An American Son: A Memoir

by Marco Rubio

  Before they decided on Jeff, the Crist team had approached me to see if I would agree to be vetted for the lieutenant governor’s nomination. I don’t think they seriously considered me—I suppose it was an attempt to flatter the incoming speaker of the house. I turned them down. Had I been interested, and had word got out I was under consideration, it would have created chaos among house Republicans as members scrambled to join the race to replace me as speaker.

  My decision would prove fortunate for another reason. Had I agreed to be vetted, I would have given the Crist campaign an enormous head start in their opposition research when I decided to oppose him for the U.S. Senate nomination three years later.

  Losing Jeff was a blow. But it was the loss of another member of my leadership team that would be one of the most painful experiences of my entire political career. Ralph Arza and I hadn’t always gotten along. We had once had the same ambitions and viewed each other as rivals. But we eventually became close friends and allies. Ralph had been one of my most loyal and active supporters. Ours was a genuine friendship and not, as political friendships can be, an acquaintanceship of mutual convenience. My nephew Landy dates Ralph’s oldest daughter.

  Ralph had gotten into a political tug of war with the Miami superintendent of schools. The dispute turned ugly when several people claimed Ralph had used a racial slur when referring to the superintendent, who was African American. One of his accusers was a fellow Republican member of our Miami delegation. And when in October of 2006 Ralph left a voice mail for a fellow legislator in which he used the same slur he was accused of using before, he was forced to withdraw his bid for reelection.

  I wanted the house to operate differently than it had in the past, when the speaker had so much authority that members could always assign the blame for any failure to the “fourth floor”—code for the speaker’s office. The speaker had always decided which committees would have jurisdiction over legislation, and his decision could mean life or death for a bill. If he assigned it to one or two committees, a bill had a decent chance of passing. If he assigned it to five or six committees, the sixty-day legislative session would expire before all the committees had disposed of the bill.

  I decided to relinquish the most important power a speaker possessed, and give it to the members of my leadership team who would chair the house committees. Committee chairmen would decide which subcommittee would consider a bill or if the full committee would assume that responsibility. I combined the budget and policy authorities in each committee as well. Committees would now receive a budget allocation and they would decide how to fund their policies within the limits of their allocation.

  Under my speakership, committee chairmen would have more power than ever before, but a greater share of responsibility as well, and greater accountability. I trusted the leaders I had chosen. I had spent a lot of time with them during the months before I was sworn in, and I had a good sense of their abilities and interests, which informed my decisions about which responsibilities to assign them.

  A series of devastating storms in Florida over the last few years had nearly wiped out the private property insurance market in the state, and the few companies that were still offering property insurance were charging exorbitant rates. It was the biggest political issue in Florida. Just weeks after I was sworn in as speaker, the new governor, Charlie Crist, called the legislature into special session to pass his proposal to resolve the crisis. It was a purely political remedy. He wanted to go to war with the insurance companies. He wanted to give the state-run insurance carrier the authority to compete in the private insurance market. He didn’t worry about the long-term consequences of his approach. He knew in the short term the move would be met with widespread approval from Floridians who had become very angry with insurance companies. The longer-term consequences of his solution, however, could make them even angrier. If the public carrier, which was, of course, subsidized by the state, was unable to pay claims after another devastating storm or series of storms, taxpayers would have to cover the shortfall.

  The politics of opposing the governor’s plan were daunting. A newly elected Republican governor with the support of Republicans and Democrats in the Florida Senate would accuse any member of the house who opposed his proposal of being in the pocket of the hated insurance industry.

  We tried to modify the bill with some small successes. We limited the public carrier’s ability to expand, and got everyone to agree that the measure would be temporary. When the private market recovered and rates came down, the public carrier would begin to exit the private market. But other than these small changes, the legislation gave the governor most of what he wanted. The house leadership team decided to take the small concessions we had gotten, pass the bill and live to fight another day.

  Nothing seemed to go smoothly in my first months as speaker. I learned that the press covers the speaker of the house differently than they cover the speaker in waiting. The fun started just a few days after I was sworn in.

  During the transition, outgoing speaker Allan Bense had asked us for our input on making improvements to the house office complex. We made several suggestions, one of which was to turn an unused, nondescript space on the third floor into a members-only dining room. The space already had a kitchen, and the only improvements required were to knock down a wall and furnish it with plastic tables and chairs. We had two purposes for making the suggestion. The first was simply to give members a place where they could buy breakfast or lunch without being surrounded by lobbyists.

  The second reason was to help improve bipartisan comity in the legislature. Many members hardly knew each other personally. In the era of term limits, members simply weren’t around long enough to form close relations with members of the other party. Most knew one another only from debates on the floor or in committee. The house had become less civil than it should be, and we thought a dining room open to all members might serve as a place where legislators from both parties could get to know one another better, which might improve the civility of the place. Anticipating some criticism in the press, we showed the new dining room to reporters before I was sworn in. None of them seemed particularly interested in it.

  Changes we had made to the committee structure in the house also necessitated some changes to house offices. I had created a position of Democratic ranking member on the committees, and gave Minority Leader Dan Gelber the authority to choose his ranking members—an authority no speaker that I know of had ever given the leader of the opposition before. But now we needed office space for the new ranking members in the committee suites or near them. And because we had combined budget and policy authority in the committees, we had given the committees more staff, which also required additional office space. The only change I made to my own office was to remove a spiral staircase that connected the speaker’s office to the majority leader’s office.

  I didn’t expect any of these changes to be controversial. But multiple media outlets would soon report them as an extravagant waste of public funds, claiming we had spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to remodel my office and build a fancy dining room. It was inaccurate, sensationalized reporting, to say the least, and disappointing. Even more disappointing was the failure of Democratic members, the beneficiaries of many of the improvements, to defend my decisions.

  The reports were followed by editorials implying I had gone on a wild spending spree in my first days as speaker. It was my first experience with intense media scrutiny, and I can’t say I enjoyed it much. The fact that we had inexpensively furnished an existing space didn’t stop some reporters from claiming I had built a fancy dining room. Neither did the fact that almost all the changes we had made to existing committee office space discourage them from reporting that I had spent thousands to spruce up my own office.

  Many of Jeb Bush’s aides were available when he left office. They were smart, talented policy experts who had helped build Jeb’s reputation as an innovative, bold and effective executive. I admired th
em and valued their expertise and creativity. We hired dozens of them. They were already on the public payroll, so the hires were lateral, which meant they could keep the salaries they had made in the governor’s office. Almost none of them worked for me directly; most of them were hired as staff directors for the committees. They, too, became targets for reporters.

  Just weeks in the office, and I was taking quite a beating. I had hoped the press would first focus on the one hundred innovative policy ideas the house would pursue during my speakership. But that was naive of me. The experience taught me an unpleasant although useful lesson about how reporters, especially print reporters, are under constant pressure to uncover controversy and scandal even where none exists.

  The year 2007 began with the challenge of Governor Crist’s populist approach to the property insurance crisis, and the different style he brought to the office of governor. Jeb was bold in policy, a man of ideas and ideals. He was mature in judgment and unafraid to hold fast to an unpopular decision if he thought it was right. Charlie Crist was his opposite. He is a polite and pleasant man, but he didn’t really have any fixed ideals or a particular interest in policy. And rather than attempt to persuade an angry public to be careful not to demand policies they might come to regret, he was the first to pick up a pitchfork and storm the castle. He had beaten us in a game of chicken over the property insurance bill, threatening to veto anything that didn’t meet his demands. We won a few concessions and let it go. I had passed a bill I didn’t like. I had been mired in a press firestorm about office construction and staff hires. I had lost Ralph Arza. In February, my chief of staff quit to run for an early opening in the state senate, as did two more of my twelve leaders, including my speaker pro tempore, Dennis Baxley. It had been a rocky start, to say the least.

  CHAPTER 21

  Drop Like a Rock

  JEB BUSH WOULD HAVE BORROWED A TERM FROM JIM Collins and called it a B-HAG, a big, hairy, audacious goal. Eliminating property taxes on homes and replacing them with a consumption tax was the boldest reform in our 100 Ideas project. Soaring property taxes had become a crushing burden on many Florida families. A consumption tax would have taken less of their income. When you ran the numbers for them and showed them their tax burden would be smaller, you could convince them to support it. But it was an easy position to demagogue, and a very heavy political lift. Opponents would focus on the increase in the sales tax, ignoring the elimination of the property tax.

  The leadership team debated whether to chance bold reform, settle for a more modest approach or adopt the purely cosmetic changes Governor Crist had proposed during his campaign. We voted to go big.

  We unveiled the plan a few weeks before the start of the regular session, and it dominated the news throughout the state. I was pleasantly surprised at the initial reaction. Local governments expressed concern with the proposal, but most political figures offered support for it or reserved judgment. Then the gravity of politics set in, and we had a huge fight on our hands.

  Democrats who had at first supported or shown interest in the idea received instructions from their party leadership to begin attacking it, and retreated to their default position of opposing it as a boon to wealthy home owners. The Florida Senate played the usual Tallahassee game of seizing a major house initiative as a hostage to use in negotiations over the senate’s legislative priorities. Even Republican house members were nervous. Senate veteran legislators employed consultants and lobbyists to warn members they would expose themselves to attacks in the next election for supporting a sales tax increase.

  The press, too, became skeptical. Only one editorial board gave the idea fair consideration. The others cast it as some sort of supply-side trick to help the rich get richer and bankrupt local governments. Some even implied I supported the plan because I would personally profit from it, calculating how much I would save on my property taxes if the legislation became law.

  We had taken the plunge, though, and there was nothing to be done but fight our way through, win or lose. I was shorthanded in the fight. My chief of staff, who had been instrumental in organizing the leadership and our agenda, had left, as had four of the original members of my leadership team. Then one of my closest friends in the leadership, Stan Mayfield, was diagnosed with esophageal cancer, and would spend most of the session in Houston, where he was treated. We had spent over two years choosing and building our leadership, and creating an esprit de corps among us. Now almost half of them were gone, replaced by people who hadn’t been involved in our planning. We also started too late. We should have begun advocating for the plan in the summer before the election so we could have claimed it as a mandate. Or, at the very least, we should have started when we released “100 Innovative Ideas for Florida’s Future.” But it took much longer than I’d expected to reach consensus in the leadership, and by the time we did there were only two weeks left before the session convened.

  Our first task was to shore up support with rank-and-file members. I couldn’t afford to lose more than a couple of Republicans when the issue came to a vote. But I knew winning the public opinion battle was more difficult and more important if we were to overcome Democratic opposition, and the reluctance of the governor and the senate. I traveled the state extensively, attending rallies in support of the plan. I did countless television and radio interviews explaining and defending the plan. Support for the measure didn’t appreciably increase. It remained a fifty-fifty proposition. But we did succeed in making property taxes the biggest issue in the state.

  The experience made me a better public servant. I learned how to fight a big political battle. I had to convince voters our plan was sound and in their best interests. I had to defend it from aggressive attacks. I had to answer tough questions about it from the media. I had to work closely with activists across the state. I didn’t realize it at the time, of course, but the seeds for my election to the U.S. Senate in 2010 were planted in the spring of 2007.

  We passed the plan in the house with almost unanimous support from Republican members. But the session would adjourn before the senate took up the legislation, and it was clear to us that Governor Crist was working with senate Republicans to undermine us. I had never had a very good relationship with Charlie Crist. He, and especially his staff, viewed me suspiciously from the outset. I had been close to Jeb Bush, and I had hired several staffers who had worked for Crist’s opponent in the Republican primary. The property tax fight hardened their suspicions, and bred what can be fairly described as mutual antipathy. Crist was determined not to be outflanked on the issue by us. In a press conference, he boasted he would demand that a new law cause property taxes to “drop like a rock.” The plan he had advocated as a candidate to double the homestead exemption (a property tax exemption on the first $25,000 of value you could claim on your primary residence) would have reduced property taxes only negligibly. But that hardly mattered to him. His real purpose was to make certain he got the credit for whichever plan passed.

  The senate could wait out the session without taking action on the plan. But it couldn’t avoid it forever—the issue had become too salient. We insisted that a special session be convened to resolve the issue, and the senate had to agree. The governor lobbied the senate to pass his plan. The idea polled well, which was why he had proposed it during his campaign. But I criticized it publicly, explaining to the press and anyone who would listen that doubling the homestead exemption most certainly would not make property taxes “drop like a rock.”

  We would do our best, but our plan to replace property taxes with a consumption tax would never be popular enough to prevail. Without the governor’s support, we couldn’t put enough heat on the senate to pass it. I made the pragmatic decision to give up the idea of scrapping the entire property tax system and push for serious reform of the existing system instead. Many house Republicans were upset with my decision. They had taken a tough vote in the house, and many of them felt they had put their reelection at risk only to see our plan abandon
ed. Some of the staff thought we were showing weakness by caving under pressure.

  It’s always easier in the legislative process to defeat an idea than to pass it. The side that wants something is always at a disadvantage to the side that wants to stop something. Property tax reform wasn’t a priority for senators—they had been forced to do something about the issue because we had made it a priority for Florida voters. But we hadn’t succeeded in making our plan the public’s clear preference.

  Time wasn’t on our side, either. I would have a year left as speaker in the next session, and the closer I got to the end of my term, the less clout I would have. I worried, too, that when house Republicans returned home they would be raked over the coals by their local governments, and return to Tallahassee reluctant to take up the issue again. I was convinced the special session in the summer of 2007 would be our last and best chance to pass meaningful reform. Even though it was not our original plan, we had an obligation to get the best deal we could for our constituents.

  That summer, the house and senate agreed to substantial reforms. They weren’t as far-reaching as we had hoped, but the bill wasn’t what I called a Tallahassee Special—reform in name only. The legislation made statutory reductions in the property tax code and contained an amendment to the Florida constitution that, if passed by the voters, would have reduced property taxes even further. Floridians would realize real savings on their property taxes.

  We held a press conference to celebrate the achievement with the senate president and Governor Crist. The governor brought a rock to emphasize that, with the passage of the bill, taxes would drop like a rock. We hung a sign behind us that heralded the bill as the single largest tax cut in Florida’s history.

  If the story had ended there, it would have been an enormous legislative achievement. But before voters had a chance to have their say, the Florida courts declared the constitutional amendment “confusing and misleading” and struck it off the ballot. The pressure was back on to do something about property taxes, and another special session was convened in October.