Jobless, No Car, Lives in Motel--and Makes New Hampshire Law

The words came out differently over the years. But relatives, acquaintances, co-workers, friends always meant the same thing: You can’t. You’ll never make anything of yourself. Don’t even try.

He is 53, learning disabled, and has no phone, no car, no permanent residence other than a modest room at the Cadillac Motel. His working life has been a series of fits and starts; he has been unemployed for years. He subsists on Social Security and the occasional odd job.

So when Peter Leonard stood before the speaker of his state’s House of Representatives in her wood-paneled corner office, the four simple words she spoke told a very important story.

The speaker said this:

“Good morning, Rep. Leonard.”

*

For newly minted state Rep. Peter F. Leonard (D-Manchester), legislative philosophy comes down to one thing: “I’m not a doctor, lawyer, judge, businessman. I’m me.”

That he is. In a sea of serious legislative faces, this is a man with a smile for everyone and a sincere, open demeanor that makes Forrest Gump seem standoffish.

Leonard wears a black raincoat, a longshoreman’s hat and a dark suit bearing a spangled “I love Jesus” pin and several others--a red ribbon for AIDS research, a pink ribbon for breast cancer research, an American/New Hampshire flag pin, a pin that says “I love you” in sign language, a guardian angel pin and a dove of peace.

Under his white shirt, a T-shirt with a large logo is visible. His ensemble is completed by athletic socks and black sneakers with Velcro straps.

Leonard was born in Manchester in 1944, grew up there and--he adds with no hesitation--was held back in kindergarten because of his difficulties with reading and spelling. Over the years, he married twice, divorced twice and had three children.

He worked on and off. For a time, he trolled Manchester’s streets with a pick and basket, removing trash for the city. He worked at a shoe shop. He did maintenance at the Palace Theater--a place he loved so much that he bought a tux for openings and lobbied, as a private citizen, for a handicapped-accessible ramp.

In 1983, after helping count votes for years, he ran for selectman, Manchester’s equivalent of a minor election official. He came in fifth in a primary field of five. The following year, he tried again, that time for the statehouse.

“I’m French-Irish, and those are stubborn nationalities,” he says. “I just kept running.”

In November, he did it a seventh time, spending a total of $43 on fliers and a few signs. On Election Day, he greeted voters with his usual high hopes for winning one of the district’s three vacant seats from a field of four candidates.

Later, in the voting hall, when the clerk announced he’d won, “I jumped out of the chair and got this big smile on my face.”

When a picture of him in the newspaper a couple of days later made clear he was missing a front tooth, a dentist he’d never met fixed it for free.

A good thing, too: These days, when it comes to smiling, Peter Leonard can’t seem to stop.

*

On a recent rainy morning, Leonard reaches into the pocket of his raincoat and peels a business card from a 3-inch stack. Again, he grins.

He is standing in the Manchester bus station, awaiting the Concord Trailways bus that will take him on the half-hour ride to the capital and bring him back later that day, all for $5.55.

This particular morning, his second week in office, he has to check the status of his resolutions and get the schedule for the Transportation Committee, to which he has been assigned.

He’s already introduced legislation on handicapped accessibility, tree planting to avert mudslides, banning out-of-state sweepstakes and preserving vaudeville theaters. He keeps rumpled copies in his pocket.

Today, he has an appointment with House Speaker Donna Sytek.

“So you’ve introduced a lot of bills, I see,” Sytek says. Leonard is nervous, laughing a lot, talking about his plans.

“I’m willing to learn and I’m willing to help out,” he says.

“You’ve come to the right place,” Sytek replies.

In front of the Capitol building stands a statue of Daniel Webster, its presence carrying a message the Granite State believes in to this day: that legislatures composed of everyday citizens will help the nation endure.

In Webster’s day, the United States was an agrarian society and people like Thomas Jefferson believed lawmakers should step forward from the populace, offer their service for a time, then return to their farms.

Today, Americans find solace in lamenting the professionalization of politics. But that’s not as much of an issue in New Hampshire, where the 400 House members each receive $100 a year plus expenses.

Leonard’s district office--or what he considers one--is in downtown Manchester, at OK Parker’s, a bar and restaurant where Happy Trails meat snacks are four for $1, Bud is the beer of choice and two pool tables keep the customers busy.

He does odd jobs here--and takes constituent phone calls behind the bar, by the condiment rack.

Listen to voices from this neighborhood--some of the 1,130 people who elected him after seeing him walking the streets for so many years.

Nate Harris, owner of the N.H. Pawn Shop and a justice of the peace: “I appreciate candid people. And Peter is candid. Most politicians aren’t like that.”

Peter Tennant, an architect: “He is unorthodox, yes, but he’s doggedly persistent. Simply seeing the name on the ballot year after year, people eventually voted for him. He’s always talking to people--poking in, seeing what’s going on. His heart’s in the right place.”

Skip Calley, who runs Captain’s Pleasure Tobacco: “This is what it’s really about. Most people don’t understand what it’s like to have to take a bus from point A to point B. I think he’s going to give people in Concord a wake-up call. There’ll be no negotiating in the aisles with him.”

*

Another delicious moment in the recent life of Peter Leonard, streetsweeper-turned-lawmaker:

He stands in the gallery of the empty chamber that has been home to the New Hampshire House since 1819. He looks over the balcony, touches a railing with his thick, calloused hands. That grin appears again--the grin of a man who, denied a great deal for years, has been given a chance to contribute.

He is no legislative sophisticate. He knows that. The extent of his education knowledge is that he wants to make sure all kids get a good one. He pronounces the word “constituents” as “stiffchients.” He wants lower taxes, lower electric rates, a better downtown for Manchester and fair government for all.

Unhoned ideas--straight from a citizen’s mind.

He will learn, he says. He will not squander this opportunity, this man who has never been south of Boston and never entered the state Capitol until last month.

“They said I’d never amount to anything. I fooled them,” Peter Leonard says.

“I knew I could do this. I had the willpower to do it. And here I am. Down there”--he points to his chair--”that’s seat No. 78. That’s where I’m going to make a difference. And I’m going to do my very best.”