AUSTIN --- This being the season of thanksgiving, I am come to
toast Bob Eckhardt, the great Texas congressman, who died last week at 88.
We owe him thanks and are so lucky to have had him with us. What a rare one.
And a lot of fun, too.
If ever a politician of the 20th century deserved the title
"legislator," it was Eckhardt -- legal scholar, craftsman, steeped to his
bones in the constitution, law and history. They called him, "The House's
lawyer." The only politician I ever knew who could write a bill so that it
did precisely what it was intended to do, and did nothing it was not
intended to do, with a vision lasting past generations.
He was a character and a camper, a carpenter and a cartoonist, a
cheapskate, a horseman, swimmer, devoted if slightly absent-minded father,
drinker of whiskey and Shiner draft beer, story-teller, freedom-fighter,
labor lawyer, environmentalist, anti-racist -- and all this long, long
before it was ever fashionable or p.c. At least 60 years ago, someone said
to his mother, "Mrs. Eckhardt, your son is just a little too cozy with the
Nigras, don't you think?" She replied sweetly: "Oh, I'm afraid that's my
fault. I raised him to be a Christian."
He had the accent and the aspect of an aristocratic, if slightly
scruffy Southern gentleman -- flowing mane, bowtie-askew, not-quite-white
suit, planter's hat, biking through the heat of Washington summers to the
Capitol. I have beside me the remnants of a bottle of MacAllan scotch he
left at my house a few weeks ago: "It taastes just as goood, and it's ten
dollahs cheapah."
The New York Times said of him: "A congressman who looked one
part but played another for 14 years" (1967 to 1981). Actually, he didn't
play any part, he was just a natural anomaly. "How could a may-an with an
accent like this be a liberal?" he would inquire, poking fun at himself. If
we could nominate anyone from our time to go back and talk with Jefferson,
Adams, Hamilton and Franklin, Eckhardt would be the man.
Lynn Coleman, former general counsel of the Department of
Energy, said Eckhardt was a man of the 18th century, meaning a time before
specialists and experts, when an educated man was familiar with all the
universe of knowledge. The quality of his of his mind was just striking.
Ronnie Dugger wrote of him 30 years ago: "Profoundly intelligent,
well-informed, wise and humane. He does his own thinking." His mind was like
an eagle, soaring high, strong and free, with exceptional vision that, once
locked on a subject, did not let go.
His ability to focus was so complete, he was often oblivious to
his surroundings. Eckhardt was once deeply involved in a conversation with
his friend Tommy Sutherland, professor of southwestern literature and father
of seven daughters, when a covey of naked little girls, fresh out of the
bath, came racing into the room. They swarmed up the sofa where Eckhardt and
Sutherland were talking, ran across the back, climbed down the other side
and raced out of the room. Neither Tommy nor Bob ever looked up.
Unlike most brilliant and independent thinkers, Eckhardt
actually enjoyed the legislative process. He would re-draft bills endlessly
to accommodate input from his colleagues. The people at the House
Legislative Counsel, the specialized office that actually writes bills, were
always thrilled and challenged when dealing with an Eckhardt bill because
they knew he would read every word and catch every mistake. He loved
discussing abstract ideas such a social justice, but his genius was for
turning them into the concrete, creating legislation and moving it through
the process.
Eckhardt had the old-fashioned notion that one ought to listen
to one's colleagues. It took a dozen staffers to keep him on schedule, and
when he was AWOL, they would often look in the House and find him engaged in
debate on a subject far removed from his own committee assignments but about
which he was well-informed. He could learn anything, said Coleman, to the
point where he could engage in debate with any expert -- a brilliant
generalist. Too bright to be bored, during lulls in the legislative process
he would draw wonderful caricatures of his colleagues, a priceless
collection now with the Barker Texas History Center.
But a politician he was not. He was terrible at glad-handing and
even worse at asking for money. It's amazing he lasted as long as he did,
given that his Houston district was the epicenter of the petrochemical
industry. He was the brains behind the Clean Air Act and believed in
regulating the price of natural gas. It was typical of Eckhardt to put what
he thought was good for the country ahead of his own political life. He
thought he represented people, not industry -- and as Joe Gunn of the Texas
AFL-CIO said at his service, "Every working man and woman in Texas should
know his name, and even if they don't, their lives are better because he was
there."
He also served in the Texas Legislature during the 1950s, and
former Sen. Babe Schwartz said, "The beaches of Texas will be open to her
people for all generations because of Bob Eckhardt."
To find out more about Molly Ivins and read features by other
Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate web
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COPYRIGHT 2001 CREATORS SYNDICATE, INC.
