The Capitol After Hours: They No Longer Know How to Blush

An Oklahoma State Capital subscriber special edition: Jason Murphey draws on first-hand observations of the role alcohol has played inside the Oklahoma House of Representatives.

The following bonus article for this week contains publisher Jason Murphey’s observations of the role alcohol played in the Oklahoma House of Representatives, expanding on his observations from the week’s regular article, as a thank you to the paying subscribers of The Oklahoma State Capital.

In the past few days, in response to State Senator Shane Jett’s efforts to get the Capitol’s alcohol abuse problem under control, certain gaslighting legislators have greatly disrespected the electorate by pretending there isn’t an alcohol problem.

Alcohol fuels that place. It is one of the more sinister methods by which policymakers are manipulated and has been that way forever. The question isn’t whether it’s a problem—it always has been, dating back to territorial days. The real question is whether the problem has metastasized in recent years to the point that it is consuming a growing number of policymakers, instead of being isolated to a subset of those with particularly bad judgment.

I believe it is. Legislative leaders themselves demonstrate it. Charles McCall openly flaunts the rules against alcohol by going so far as to manufacture his own brand and distribute it within the Capitol building, where the rules expressly forbid alcohol. Julie Daniels, the Majority Floor Leader in the Senate, stands on the chamber floor and jokes—without embarrassment and in full public view—about bringing alcohol onto the Senate floor itself.

Or as that Bible verse in Jeremiah says, “Were they ashamed when they had committed abomination? Nay, they were not at all ashamed, neither could they blush.” The lack of caution—or embarrassment—is itself an indicator of the extent of the problem.

Those who would gaslight the public by pretending it isn’t happening are doing a special disservice to the people they are supposed to represent.

Do not mistake this for performative humor. If legislators are willing to joke about it in public, others are far more candid in private. These are the ones who talk about “having to go back to the office to get refreshed,” or who carry the unmistakable appearance and demeanor of an alcoholic, without any sense that their slowed wit, slurred speech and ruddy complexion are to be hidden.

As mentioned in this week’s article, fellow legislators—and certainly the special interests, who no doubt keep an index file of the foibles of their various targets—are well aware of this.

That article questioned the sobriety of Senator Casey Murdock by presenting video from the Senate floor on the final day of session. If Murdock was intoxicated, he certainly presented as an angry alcoholic—slowly pacing, menacing even, and speaking about “cutting the throat” of other senators.

Back in my day in the House of Representatives, our foremost resident alcoholic was a happy alcoholic. In fact, it was often preferable to deal with him when he was clearly intoxicated than when he was not. To some, this made the behavior seem harmless—until one day, likely under too much influence, he began bragging about things he was not supposed to be telling, to the wrong people. That had repercussions.

Let’s just say there are two systems of justice in Oklahoma: one for the politically connected, and another for those without that protection. If you fall into the latter category, you had better avoid even the perception of doing something underhanded. And you certainly should not trust the resident alcoholic with knowledge of such things.

Those legislators who are known for their drinking are easy marks. They are often sympathetic figures, driven to drink by who knows what personal circumstances or dispositions, and absolutely in the wrong, the absolute worse place to try to stay sober—The Oklahoma State Capitol. Alcohol fuels the lobbyist–legislator relationship, and once a legislator is relieved of the burden of paying for his own drinks, his already thin willpower has little chance of keeping him in a sober state.

It’s a sad deal, but as always, it’s best to deal with sadness, through humor. One of the more humorous examples of how this dynamic plays out behind the scenes came during the speakership of Kris Steele. At the time, the Republican caucus was split into two rival coalitions, evenly balanced in strength. Power moved back and forth between them with regularity, the speakership swinging like a pendulum as each faction took its turn at incredible power.

Steele’s coalition, however, had made a series of strategic missteps. As the session crept toward a major legislative deadline—the most dangerous stretch of the year for any speaker—a small bloc of Republican legislators, led by Randy Terrill, began coordinating with Democrats. Inside the building, the speculation: Steele’s missteps were strengthening Terrill, and at any moment, Terrill could rise on the House floor and move to declare the speakership vacant, abruptly ending Steele’s tenure.

At that time, House members still possessed an essential check on the Speaker’s power: the ability to hold the chair accountable from the floor. That right no longer exists. Today, a member of the House cannot even make a motion without the approval of the Speaker’s Majority Leader—a reality so absurd it stands in direct violation of the most basic principles of parliamentary procedure.

But back to that night. As the day bled into evening and the deadline crept closer, the House settled into its familiar, gossipy posture. In that small world, one question made for an epic parlor game: would Terrill make his move?

For one particular legislator, this presented a dilemma.

That legislator was T.W. Shannon. Shannon had been the foremost beneficiary of the Steele-versus-Terrill fight. As Terrill dragged Steele down, Shannon had become the presumptive leader of the counter-faction, with votes, including that of many of the most-conservative house members, lining up for him to be the next speaker after Steele termed out.