by Scott Walker
My comfort speaking in front of crowds clearly comes from my father, who was a pastor when I was growing up. Often he would call me to the pulpit to give a prayer, lead a responsive reading, or read a Scripture. As I got older, he even invited me to preach for him.
More than speaking, my father taught me how to relate to people. When he would give sermons, he would tell stories that would relate to people in our congregation and in our town. He would mix humor and substance, and the members of our church loved his messages.
Even though my father could talk a lot (a friend once told me he could talk the bark off a tree), I was always surprised to hear how much he knew about people he had just met. Often he could tell me details I did not know about people I had known for years—I’d only scratched the surface.
Dad would talk, but he always drew those around him into his conversations, showing that he really enjoyed getting to know them. For years I’ve run into people who tell me funny stories about my father—he’s really a character—but they all love him. I’ve heard of folks who met him in line at McDonald’s or at the bank or even on the side of the freeway, after he’d pulled over to help them with a flat tire. There are so many stories like that.
One day when I was young, he met a guy from Milwaukee and they got to talking about faith. Well, the next Sunday, my dad comes home and his suit is soaking wet.
“What happened to you, Dad?” I asked.
“Remember that guy I met last week?” he replied. “Well, he asked me to come to his church to see him get baptized and he wanted me to join him—so I just jumped right in with him.”
My dad’s example of faith, his interest in people, and his compassion for others have inspired me to a life of service. For a brief time in the 1970s, my dad served on the city council in Plainfield, Iowa. It was a small town of about 450, and we lived there until we moved to Delavan, Wisconsin, in 1977. I was so proud of my dad, and I got inspired to help local government. As a young kid I noticed that the city hall in Plainfield didn’t have a state flag. So I got a large container, cut a slit in the top, and walked all over town collecting coins. Once it was filled, we bought an Iowa state flag and gave it to the city.
Being a pastor’s kid—the “P. K.,” as we call it—wasn’t always easy. In a small town, the P. K. is under incredible scrutiny. Everyone knows who he is, what he is doing, and how he conducts himself. During the worst of the protests, I told my kids I understood the pressures they felt because of their dad’s position in the community and how hard that could be.
Matt and Alex were amazing. Thankfully, they are super guys, so their friends really rallied behind them through all of the protests. Once, when documentary “film” maker Michael Moore called for students to walk out of schools in Wisconsin, Matt and Alex’s friends made them a big sign of support filled with signatures of fellow students.
I told Matt when he went off to college that there was nothing there that would be any more of a challenge than the past two years. Tonette and I prayed a great deal with our sons, and that really helped us keep things in perspective. Plus, they enjoyed having my parents around—as well as my brother and his family.
My brother, David, was born on March 2, 1971, in Waverly, Iowa. He was a freshman when I was a senior in high school. When we were younger, it was more of a paternal relationship. Now, as we age, it is equal.
David married my sister-in-law, Maria, and moved with her to Phoenix. In 2003, they had Isabella. In 2007, Eva came along and they decided to move back to Wisconsin.
My parents were constant babysitters for Matt and Alex when the boys were young (we could not have done it without them as my mother was always offering to stay with the boys), so David and Maria were looking to connect their girls to my parents. My mom was very happy.
They put their house on the market, and it sold much faster than they thought. So Tonette offered to have them move in with us. They arrived in June and stayed with us until right before Christmas.
My brother is the banquet manager (and occasional bartender) at the DoubleTree and Maria works at a Sears in Brookfield. Maria’s mother, stepfather, and grandmother live in Madison.
David does not work in politics, but he follows it. He frequently sends me a text or gives me a call about an idea. He offers me some great perspectives because he is talking to people all of the time. Many a Friday night I get a call from him when he has the bride and groom at a wedding on the line because they are fans. Like my father, he really listens to people and gets to know them. Then he tries to help them.
David’s is a typical middle-class family. He is a good and decent fellow who gets along with anyone. My brother is a good reality check. During the height of the protests, it was David who reminded me that he paid more than $800 per month for his health insurance and the little bit he could set aside for his retirement. He said he would love to have the deal I was offering public employees. It put things in perspective.
Our grandmother Eleonor Fitch had a tremendous impact on me too. She and my grandfather Ray Fitch raised my mom on a farm where they didn’t have indoor plumbing until my mother went to high school. My grandfather (Boppa) died in 1974. My grandmother (Nana) lived on until 2008. She worked several part-time jobs (Avon lady, babysitter, and insert stuffer at a newspaper) and watched every penny. My brother and I would laugh as she would take us to McDonalds with all of her coupons and count out every penny from her coin purse. She didn’t buy anything on credit. When she bought a TV or a table or even a car, she saved up for it.
I always remember her saying, “Scott, don’t spend money you don’t have.”
It a lesson that I apply every day as governor of Wisconsin.
In Milwaukee County it was a struggle to muster the votes to stop the board from overriding my veto. Now I had been elected governor with Republican majorities in both the assembly and the senate. Instead of fighting veto overrides, I finally had the chance to do big, bold things.
Election night 2010. In the last four years Republicans have picked up governorships from Democrats in Iowa, Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Kansas, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Wyoming, North Carolina, New Jersey, Virginia, Maine, and here in Wisconsin. Not exactly the record of a party that is out of touch with the priorities of the American people.
After we introduced Act 10 an army of thousands marched toward the capitol.
Inside, the capitol was packed wall-to-wall with protesters. They banged drums and blasted horns day and night, harassed and spat on lawmakers as they made their way through the capitol, and turned our historic rotunda into a theater of the absurd.
Protesters carried signs comparing me to Hosni Mubarak . . .
. . . and Osama bin Laden. Others read “Death to tyrants,” “Don’t retreat, reload,” and “The only good Republican is a dead Republican.”
Not everyone at the capitol opposed Act 10. Tea Party groups organized counterprotests to support us. I was grateful for their support.
Physicians set up stations at the capitol to write doctor’s notes for the teachers so that they could protest without losing pay. So many called in sick that schools had to close for days at a time. The teachers and doctors were lying to their employers and defrauding the taxpayers. Many of the doctors were later disciplined for their actions.
The capitol grew so packed with sleeping bags and human bodies, there was no possible way to clean it. The smell, as soon as you walked into the building, was overpowering. Protesters urinated on the back door of my office.
A historical architect who participated in the 2004 renovation of the capitol concluded that “the building experienced three to five years of wear within a two-week period.”
Senate Democratic leader Mark Miller believed the protests were working. “The governor is in real trouble,” Miller told my staff. “The people of the state have turned against him.”
When we first informed t
he Republican president of the senate, Mike Ellis, of our plan to reform collective bargaining, he looked at me and said point-blank, “Governor, you can’t do this.”
The senate chamber was half empty because senate Democrats fled across the border to Illinois to stop us from passing our reforms. For many this was the biggest thing they had done in their lives. They had become folk heroes on the left and regulars on MSNBC. It soon became clear they were never coming back.
Democratic members of the assembly brought their desks outside to hold “office hours.”
With senate Democrats still hiding out in Illinois, we found a way around their obstruction and passed Act 10. As word spread that the senate was acting, social media exploded with calls to storm the capitol.
Thousands of protesters descended on the building and began banging on the doors and windows, chanting, “Let us in! Let us in!”
The protesters soon overwhelmed capitol police. Once inside, they began unlocking doors and bathroom windows until a sea of thousands had flooded the capitol, chanting “This is what democracy looks like!” A mob formed to search for the Republican senators who had dared to defy the will of the unions.
When the assembly passed Act 10, protesters in the gallery above screamed “Shame!” On the floor below, the assembly Democrats exploded—yelling, screaming, throwing water, cups, and paper at their Republican colleagues. Speaker Robin Vos said “it was impossible to tell a protester apart from a legislator.”
On March 11, 2011, I signed Act 10 into law at the dining room table of the governor’s residence. But I was not simply going to sign the law in private, as if hiding from the crowds. We would hold a formal signing ceremony in the capitol later that day.
I would have understood if Act 10’s supporters had decided to skip the signing ceremony. But they wanted to be there. They were proud of what we had accomplished. Democratic senator Chris Larson warned that day, “Everyone who is a party to this travesty is writing their political obituary.” I was not the least bit worried. I knew our reforms were going to work.
On the day of the recall election, it was still too close to call. Our chief strategist, R. J. Johnson, told me, “It could go either way. I just can’t predict.” Despite the uncertainty, I felt at peace. I was ready for whatever God had planned for me.
When NBC called the election just before nine p.m., a roar went up. We’d been expecting a long night, possibly even a recount fight. Instead, we won by an even bigger margin than the first time. I hugged my family. They had endured so much over the past year and a half—personal attacks, protests in front of our house, and round-the-clock security. Instead of splitting us apart adversity had drawn us closer.
As I addressed the crowd, I saw a sign hovering over a sea of supporters: “You can’t recall courage!” The election was way bigger than me. Our victory sent a powerful message from Madison to Washington that if political leaders have the courage to tackle tough issues, they will have people standing with them.
I’m proud to own a 2003 Harley-Davidson Road King with more than twenty thousand miles on it. Few things are better than the freedom of the open road.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Most important, thanks be to God for His abundant grace and everlasting love.
Throughout the book, I mention my appreciation for my amazing family. Now, I would like to thank my extended family.
First, a salute to Major General Don Dunbar and the ten thousand men and women of the Wisconsin National Guard. It is my sincere honor to serve as your commander in chief.
There is also a special place in my heart for all of the Gold Star families I’ve met over the years. I wear two wrist bands to honor their loved ones.
Next, I am blessed with amazing staff. Eric Schutt is the leader of my official office. He is brilliant and has remarkable interpersonal skills. Eric and Mike Huebsch are the driving force behind our good work in state government. We have an outstanding team in the governor’s office—Rich Zipperer, Scott Matejov, Brian Hagedorn, Cindy Polzin, Jocelyn Webster, Julie Lund, Tom Evenson, Wendy Riemann, Waylon Hurlburt, Kimber Liedel, Eileen Schoenfeldt, Michael Brickman, Eric Esser, Casey Himebauch, Al Colvin, Andrew Davis, Karley Downing, Teri Hatchell, Patrick Hughes, Caitrin Smith, Madeline Henry, Daniel Suhr, Bob Nenno, Brian Hummel, Ryan Hughes, Alex Fhlug, Alex Boyd, Colton Haas, Kody Kvalheim, Hannah Vogel, Elizabeth Hizmi, Ethan Schuh, Tiffany Black, Chelsey Hamilton, Rachel Kaminski, Mary Ann Lippert, Cheryl Berdan—and so many more. It includes others like Chris Schrimpf, Ryan Murray, Cullen Werwie, Andrew Hitt, Ashlee Moore, Lisa Kulow, Bill Kloiber, Annie Andres, Jason Culotta, Nicole Simmons, and Nancy Hayer, who served during the first few years.
Dorothy Moore walked into our office in 2002 and never left. She looks out for me each and every day. She trained a very capable team including Alicia Bork and Jennifer Grinder—as well as Angie Hellenbrand.
In addition, we also have an equally talented cabinet. It begins with the hardest working lieutenant governor in the country—Rebecca Kleefisch—and continues with Mike Huebsch, Kitty Rhodes, Stephanie Klett, Cathy Stepp, Ben Brancel, Reggie Newson, Reed Hall, Peter Bildsten, Eloise Anderson, Wyman Winston, Dave Ross, Rick Chandler, Mark Gottlieb, Ted Nickel, John Scocos, Ed Wall, Phil Montgomery, and Greg Gracz—as well as Dennis Smith. A big thank-you to them all.
Dave Erwin is the Capitol Police chief and was the head of the Dignitary Patrol Unit. The others in the DPU who keep me and my family safe are Jason Zeeh, Jack McMahon, Shelly Hutter, Rick Fitzgerald, Joe Lowe, Mike Galvan, Mark Dolin, Eric Dante, Andrew Martin, and Luke Kraemer. Thanks to them and all of the Capitol Police Department officers at the residence and capitol.
In the political world, R. J. Johnson and I have worked together for more than two decades. He and Keith Gilkes laid out the plan to win our 2010 election and they both have keen political instincts. Keith is a great leader. Stephan Thompson, Jill Bader, Joe Fadness, Patrick Hogan, Mary Stitt, and Dan Morse were part of that great team that did more than win—we laid out a road map for reform. My current campaign team—including Jonathan Wetzel, Colleen Coyle, Taylor Palmisano, and Matt Censky, as well as Kate Donor, Camille Moughon, and Laura Gralton (Jennifer Bannister too)—is building on that proud tradition.
Mike Grebe is the ultimate statesman and I am proud that he serves as the chair of my campaign. My friend Reince Priebus really delivers and is a super leader. Brad Courtney is a longtime friend (his wife, Barb, is a good friend too) who always steps up to the challenge. John Hiller and I first met in college, and he helped lead our transition team—twice.
Jim Villa was my first chief of staff at the county and is always keeping track of what I’m up to these days. Tom Nardelli took over for Jim and did a good job “keeping the trains running on time.” Sadhna Lindvall, Rod McWilliams, and Fran McLaughlin helped us get our message out. Steve Mokrohisky provided excellent counsel.
Along the way, I was pleased to recruit Linda Seemeyer to help run the county. Others followed, including Bill Domina, Sue Black, Steve Agostini, Rob Henken, Chuck McDowell, Bob Dennik, Tom Carlson, Domingo Leguizamon, Karen Jackson, Dashal Young, Cory Hoze, Hattie Daniels-Rush, and Cindy Archer—to name a few. We improved local government and learned that true reform required dramatic changes in state law. Cindy helped implement those changes early in my term as governor.
Chuck Wikenhauser, Jack Takerian, Stephanie Sue Stein, John Hayes, Lisa Jo Marks, Brenda Cannon, Paula Lucey, and Ron Malone were all valued members of our team at the county too.
I was also blessed to have excellent staff over the years in the capitol: Lynn Casey Wilk, Ed Eberle, Mark Grapentine, Melissa Gilbert, and Greg Reiman.
My thanks to the many fellow governors and other elected officials who lifted me up early in my first term. They, along with folks like Fred Malek, Phil Cox, Bob Wood, Kevin Keane, and Nick Ayers, were a real inspiration.
Former Wisconsin governor Tommy Thompson
frequently checks in with me. He worked so hard to improve Wisconsin, and I try to follow his example in that regard every day.
The members of the Wisconsin State Assembly and State Senate deserve incredible praise for their courage. I mention it in the book, but it is worth remembering the abuse these lawmakers got during the debate.
Special thanks to Senate Majority Leader Scott Fitzgerald, former speaker Jeff Fitzgerald, current speaker Robin Vos, Senator Alberta Darling, and Representative John Nygren.
In addition to hanging with my family or watching sporting events, one of my favorite ways to relax is riding my 2003 Harley Davidson Road King. I love to ride with Dave and Patti Davis, Vicki and Tony Sanfelipo, Cheryl and Rich Kuchenbecker, John and Sue Schaller, Scott Pochowski, Beth Lohmann and Steve Pericak, JT, Dog, Turkey, and plenty of others. I pray that they all continue to ride safe!
One of my greatest refuges has been our church. Pastor John and Betsy Mackett and Pastor Mark and Val Werner—as well as good friends Becky and Barry Geary are all part of a wonderful support network at Meadowbrook Church in Wauwatosa.