chronicled the recount. As Anderson wrote in his autobiography A Man’s Reach, As the returns slowly dribbled in on November 7 and 8, the governor’s race would become a seesaw affair. First I would be ahead by a few thousand votes, then Rolvaag would jump into the lead, then I would surge ahead again.

The election was not expected to be nip ’n’ tuck. Anderson led in the days before the election- not by a particularly large margin but enough to call him the favorite. In the closing days, however, the DFL attacked his administration for mismanaging construction of Interstate 35W, particularly charging that necessary repairs down the road would cost taxpayers thousands (those fears never came to materialize). Many Republicans viewed Senator Hubert Humphrey as having a lead role in those charges which Andersen later referred to as fraud and deceit.

For his part, Andersen just went about performing his day-to-day duties. I was very much involved in the business of being governor and didn’t really have a campaign strategy. I was just trying to be a good governor, he said in a 1978 oral history project. I relied on performance resulting in support and, I guess, that was just about it. I just went about the work of the governorship and traveled very extensively; I appeared everywhere. So, I guess the strategy was to try and get everywhere I could and do as well as I could and hope that the people would appreciate it.

One policy that Andersen concedes hurt him – though he thought it would do otherwise at the time, was his decision to close antiquated snow plow garages in small towns. Andersen notes a family or two were living in the garages that had once been used to store plows that were needed in each town to deal with their limited abilities during Minnesota’s winters.That really became such an issue in so many little communities that felt they were struggling for survival. The fact that it was money that might better be spent for highways didn’t really count that much. The good government issue was lost as against the provincial issue of a small town wanting to keep a garage and a couple of jobs.

Strangely, what also might have hurt Andersen was the fact that he presided over a time of great tranquility so that little division was taking place. While that would ordinarily be a Governors dream, the book, Minnesota Politics and Government noted that the docile climate meant Anderson had no crisis to provide him leverage, (therefore) he was not perceived as a forceful executive and was out of step with his own party. The book also observed that Anderson’s exceptionally high degree of both intellectual and sympathetic comprehension of the other fellow’s point of view’ left him looking indecisive. In a race as close as what ultimately transpired, everything hurt.

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Elmer Andersen

Photo via the Minnesota Historical Society

Andersen got a nice cushion out of Hennepin County (Minneapolis), finishing 15,000 votes ahead of Rolvaag compared to 10,000 over Freeman two years earlier. Most of the Southern territory went solidly in his column as well. But Northern Minnesota was punishing – Rolvaag carried every county except for tiny Cook on the Wisconsin border (which cast 1,600 votes), including the population centers by big margins.

As the count neared completion on Election Night, Andersen was up by a few thousand votes. When it ceased, Rolvaag had led by 58 votes (the canoe vote did not fully report until the Friday after). As the days went on, ten counties found errors and the lead flipped to Anderson - by 124 votes. The Minnesota Supreme Court ordered that the amended totals be accepted, and there were no provisions in those days that mandated an automatic recount, notwithstanding the fact that there were 800,000 paper ballots.

The Minnesota Post, in a 50th anniversary remembrance, wrote that neither side was able to agree on parameters for counting votes, but both eventually accepted a plan by the Chief Justice for procedures and came up with a three-person panel whose members were acceptable to both sides. It called for three members: a DFLer, a Republican, and one person who was neutral. They were, Judges Sidney Kaner, J. H. Sylvestre, and Leonard Keyes who promptly, as the Minnesota Historical Society noted, created 100 recount teams of three consisting of a partisan for each side and an independent.

Minnesota law called for the current Chief Executive to stay in place until the dispute was resolved, meaning that Anderson’s tenure would temporarily continue even if he ultimately was found to have lost the election. Additionally, Minnesota had a non-partisan legislature, but individuals affiliated with Republicans had seized control that November, which gave Andersen the power to fill many appointees, leading Democrats to cry foul. Meanwhile, Rolvaag received a fair number of speaking engagements, but only if he prevailed and became Governor. Yet another wrinkle in this uncharted territory was that the Minnesota Constitution had been amended to make this election the first for a four-year term.

About two-thirds of the way through the process, Rolvaag quipped, It’s been a long Election night. Andersen for his part was more circumspect. The recount is in the hands of able lawyers and judges and I am relaxed and content to leave it to them. I have a splendid working relationship with the Legislature. Business is going forward, appointments are being made and I expect them to be confirmed. Ultimately, 97,000 paper ballot challenges dwindled to just under 4,000. The rest of the ballots moved to a court trial. From mid-February on, Andersen later wrote, I was carrying on with an awareness that I likely would not be in office to see the session through to its end … I was bracing myself for an unhappy ending. And eventually, it happened. Rolvaag’s victory was affirmed by 91 votes.

Some partisans urged Andersen to appeal, but his chief attorney, Tom Swain, said, We met with him in the St. Paul Athletic Club and said, ‘it’s the end of the line; the jig is up.’ The ultimate decision was mine. For me, it could turn on only one thing: my judgment of what was best for Minnesota. The state endured four and a half months of uncertainty in state government. I could not ask Minnesotans to wait any longer for the final results. That was March 23rd. Rolvaag was sworn in two days later.

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Karl Rolvaag, who unseated Andersen by 91 votes

Photo courtesy of the Minnesota Historic Society

Rolvaag bickered constantly with the Legislature. By the time he came up in for a second term in 1966, even some DFL’s were seeking an alternative and Rolvaag did in fact lose the DFL Convention endorsement to his own Lieutenant Governor, Gary Keith (though he did prevail in the primary). Andersen tried to make a comeback as well and placed his name before the GOP Convention. He led through most of the early ballots but could not secure the 60 percent of delegates needed to secure the nomination (a number of conservatives were angered by his refusal to back Barry Goldwater for president in 1964). But on the 13th ballot, Andersen came to the conclusion that he would be unable to muster a majority of delegates and ended his bid. He said, The people had 13 chances to vote for me. I made it crystal clear I was available. And I said that if they didn’t want me, I wouldn’t feel rejected. I have no regrets. The nomination went to Republican Harold LeVander who beat Rolvaag. A recount was not needed.

Andersen, meanwhile, went back to running the day-to-day operations at Fuller and then created ECM, a company that published small newspapers. He took on issues, such as participating in a 1968 bid to fly the United Nations flag alongside the American flag. This, he said, represents a commitment to cooperation among nations for world peace, to belief in the common brotherhood of all men of all nations, and to aspirations for a world community of peace, freedom and justice under world law. Andersen made one last stab at elective office – in 1970 for Public service Commissioner but was unsuccessful.

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Photo Via Outsidethewalls.org

By 2004, Andersen had had enough of his party’s rightward shift and threw his backing to John Kerry. Bush and Cheney, he said, spew outright untruths with evangelistic fervor. He died in 2004 four months after personally greeting 300 guests at his 95th birthday celebration. At that time, he was referred to as Minnesota’s leading citizen. In addition to the University library, the State Department of Human Services would bear his name as well.

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A campaign poster and family photo

Photos via the Minnesota Historic Society

The political graveyard is full of governors who resign and have themselves appointed to a Senate vacancy and it just doesn’t take. Joe Hickey tried it in Wyoming and lost, Howard Edmondson tried it in Oklahoma and lost, and in 1978, Wendell Anderson met the same fate.

Known as Wendy, Anderson could boast of international accomplishments that far proceeded his Governorship. Born in East St. Paul, Anderson was the proud son of Swedish immigrants and in fact would visit the country 100 times. He was also a life-long hockey player who won a silver medal on the U.S. Olympic team in 1956.

The Winona Daily News described Anderson as a husky, wavy-haired six footer that echoes his days as a hockey player… Time Magazine called him, a mid-western Kennedy…a startlingly effective TV performer. And the Pioneer Press, noting how Anderson was an exercise freak who usually blocked off the noon hour on his schedule to go running…relentlessly needled his staff members who smoked or didn’t exercise.

After receiving his undergraduate and law degrees from the University of Minnesota, he was elected to the Legislature at 25, the Senate four years later and the Governorship in 1970 at the ripe old age of 37, a campaign he embarked on as anything but the favorite.

The frontrunner as the DFL Convention gaveled to order in Duluth was Anderson’s Senate colleague, Nick Coleman.

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Photo via the Duluth News

Anderson’s general election opponent was Attorney General Douglas Head. The Winona News noted that Anderson pounded away at simple themes – that he would be a ‘tough’ governor fearlessly dealing with ‘big business’ and staunchly representing the ‘common people.’ Even as a city boy, Anderson made clear that he was well-versed with the needs of farmers saying, I speak their language. He told voters he had no desire to be Governor to dedicate bridges and highways.

Head who suffered from polio made, performances, not promises the centerpiece of his campaign and his theme was proven leadership for a better tomorrow; our job is right now. But Andersen contended that Head was carrying water for big businesses and pointed out that the crime rate had increased during Head’s time as Attorney General. Congressional Quarterly wrote that Head, despite his knowledge of state issues, often comes across as stiff and tense before the cameras (the magazine also called him shorter and stockier than his opponent).

Anderson was thrown on the defensive by aligning with Citizen League’s proposal for school reform which enabled Head to speak of tax increases. Anderson promised to veto any property tax increase but outgoing Republican Governor Harold LeVander, in stumping for Head, to warn voters that Anderson’s policies would be deleterious to rural Minnesota. This led to DFL-State Senator Roger Moe to retort that it was curious to hear criticism of Wendy’s record from the man who said rural Minnesota must die.

Polls leading up to the voting portended a close race but Anderson won 54-46%.

Anderson’s inaugural address left no doubt that idealism of youth was still very much his outlook. Citing the air quality, the increasing use of drugs, health care, housing and farming difficulties (the very existence of rural Minnesota (is) in danger), Anderson stated the obvious: that the catalogue of complaints is long…Government at every level seems to flounder and drift, unable to respond to real needs, tied to the assumptions and procedures of another day….Our citizens who are black or red are still the first to be unemployed – and the last to find opportunity.

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Signing a bill into law

Photo via the Minnesota Historical Society

When Anderson first was elected, he had a hostile legislature, according to Virginia Gray in her book Minnesota Politics and Government.as Republicans had overwhelming majorities. However, he was still able to get through what has since been indoctrinated as the Minnesota Miracle, a tax increase that equalized school funding. Anderson’s goal was to raise the state’s share of school funding from 43 percent to 70 percent. In the end, he settled for 65 percent. Inheritances, a five percent cigarette tax, a 25 percent liquor tax. The sales tax would jump one percent income taxes 22 percent. Astonishingly, 42 Republicans backed it.

It was an understatement to say the endeavor wasn’t easy – the 157 day special session was the longest in the Gopher State’s history and at one point, Anderson vetoed a bill Republicans sent him.

Given today’s partisan climate, the real Minnesota Miracle might have been that Anderson was able to enact such a sweeping plan that hewed so heavily toward the left end of the ideological spectrum. I was privileged to be governor when people were nice to one another. Republicans and Democrats got along, were able to do significant things for the state of Minnesota, because they liked one another. They respected one another. It also helped that Coleman as minority leader was close with Stanley Holmquist who led the Republicans.

It became a national model for progress Anderson appeared on the cover of Time Magazine in 1973 under the headline, The Good Life in Minnesota holding a trophy fish.

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Bestowing an honorary Minnesota Citizen Award on actress

Mary Tyler Moore whose character, Mary Richards, became one

of the most recognized symbols of 1970s television culture

Photo courtesy of the Minnesota Historical Society

By his third year in office, though, liberals had full control, which led to the enactment of watershed measures. Anderson was able to get legislation enacted that had eluded Democrats for years, including the Public Employees Bargaining Act, a Housing Finance Agency, a minimum wage increase, worker safety protections, affordable housing, and so the animals wouldn’t feel left out, the state zoo. The Loan Executive Action Program was an outreach to business leaders to make government agencies more efficient. The Pioneer Press said it, became a model for other states and the federal government.

Environmental protection saw some of the most indelible strides in state history. His policy advisor Peter Gove recalled how in one day in May of 1973, he signed into law 14 or 15 bills that at that time — and today — were probably the most comprehensive set of environmental statutes that any legislature, at the recommendation of a governor, had ever passed. These included -- Voyageurs National Park also became a reality.

Marty Sabo, a future Congressman who at the time was House Speaker, credited Anderson’s tenure as being the time in which the modern governorship and the modern Legislature took shape. The voters roared with approval. He made the cover of Time and carried each of the state’s 87 counties in his 1974 re-election, which he won with 63%, the only Governor to achieve that feat. Anderson’s meteoric popularity and accomplishments garnered speculation that he could be tapped as a vice-presidential candidate. Anderson did not lobby for the post but did contend that if it were offered, he would consider it for two or three seconds before accepting it.

To be technical, Anderson could not actually name himself to the Senate, but by resigning and enabling his Lieutenant Governor, Rudy Perpich, to step into the role of Governor, he in effect did just that. He acknowledged in his announcement that this could cause him problems but said, I think I can establish a good enough record so that I’ll receive a positive response … I’m not at all afraid of a primary or general election. But his move was just not seen as being Minnesota Nice.

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Senator Wendell Anderson with colleague Howard Metzenbaum, 1978

Photo via Minnesota Public Radio

In the Senate, Anderson introduced legislation stopping junk phone calls and opposed a designation by some Twin City area lawmakers designating the Upper Mississippi a wild and scenic river. The issue was always the appointment.

For much of 1978, Anderson trailed in polls. His weakness was confirmed when he won re-nomination with just 57% in a six-candidate field (his closest competitor had 31%). However, there was a simultaneous election for Hubert Humphrey’s seat, and as a result of a major upset in the DFL primary which denied Donald Fraser the Democratic nomination to a conservadem candidate, Bob Short. Consequently, a significant number of Democrats were prepared to vote for the Republican nominee, Dave Durenberger in the general election. The New York Times write that some observers believe that those defectors, who were originally lukewarm about Senator Anderson because of his self-inspired promotion, will now vote for him to help ease their consciences for backing a Republican in the other race. That may have happened, but not by nearly enough. Businessman Rudy Boschwitz walloped Anderson 57-40%.

After his loss, Anderson directed Turbotyne Technologies and did commentary on Minnesota politics and spoke out on matters – however small, that impacted his state. An 80th birthday celebration was like a who’s who of Minnesota politics. His legacy is uncertain, however. Another ex-Governor, Al Quie, said he looked into the future, but that will forever be overshadowed by one fateful decision. On the other hand, Quie also recalled fondly how generous Anderson was in giving him advice when he won his own bid for the Minnesota Governorship in 1978.

In later years, Anderson was often asked why he appointed himself and his response was that Governors are on 24/7. He said in 2003 his view was, I think the people of Minnesota felt they had elected me as governor for four years and wanted me to stay there. I think that’s fair. I don’t disagree with the decision they made.

And time heeled many wounds. On his death in 2016, U.S. Senator Amy Klobuchar echoed the feelings of many Minnesotans in saying Anderson, truly gave us ‘the good life’ in Minnesota.

And for that matter, so too did all of the Andersons/sen.

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Harold Stassen (second from left) joins the three Andersons/sens in 1989.

C. Elmer (far left), Wendell (third), and Elmer L. Andersen (far right)

Photo via The Star Tribune

CHAPTER TWO

Ray, Washington’s First Female Governor,

Known for Bluntness and Idiosyncrasies

Historic Quote: A nuclear-power plant is infinitely safer than eating because 300 people choke to death on food every year. - Dixy Lee Ray in one of her many Dixyisms.

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Photo courtesy of jackgordon.org

T here was once a frank, female Governor from the northwest who surprised pundits by winning her primary, antagonized the state’s senior Senator and powerful Appropriator of her own party, often quarreled with the Legislature, women, and environmentalists and who generated many an unflattering headline. If you think I’m referring to Sarah Palin, guess again? It is Dixy Lee Ray, the first female Governor of Washington S tate.

If Ray’s predecessor, Daniel Evans, knew how to bring people together, Ray was a polar opposite. A case in point is her core mission in life: atomic energy. She had little tolerance for those who opposed it and of its risks. Her reasoning: There is no evidence that survivors of the Hiroshima bombings have suffered any more cancer than anyone else, including the second generation. The problems facing the nuclear industry are largely raised by fears of the public, but we all know that fear requires ignorance.

Ray was a Democrat, but had no party affiliation until deciding to run for Governor. And were she alive today, she’d almost certainly be aligned with the GOP.

Unlike Palin, what was most notable about Ray’s success at attaining the Governorship was that, at the start of 1976, she was not on anyone’s radar screen as a candidate. In fact, no one knew who she was. No one!

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Where Dixy went, the dog followed – and not always by choice

Photo courtesy of the Washington Secretary of State

Ray had sat on the Atomic Energy Commission, an appointment made by a Republican, Richard Nixon because, it was said, he needed to give more posts to women. For Ray’s background was not even in science. It was in marine biology. Nonetheless, she’d travel to the other Washington with her camper (where she’d reside), and her dogs, a poodle and a 100 pound Scottish deerhound. She’d return that same way in March 1976 when she announced her bid for Governor.

The dogs defined Ray. They were everywhere; her personal office, official meetings, social events, hanging out of her Jaguar window, even, as the Seattle Times noted on her death, at the posh Ranier Club.

Ex-GOP House Speaker Duane Berentson would quip that in Dixy’s eyes, the dogs were certainly at least as important as us. State Senator Hubert Donohue added he always felt if the dogs didn’t growl at me, I was doing okay. One day, a legislator accidentally sat on the dog. He would soon realize the gravity of his error. Ray would relocate a maximum-security prison in that man’s district.

Another thing that defined Ray was her gender. Or not promoting it. By the time she became Chair of the Atomic Energy Committee, she insisted on being called the Chair man. She explained I’m fully aware that there is nothing more dangerous to life, at the moment, than the destructiveness I have knowledge of. But my burden and responsibility doesn’t lose me a night’s sleep. It’s a myth of modern society that women are clinging vines.

And as Governor, she did little to promote the ERA. In fact, she’d sign a bill sun-setting the Washington State Women’s Council. She once admonished a group of female activists to stop brooding about being a woman. If you want to do something, then train yourself and you’ve got to be willing to work.

Once Governor, Ray’s sister, who was also her secretary as hostess at state functions, convinced her to shed her men’s shirts for blouses, and to get rid of her trademark knee socks.

When Ray announced for Governor, Seattle Mayor Wes Uhlman was generally thought the man to beat. But he had his own problems, stemming from poor relations with Seattle’s Labor Unions. He was also hampered by the candidacy of lawyer Marvin Durning, who had much support from the left. Uhlman recognized Ray’s appeal in some segments early, and sought to blunt her momentum. He spent $300,000, called her inexperienced, and campaigned hard to win over rural votes. The result was a near photo finish. Ray emerged the winner by 7,000 votes, 38-37%.

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Historylink.org

The fall campaign was equally tough. King County Executive John Spellman had won the GOP nod easily, and seemed to have a unified party behind him. Ray meanwhile, was slow to coalesce support from Democrats, including her chief rivals. Uhlmann offered lukewarm support, while Durning refused to say whether he supported her at all.

Meanwhile, Spellman would be hampered somewhat by Ray’s gender, as he could never be certain whether voters would take to attacks on her. As for her personality, she’d say, Dixy bubbled. And that was infectious.

And her positions were enough to gain at least some conservatives, and she won 54-46%, after which she popped open champagne and bellowed, How sweet it is! When asked how she won, Ray replied, It can’t be because I’m so pretty?

It didn’t take her long for Washingtonians to realize that Ray was not warm and fuzzy. She dismissed Evans’ staff, making the case that no one owns a job. From now on, we’ll send them a Kleenex at the time they’re fired if they’re going to be a crybaby. She alienated the media by getting rid of early morning press conferences and named 11 of her piglets after a member of the press (she’d later proceed to offer them sausages the pigs had laid). Instead, she’d get to the public by forums.

Still, Ray had many-a-lines which would become known as Dixyisms. On an oil spill, she’d say, Clearly its major effect is on birds. . . and that is not happy. I hate to say this, but birds die every day. In every major oil spill, marine life has recovered in a year. On averages, beware of them. The average person has one breast and one testicle." Ungubernatorial? One couldn’t be too surprised as these thoughts were uttered by a woman who reportedly didn’t know the difference between the state ecology department and the federal EPA.

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At her desk and wearing her senior power button at a forum

Photos courtesy of the Washington Secretary of State

Later in her tenure, she’d close a state mental hospital and, as Congressional Quarterly noted, slash(ed) state funds available for dental care for the elderly and day care of mothers in job training. And she was staunchly pro-development. Her unyielding style would make her relations with the Legislature poor.

On one occasion, State Representative Steve Tupper asked a question on behalf of a constituent on why money was being used to build a new prison when a facility was already in existence. Ray’s response: you tell you’re constituent to go to hell. Tupper wasn’t shocked. Once she makes up her mind that’s the end of discussion.

Residents didn’t approve either. Bumper stickers would say Nix on Dixy. By the end of her first year, a local reporter would write She is iconoclastic, and she wastes no time in taking up the cudgels.

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Some might call Ray’s circus-like (left) appropriate because she was thought

to bring clownish inclinations to the job; Right, Ray tests an airbag

Photos via Historic Images

Born in Tacoma, Ray quickly carved out a niche as the tomboy. Her name alone is worthy of tidbits. Her birthname was Marguerite, but as a child, she was often called, little dickens. Dixie sounded too girlish for the tomboy. So Dixy" was fitting. As for her middle name: she was said to have chosen that after Civil War General Robert E. Lee.

It was when her father — for whom she’d later become estranged, bought a farm at Fox Island that she developed an appreciation for unpleasant, creepy, crawly things, and thus, the outdoors. She joined the girl scouts at 10 and reached the summit of Mount Ranier at age 12.

Ray would become a zoology instructor at the University of Washington, the only woman on the faculty at that time. She’d stay for 27 years. The Washington Secretary of State website said she dazzled students with her lively approach to marine biology and her memory for names, faces and details.

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Ray had notoriously poor relations with the press

Image via the Washington Secretary of State

Ray would later go on to host a local television show on animals and was credited with revitalizing the Pacific Science Center, which she directed. The Seattle Maritime Society would make her it’s a man of the year, the first woman to attain such an honor.

Magnuson had blocked Ray’s bid to serve on a federal science commission, but deferred to scoop Jackson when he had recommended her or the Atomic Energy Commission. But her chief advocacy was atomic energy, letting opponents in on its positive uses, which she noted was infinite. There is no question that the nuclear industry comes off very well, she said. On control, she’d say, the reality is that zero defects in products plus zero pollution plus zero risk on the job is equivalent to maximum growth of government plus zero economic growth plus runaway inflation.

Eventually, she became assistant secretary of state for oceans and international environmental and scientific affairs. It was when she complained that Henry Kissinger was ignoring her advice that Ray returned to the other Washington to exert influence in state politics. And did she succeed.

Her commitment to atomic energy was fierce, and so became her rivalry with Magnuson. He said the state is not going to be a dumping ground for nuclear waste and there are not going to be any oil tankers on Puget Sound. And from his perch as Appropriations Chair, he inserted a little amendment into a bill to prohibit just that.

How did Ray respond? By telling her inner circle that Magnuson, 74, was no spring chicken and as such, recruiting potential successors in the event that he would be unable to serve his term. Among the names: Senate Majority Leader Doug Walgren, if he would help her legislatively. Magnuson vowed to seek re-election and said his seat was not available to bargaining (ultimately, he’d be unseated for re-election by Republican Slade Gorton).

With all of her eccentricities, one might think Ray would be less than the average boss? They’d be right. One person very well-connected in the Washington State political scene during Ray’s tenure said she could be endearing and gracious. But not surprisingly, she also had a reputation for being quite difficult. A notorious story involved her chief aide at the Pacific Science Center who was engaged. The aide had told her months before that the wedding was to be held one Saturday and asked if it would be a problem for him to not work that day. She had told him it would not be. As the event approached, he reminded Ray who stunningly switched course. She told him that if he didn’t come to work that Saturday, he should not bother returning at all (never mind that Ray herself made it a practice to not work Saturdays). The aide kept his job. But he quickly found another job to get out of working with Dixy.

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Being interviewed along with fellow Northwestern Governors

Photo via Boise State University, Albertson’s Library

The most notable crisis during her tenure was the eruption of Mt. St. Helen in 1980. She’d be criticized for not doing enough to communicate with local officials.

For her 1980 re-election campaign, Ray would receive a staunch challenge from Jim McDermott. Though the state party would not offer an endorsement, McDermott was buoyantly cheered and Ray exited the building. She started off well ahead in the polls and her ties to industry (she was called the best friend business ever had), gave her a big money edge over McDermott. But by late-summer, but when he was seen within striking distance of her, that changed. She charged he was in favor of pornography, prostitution, and pot for supporting the Democratic platform.

Among Ray’s defectors: Blair Butterworth, a former campaign consultant, who would say later, We thought she would be the best governor Washington ever had, or the worst, and we were right. McDermott beat her by 87,000 votes but would go on to lose the general to Spellman.

After her term ended, Ray returned to her farm on Fox Island to raise animals. But she’d continue commenting on issues, local and national almost to her dying day. She’d author two books with a senior advisor, Ray Guzzo, Trashing the Planet and Environmental Overkill. Chernobyl, she said, was not a catastrophe. And five days before her death, she’d say: Everybody is exposed to radiation. A little bit more or a little bit less is of no consequence.

Guzzo called Ray, a scientist above all else, and told it like it is. Unfortunately, in politics, that can be hurtful. She really wasn’t a politician.

She passed away in 1994 at 79. Whatever one’s partisan persuasion, all agree that few will see the likes of her again.

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Photo courtesy of the Washington Secretary of State

CHAPTER THREE

Whitcomb’s Political Career An Afterthought

To His Harrowing War Story

Historic Quote: My only hope is that none of the shells has Dayton Drachenberg written on it. – Drayton Drachenberg, a war comrade of future Indiana Governor Edgar Whitcomb following a gun battery explosion that killed a number of men. Drachenberg was seriously wounded when a bullet struck his helmet during a future attack. Whitcomb was by his side.

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Whitcomb’s official Gubernatorial portrait

Photo via the Indiana Archives

T he tombstone that Thomas Jefferson designed made no mention of the fact that he had ever been President of the United States. Edgar Whitcomb probably hasn’t composed his own epitaph, but to hear him tell his story, what most would consider his most prominent achievement—Governor of Indiana—might be of secondary importance. It’s easy to see why. The man who presided as Chief Executive of the Hoosier State for four years lived a life before and after that could fill a book of amazing missions – of heroism, of national veneration, of adventure and multiple ordeals you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemies. For Whitcomb was fighting America’s worst enemies, staring them in the eye – and win ning.

Whitcomb’s story may not have been a Mr. Smith who became Governor but more like the Governor who became Mr. Smith. And at 98, it suits him just fine. Having undergone a harrowing wartime ordeal involving brutal interrogations and dodging death by the Japanese—and sharks—at least twice, he also made a solo trip across the Atlantic in a minuscule boat at the age of 73 and is now the oldest living ex-Governor in the nation, residing in an Ohio River barge town of 36 after selling the 144-acre mansion called Heaven that he owned in Rome, Indiana. Whitcomb has done it all.

That Whitcomb is now an ordinary man belies the fact that early on, he had anything but an ordinary life. His World War II experiences were hell on earth. In 1942, he spent 15 days in a Japanese POW camp where many were brutally killed. When he escaped—swimming with sharks for eight hours in the South China Sea to get away—you’d think that would be all he had to endure. Not even close. Whitcomb relived nearly the same nightmare when he was captured a second time, only to manage an escape yet again. He then took on another ordeal.

Whitcomb’s fidelity to Indiana has lasted his whole life, with the exception of a two-month stint in Washington D.C. during the 1988 Presidential campaign when he moved to there to assist the campaign of the recently tapped Vice-Presidential nominee who also happened to be his former assistant, Dan Quayle. He served as deputy chairman of Senior Citizens for Bush/Quayle.

Whitcomb was born the year of World War I in Hayden. He enrolled at the University of Indiana but soon enlisted in the Army Air Corps. He trained at the Pan-American Airways at Miami University and was a graduate of the first class of the school’s Navigators. At the time of his capture, he was assigned to the 93rd Bombardment Squadron and was stationed near Clark Field in the Philippines, operating Tail Number 87.

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Whitcomb during war

Whitcomb never thought it possible for a Pearl Harbor to occur. If the Japanese are foolish enough to start something, it’ll be over in six months, he recalled thinking later. In fact, as John Shively explains in Profiles in Survival: The Experiences of American POWs in the Philippines, when the island was actually struck, Whitcomb thought it was a joke until they were attacked a few days later—his B-17 and every other was damaged while more than 100 people were killed. He and the remaining troops soon headed toward Manila until settling in the jungles of the Bataan Peninsula, where, as Shively notes, they arrived on Christmas Eve. A short time later, most of the men were sent to Mindanao, but Whitcomb was left behind because the radio skills he had acquired were necessary to hook up the air fields to guard against the Japanese (years later he wrote, It seemed strange to me that there was not someone there who was already trained for such duty until I learned that the regular cryptographers had been moved to Corregidor or to bomb group headquarters). They were hampered for weeks by a lack of promised aid and, on at least one occasion, a ship containing help being sunk by the Japanese. Whitcomb himself would be blindsided by several bouts with malaria at this time and throughout the war but when better he was made a liaison officer because his radio skills were deemed necessary to advise central command of incoming developments. One day, he was forced to eat monkey.

The relative tranquility of the Bataan was soon extinguished when the Japanese soon took over that island as well. Whitcomb had to lead 20 men to another post (Kilometer post 184). To his horror, the men realized when they arrived that the Generals were preparing to completely surrender to the Japanese, and Whitcomb and the troops were ordered to throw their pistols in the pile. When he heard that, he was flabbergasted (POW … most devastating thing that could happen to you). He complied with the weapon but wasn’t about to give himself up. By luck, he didn’t need to.

When another bombing raid took place at that very moment, Whitcomb retrieved his weapon, encountered two other friends, Jim Dey, a bombardier and John Renka, a B17 pilot, and got out of Dodge by way of finding a vehicle with the keys still in it. Lest they needed another reminder of the ugliness of war, the trio passed a group of Filipino civilians waving the white flag of surrender, only to watch in horror as the Japanese deposited bombs on them moments later. At that point, they encountered a boat with other Filipinos preparing to leave for Corregidor, got on and bought pineapples from some of their shipmates, though it wasn’t a bargain. They made it and, despite the incessant bombings by the enemy, were relatively safe. But Whitcomb’s real goal was to make it to Australia where troops were desperately needed and the group was introduced to Col. John Laughinghouse who, suspecting a ship would be sent for them soon, added their names to a list. In the meantime, they were put to work and Whitcomb was put on beach defense. He explained later in his memoirs how he found that I had been put in charge of an antiquated British seventy-five millimeter rifle, the likes I had never seen except in parades by veterans of World War 1 back home. His cavalry included nine Filipino soldiers and one American third-lieutenant. Before long, danger forced them off Corregidor as well. Whitcomb met Bill Harris and the two decided to swim off the island for their lives.

Their goal was to make it back to the Bataan—two and a half miles away—and they used the lights as a guide. The trip was not without setbacks. Rain made the waves heavy and Whitcomb and Harris were separated briefly. More ominously, they eventually realized they had followed the wrong lights and were nearly back at Corregidor. We estimated that we had been in the water more than two hours, and we were no more than one-fourth of a mile from where we had started. They had no choice but to continue on, and as Shively writes, Throughout the long night, he never seemed to tire to the point where he thought he couldn’t make it. Indeed, Whitcomb said that to this day, people often ask him how he could have survived his ordeal. His response: I say, how could you stop? Swimming became mechanical. On and on and on, like walking, hour after hour. We did not swim hard or fast but we kept a steady gait.

They arrived at Bataan just as morning was dawning—after eight hours in the water—then collapsed into a deep sleep, which lasted all day. For days, they wandered. A man gave them food. They wandered into numerous Filipino towns and had an extended stay in one where he and Harris met two other Marines. Eventually, the quartet could not come to an agreement over when to sail (Whitcomb vociferously argued against a voyage during the daytime to avoid being spotted but the others felt more distance could be made) and they split up.

Whitcomb was then introduced to two other Americans, Ralph Conrad and Frank Bacon, who had also planned to go to Australia. But while Whitcomb had previously been lucky in that all of the Filipinos he had come across were friendly, that luck had to run out. That happened in Tayabas Bay when the group they encountered turned them over to the Japanese who promptly took them to Fort Santiago interrogation camp (where, a report from the American Veterans Center Conference later noted, nine out of ten who went in didn’t come out alive). Whitcomb was separated from Conrad and Bacon and thrown into a cell with twelve other men of different races where speaking was forbidden—and sitting up straight, as opposed to lying down, was a requirement for twelve hours a day.

If that wasn’t considered torture, it would come soon enough. Whitcomb was beaten mercilessly with a wooden pipe while under hours of interrogation from a Japanese guard. The guard was trying to extract information from Whitcomb