Laws and Order

SACRAMENTO — It’s Hell Week in the Capitol. In the next few days, state lawmakers will pass or discard 559 bills. Work days will stretch past midnight. Forget about lunch. Dinner is gobbled at the desk, with a side of antacid.

Like lawyers with clients in jeopardy, lobbyists crowd the hallway making last-minute pleas for their bills.

It’s an invigorating, fatiguing rush toward adjournment of the 1999 legislative session, and a frenetic end to the initiation of Ventura County’s two newest lawmakers--Assembly members Hannah-Beth Jackson and Tony Strickland.

In the past 10 months, the newcomers found their places in the freshman class. Both have become leaders. But they have learned some tough lessons along the way.

Midway through the chaotic final week, Jackson, a Democrat and lawyer whose public directness sometimes belies her private amiability, is taught a lesson in humility. Even though her party holds a solid majority in the Assembly, her bill to provide winter shelter for homeless people has stalled.

A previous version passed the Assembly with 61 of 80 votes, and she had expected no trouble getting the two-thirds majority to pass it again. But she needed six Republican votes, and several have risen to argue against it.

Usually articulate and fast on her feet, she is now nearly speechless.

“This bill is for Vietnam vets with no place to sleep,” mutters the frustrated lawmaker at the back of the ornate Assembly chamber. “Why are they jerking them around?”

Actually, it’s more personal than that. The Ventura lawyer may be the Assembly’s brightest new Democratic star, but the Republicans didn’t like the way she got in their faces the night before when they opposed a bill to force HMOs to pay for women’s contraception.

“In this building, in this atmosphere, it pays to be nice,” whispers Republican Assembly leader Scott Baugh of Huntington Beach as Jackson frets. “That’s what’s going on right now.”

It takes Jackson two full days--and requires the help of Assembly Speaker Antonio Villaraigosa (D-Los Angeles)--to kick the bill loose.

“I never said I was perfect,” Jackson says later. “And I would concede there are some areas where I need a little seasoning. This is one of them.”

In turn, Strickland had to face up to his own shortcomings. In exchanges with top Democratic leaders in those final days, the affable former athlete seemed overmatched and, critics say, superficial in his approach to complex issues.

“He’s game,” said Sheila Kuehl, the Santa Monica Democrat who chairs the Assembly Judiciary Committee. “But it would help if he had better facts when he engages in these debates.”

Jackson, Strickland Political Opposites

The final days of Jackson’s and Strickland’s first year as lawmakers further defined a pair of political bookends--a liberal Democrat and a conservative Republican, opposites except in their love of sports and penchant for hard work.

As Strickland said after the Assembly’s Sept. 10 adjournment, his strengths are Jackson’s weaknesses, and vice versa.

A veteran family law attorney, Jackson, 49, is highly intelligent and a talented orator with a flair for debate and detailed analysis. But her critics, including some Democrats, say she needs to ratchet down her passion--that she can make the same points without offending colleagues.

“She’s always saying things like, ‘I’m appalled,’ or ‘it’s unconscionable,’ ” said Rod Pacheco (R-Riverside), the former Assembly minority leader. “When she disagrees with us, she demonizes us. Her statements to folk who disagreed with her on the contraception bill were incredibly insulting.”

And in a town where likability may be as important as brilliance or eloquence, her huggability rating hardly rivals that of the boyish Strickland, 29, the Assembly’s youngest member.

A huge man at 6 foot 5 and 260 pounds, the former small-college basketball star says his greatest strengths show through in one-on-one conversation or in speeches to small groups.

Strickland, first and foremost, is a friendly guy who says he sees no advantage in confrontation.

But Strickland, a self-described B student at Whittier College, can also come across as either ill-prepared or unable to communicate what he knows.

“Tony is immature in the way he just jumps at things and speaks out without knowing what he’s talking about,” said Democrat Richard Floyd, a curmudgeonly 17-year assemblyman from Carson. “And I’d hate for someone to give him an IQ test--he’d fail. I’d fail too, but he’d fail miserably.”

Others disagree, pointing out that Strickland was formerly legislative chief of staff for Assemblyman Tom McClintock (R-Chatsworth), and was appointed the Republicans’ Assembly whip before he had served a day because of his political savvy.

Strickland remains a Republican leader on the Assembly floor, and he is his party’s point man on the powerful Health Committee that handled key HMO reforms this year.

“I think Hannah Beth is the star of our class,” said another first-term assemblyman, Alan Lowenthal (D-Long Beach). “But I also think Tony stands out. He has carried a lot of Republican positions, and he is not afraid to speak out.”

Lowenthal, a professor at Long Beach State University, gave Jackson a grade of 10 on a 1-to-10 scale for her overall abilities as a lawmaker. But he also gave Strickland a good mark of 7.

“And I don’t usually give Republicans high marks,” he said.

Strickland Bill Pushed Reagan License Plate

This rating game cuts both ways.

Minority leader Baugh gives Strickland 10s for knowledge of bills, lawmaking effectiveness and overall ability, but awards Jackson 7s. Baugh says Strickland would have been even more effective than Jackson if he had been a member of the majority party.

He cites Strickland’s ability to push a bill creating a Ronald Reagan license plate through a Democrat-controlled Legislature as a sign of Strickland’s acumen. When Democrats balked, Strickland enlisted Nancy Reagan’s support and got thousands of Reaganites to shower lawmakers with letters supporting the measure.

“Democrats aren’t interested in allowing Republicans to advance feel-good bills,” Baugh said. “So his license plate bill is an example of how his tenaciousness overcame all odds.”

Kuehl, meanwhile, says Jackson rates a 10 across the board. But she rates Strickland just a 2 for knowledge and 5 for effectiveness. She says Strickland seems preoccupied with frivolous bills, such as his Reagan plate, and not the important issues of the day. Kuehl says Jackson is “the best and the brightest” of her class.

“She is one of the finest speakers on the floor,” Kuehl said. “And she has a lot of respect from people on both sides of the aisle.”

Jackson gives herself a 10 for knowledge and an 8 for effectiveness. “Maybe I should make that a 7,” she quips after her difficulties during the final week.

But she notes 10 of her 16 bills passed the Legislature and are awaiting Gov. Gray Davis’ signature. They include packages of reforms on domestic violence and coastal water pollution.

Jackson may be proudest of the $90 million in coastal pollution money placed in the Democrats’ $1.9-billion water bond package. She rallied 13 members from coastal counties to demand some relief, then lobbied the governor.

“Twice I found myself with him [Davis] on the same Southwest flight to Sacramento, so he was a captive audience,” Jackson said. “I told him about the problems we were having along the coast with runoff and septic tanks.”

Strickland rates himself a 10.

“The Reagan plate shows I can work both sides of the aisle,” he said. “The best politicians are not the ones who are able to give the best speeches, but the ones who are able to work with people. That’s my best attribute.”

Three of Strickland’s 13 bills passed, he said, despite his position in the minority party. In addition to the Reagan plate, a Strickland bill on behalf of the Arthur Murray Dance Studio in Thousand Oaks will remove a $3,750 limit on studio contracts if signed by the governor. A third bill--dubbed the Boy Scout Bill--allows minors to volunteer for work on construction sites with their parents’ permission.

Arrival During Period of Political Detente

Jackson and Strickland arrived at a time that might be called the Era of Good Feelings in the Assembly. The leaders of both parties, Baugh and Villaraigosa, decided to try to just get along.

“Antonio and I have agreed that we’ll disagree on policies,” Baugh said, “but we won’t poke each other in the eye. And we’ll extend courtesies when we can.”

This political detente is one reason why some Republicans took offense to Jackson’s impassioned stance in support of a bill requiring insurance companies to pay for contraception.

“I’m deeply offended that here in 1999 it’s a group of men who are standing up and just telling us what we should be doing and . . . opposing our right to reproductive choice,” Jackson said after several Republican men criticized the bill by Sen. Jackie Speier (D-Daly City).

“When an employer provides Viagra, you have to ask yourself why that same employer can deny contraceptive care,” Jackson added. “On behalf of the women in this state I object and deeply resent you telling us how we are to live our lives.”

The remarks drew praise from Democratic lawmakers, but led to the Republicans’ anti-Jackson uprising the next day.

Yet, Jackson had no hint of the coming furor when she huddled with her staff members the next morning to plot strategy.

She has half a dozen bills coming to the Assembly floor. “Give me a card on each one,” she says, “on who I need to talk to.”

She’s most concerned about a proposed law that would require offshore derricks to move oil to shore in pipelines, not tankers, a measure intended to reduce the chance of spills.

But Big Oil is weighing in big time.

“The oil folks are putting on the full-court press in the Assembly,” Jackson says. “They’ve been in talking to [Democratic] members. So I’m in talking to them too.”

Two floors below, where a mock “Gipper” license plate adorns the office door, Strickland is already well into his workday, though he has no bills pending.

He was in at 7 a.m. to meet with a lobbyist from the California Manufacturers Assn. “to build up a relationship.” He has presented a resolution to the state Senate to ask Congress for higher Medicare payments for nursing home patients. He has met with other top Assembly Republicans to plan strategy.

“So it’s 10 o’clock, and I’ve already had an action-packed day,” Strickland says with a wide smile.

By the time Jackson and Strickland reach the floor, dozens of lobbyists have gathered in a nearby hallway that links the Assembly and Senate chambers, a crowded strip one lobbyist called “Our Village.” Televisions are mounted near the ceiling so members can watch the floor debate while chatting with those seeking their votes.

On the floor, Democrats are still talking about Jackson’s impressive performance in two speeches the night before.

But Republicans are still steamed.

And when Jackson’s homeless shelter bill comes up, they spring.

One after another, they complain her bill is far different than the original--more costly and duplicative of another that already passed. They insist she send it back to committee. They finally adjourn into a private Republican caucus before voting on the bill. There, Republicans say later, Jackson is the topic of caustic conversation.

By then it’s clear Jackson doesn’t have her 54 votes--and she credits the roadblock to Republican frustration with being a toothless minority.

She approaches Baugh privately to mend fences. Still, it languishes.

The next day, during a debate on another issue, Jackson is confronted with lingering bad feelings. Assemblyman George House (R--Modesto), a church minister whom she mentioned specifically in her comments about men interfering with women’s rights, turns to her and says, “Well, Miss Jackson, some things we don’t get over.”

Yet, some lawmakers say the Republicans’ problem with Jackson may have as much to do with her gender as her style.

“When a man is tough and decisive and direct, they call him a leader,” said Assemblyman Jim Cunneen (R-Campbell), a moderate. “But when a woman does that, people say she is cold.”

Finally, on the Friday closing day, Jackson’s homeless shelter bill is passed. A deal had been cut with Republicans to pass a few of their bills, in exchange for several Democratic bills in trouble, Jackson said.

“The bottom line,” she said, “is that I speak up on issues that are important to me. And that is not going to change.”

Meanwhile, Strickland has run into a verbal buzz saw. Democrat Robert Hertzberg, the rules committee chairman, is championing his own women’s contraception bill. Strickland rises to ask why Hertzberg is not supporting the same “conscience clause” he once backed that exempted employers, such as Roman Catholic institutions, from the proposed law.

Hertzberg flares that the bill last session was part of a different package. “I challenge you,” he yells across the room at Strickland. “Don’t make that argument!” The presiding officer ends the debate before Strickland can respond.

Hertzberg turns his back to Strickland. Then the burly young member walks across the room and puts his around around his elder’s shoulder.

“Did you see that,” Hertzberg marvels later. “He came over and there was no animosity. Tony has done a masterful job of reaching across the aisle without compromising on things that are important to him.”

“I really like him,” said the big Democrat of the big Republican. “I just don’t agree with him much. He lost, but he was a gentleman.”

Strickland, Jackson Plan Next Campaigns

Strickland and Jackson are already planning their next campaigns. After all, since their terms last only two years, they are always running for reelection.

In August, Strickland raised about $30,000, including large sums from the health and insurance industries, he says. That puts him at about $100,000 for the year, still not close to the $430,000 he spent last time to edge Democrat schoolteacher Roz McGrath.

Strickland’s only opposition so far is Port Hueneme Councilman Jon Sharkey, a Democrat.

As she drops back into her district in mid-September, Jackson has marked “FUND-RAISING” in capital letters in her to-do book. She has about $70,000 in the bank. But she spent more than $850,000 last fall to beat B-movie actor Chris Mitchum, who spent even more.

Jackson says she hears Mitchum might be interested in running again.

But for now, Strickland and Jackson are reveling in their return home.

After 8 1/2 months of living mostly in Sacramento, they are trying to resume the rhythms of normal family life.

“I get to sleep in my own bed every night, and that’s a very big benefit,” says Strickland, who has been married less than two years.

But the first thing he did when he got home from Sacramento after an all-night drive one recent Saturday was to collapse just as his wife was rising to take his place at American Cancer Society events in Oxnard and Thousand Oaks.

Audra Strickland, 25, a teacher at Temple Christian School in Ventura, said she is used to the routine, since she once worked for state lawmakers. The couple met at the 1996 state Republican Convention and were married at the Richard M. Nixon Presidential Library last year. They now live near Moorpark College, in a modest house they bought in July.

“I definitely miss him, but it makes us communicate a little bit more when he’s not right here all the time,” she said. “And I have an understanding of the process. When we met I was up in Sacramento working a bill, and he was down here running Tom McClintock’s campaign. So we’ve got this thing down.”

For Jackson, the Sunday-Thursday absences in Sacramento have been more problematic.

Husband George Eskin, a retired Ventura attorney, has accommodated her schedule by running family errands and shuttling daughter Jennie about. He admits to a little loneliness, but cheers his wife’s success and marvels at her unbridled joy in her new profession.

But Jennie, 15, was a tougher sell. “It was so much harder to display how great or how bad my day was over the phone,” Jennie said.

But Jennie learned to appreciate what her mother does when she worked as a volunteer in Democratic Assemblywoman Dion Aroner’s (D-Berkeley) office for five weeks this summer. The mother and daughter left for work together at 6 a.m. and returned at 10 p.m., but were too busy to see much of each other in between, the daughter said.

“It was kind of unbelievable,” Jennie said. “My mom was making laws that affect me and my friends.”

And Jennie heard a lot about her mother from lobbyists and lawmakers at lunch and in Aroner’s office. “They’d just rave about her.”

But that wasn’t a surprise, she said. “I always knew my mom was a stud.”

About This Series

“County Report: The Making of a Legislator” describes the education and maturation of Ventura County’s two new legislators. This final installment chronicles how they earned the respect of colleagues while learning some hard lessons.