Former Gov. Ann Richards, an iconic Texas Democrat who opened the most powerful offices in state government to unprecedented numbers of women and minorities and who was known for her lashing wit and her crown of white hair, succumbed to esophageal cancer late Wednesday. She was 73.
She was a trailblazer, a populist whose tenure shook the culture of state government and the people and outside institutions that were accustomed to having their way with it. Ethics reforms came unstuck and got into law, partly because of her support. Insurance regulation was briefly wrestled away from an industry that historically wins most of its battles with state government. Environmental regulators tightened up. And she appointed a string of women, Hispanics, Blacks, Asians and others to the state's boards and commissions who hadn't been there in big numbers before. Compared to her predecessors from both parties, she nearly doubled the numbers of appointments that went to people in those groups.
Richards was one of those rare people you know will be in the history books before you know everything that will go into their paragraphs in those books. Richards was the second woman elected governor in Texas (Miriam "Ma" Ferguson is usually characterized as a stand-in for her husband, James "Pa" Ferguson, for two terms in the 1920s and 1930s). She held off a Republican tide that eventually overtook Texas politics. And she was an inspiration to Texans — a personification of the state — even as she was turned out of office by voters.
"Ann Richards was the epitome of Texas politics: a figure larger than life who had a gift for captivating the public with her great wit," said Gov. Rick Perry in a statement. "She was an endearing and enduring figure in Texas politics. She paved the way as a leader and a role model for women who aspire to the highest levels of leadership. Anita and I are saddened by a loss that will be felt by many. Ann Richards left Texas a better place."
Richards was active in Democratic politics for years before deciding to run for county office in 1976. She won the state treasurer's job in 1982. She came on the national scene through the TV screen, where her speech at the 1988 Democratic National Convention was played over and over; a Texas woman taking apart a Texas presidential candidate — George H.W. Bush — with her quicksilver tongue. "Poor George," she cried. "He can't help it. He was born with a silver foot in his mouth."
Two years later, she was at the center of a whirlwind of a governor's race, with seven major candidates from the two major parties banging on each other for the right to head Texas government. Of the bunch, she alone had a national following.
Richards, then the state treasurer, battled former Gov. Mark White and Attorney General Jim Mattox through a rough primary, then defeated Mattox in a runoff that was remarkably rough even by the standards of remarkably rough Texas politics. Richards turned her recovery from alcoholism into a political asset, talking about it openly and deflecting attacks during that race — most of them from Mattox — that were aimed at personal problems she had left behind. He accused her of using cocaine; she answered that she had avoided "mind-altering" substances for ten years and wouldn't go beyond that.
Republican Clayton Williams of Midland had an easier time of it, besting Secretary of State Jack Rains, former U.S. Rep. Kent Hance and Dallas attorney Tom Luce without a runoff on the GOP side.
The resulting "Claytie and the Lady" race drew national attention, with two large personalities battling for control of an increasingly Republican state. The state had already gone for the GOP in presidential races, and it would, in 1990, elect two Republicans to statewide office, breaking the Democrats' hold on Texas government (they were Rick Perry and Kay Bailey Hutchison). A regular refrain in East Texas underlined Richards' problem. Voters, especially but not exclusively men, would say they weren't sure the state was ready for "a petticoat governor."
But Williams blew a big lead with ill-timed gaffes. He compared bad weather to rape and suggested a victim "lay back and enjoy it." He refused to shake Richards' hand, after his staff alerted reporters that "something was going to happen." He told reporters that in the contest, he'd "head her, hoof her, and drag her through the dirt" — terms familiar in the corral but not on the stump. And on the Friday before the election, the wealthy West Texan sealed it, volunteering a deadly answer to a softball question, saying he hadn't paid income taxes in 1986, when he was losing money in the oil patch. Richards capitalized on his goofs. That Friday night — just in time for TV news to catch it — she went in front of a union hall audience with this line: "Claytie didn't pay taxes in 1986. Did you?" What was left of his advantage disappeared. Richards ended up in front, with just under 50 percent of the vote (a Libertarian snagged the rest).
Richards had a real talent for tying government and politics to the lives of voters and citizens. For reporters, she was pure platinum, good for a quote even when she was dodging a question. She backed the lottery — originally a Mattox idea — to limit the size of a tax bill passed to balance the state budget. Richards scratched off the first Texas Lottery ticket at the now defunct Polk Feed Store in Southwest Austin, and captured the essence of the game (and made it an easy day for headline writers) when she saw the result: "Oh Rats." Another of her most famous lines came from that speech in 1988, when she encouraged women to get into public life. "Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards, and in high heels."
She was nuts about movies and Port Aransas, and always seemed available to talk to kids or do something for them. Austin's school district will open a school for girls next year — the Ann Richards School for Young Women Leaders. She had hoped to be at the door when it opens a year from now to welcome the first class.
She was well-liked, but she was also tough. Enough so that people joked about it, after they recovered. An Austin movie chain runs a short film before movies telling people not to talk. It features Richards, a regular patron, tossing a loudmouth from the theater. The tagline: "Don't talk during the movie, or Ann Richards will take your ass out."
She had some losses in office, too. Her fix to the school finance system was rejected by voters. A couple of her highest profile appointees — Lena Guerrero and Bob Krueger — were disappointments. Guerrero lost her spot at the Texas Railroad Commission after admitting she'd lied about having a college degree. Krueger's political career ended in a special election for the U.S. Senate seat he'd been keeping warm: Kay Bailey Hutchison swamped him and remains in that office to this day. Richards warred with then-Lt. Gov. Bob Bullock, alternating alliance and enmity with a fellow Democrat who later became a mentor to her successor.
In 1994, she was knocked off by George W. Bush, who did six years in office in Texas before winning the presidency. She was more popular at the time of her defeat than any Texas governor had been in decades, but voters weren't as happy with the job she was doing. A couple of issues gave fuel to her opponents, especially her veto of legislation that would allow Texans to carry concealed handguns. Like the petticoat line of four years earlier, the gun line was everywhere. And it gave some wavering voters a reason to seek change. They voted for Bush.
After she left office, she lobbied for a Washington, D.C.-based firm and then signed on with Austin-based Public Strategies Inc., where she shuttled between Austin and New York City. She was a popular speaker and a frequent guest on TV talk shows, and an advisor to lots of political (and other public) people and to groups who sought her counsel.
Years after leaving office, she summed things up: "In looking back on my life, I could of course say the predictable thing — that the greatest thing I've ever done is bear my children and have grandchildren, and all that kind of stuff.
"But the reality is that the greatest part of my life was the opportunity to be in public service, to make a difference for the community I live in, for the state that I love, to be able to try to make things better, whether they turned out in the fashion I expected them to or not."
"Sometimes it's serendipitous. Good things happen accidentally. But they're not going to happen unless well-meaning people give of their time and their lives to do that."
Richards' body will lie in state this weekend in the rotunda of the Texas Capitol. Services are set for Monday at the Frank Erwin Center at the University of Texas — that's the basketball/special events venue, to give you an idea of the size of the thing. She'll be buried at the State Cemetery after a private graveside service.
