“The old cigar club is closed.”
So said my crustiest Republican friend from Casper this week, about the results of the Aug. 20th primary election in Wyoming.
That's when the Freedom Caucus won enough seats to put them in control of the Wyoming House of Representatives come next January. (There's still the general election to come, but in Republican-rich Wyoming, most of the seats are decided in the primary.)
And his conclusion was that “the old cigar club is closed.”
I've written about him before. This guy came very close to being a Wyoming Native. But his parents crossed the state line to have him delivered at a hospital in South Dakota. Close but no cigar in determining the pedigree of true Wyoming natives.
Other than that, this guy is the real deal when it comes to ornery cusses deeply embedded in the Cowboy State. For years he insisted that Cheyenne was actually in Colorado, and called people who live here “Greenies.”
Lately he says anyone who has slept seven or more consecutive nights in Cheyenne should have their Wyoming resident status revoked.
(Don't get him started on where the state capital should have been located.)
I wrote about him last year when a couple popular bills passed pretty easily in the Wyoming Senate, but then died in the desk drawer of the Speaker of the House.
Members of the House did not get to vote on the bills, and my ornery friend said when bills die that way, they should automatically be placed on the next general election ballot, for the voters to decide.
Not going to happen, of course, but that doesn't phase the guy.
His reference to the old cigar club has to do with the elitism those in charge of the legislature have exhibited for pretty much all of his life, as a kid growing up, owner of a family business, then partner in a successful tech business.
He says he's always looked at the leaders of the legislature as “the enemy,” most interested in doing what's best for them, and less frequently for the rest of us.
He looks askance at legislative leadership that has dominated for decades, with its plush appointments at the Capitol, it's door persons to open doors for them, and the belief that they know what's best for the rest of us.
He has no patience for the complicated system that allows those in leadership, in some instances, to let bills that passed in one house of the legislature die in a desk drawer. Or in the committee of a pal who can be trusted to put a bill at the bottom of the pile for consideration.
“If you complain about tricky maneuvering like that,” I told this guy, “they say you just don't understand the system.”
“I don't CARE about their system,” he replied, getting kind of heated. He cares about the subjects of bills, not the Eddie Haskell-like mendacity that often mars legislative sessions.
And lately some meat and potatoes issues, like property taxes, gender transition, and issues in high school sports, have dominated the news.
Unlike complex stuff from the past, like reapportionment, plant siting and minimum in-stream flow, people can sink their teeth into these latest issues. And thanks to vote analysis sites, more and more voters are watching their lawmakers like a hawks.
I don't think the changes we saw in the August primary are proof of some newfound lack of civility, or undue influence by outsiders. I think they're the result of voters caring about gut-level issues, watching the votes of their representatives, and sending some of them packing.
And I think the Speaker of the House, Albert Sommers, didn't lose his bid for a seat in the Senate because of some crazy mailer accusing him of ties to China. I think he lost because of those bills that died in his desk drawer. That, and a hard-working opponent.
The voters are on to the cigar club maneuvers, and – like my ornery friend - they've lost patience.
And they'll be just as unforgiving if the new guys in charge come January start looking like the old, elite cigar club crowd.
Dave Simpson can be reached at: DaveSimpson145@hotmail.com
