Mr. Texas

A Hilarious, Universal Story About Money in Politics

Sep 20, 2024

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If Giant is an iconic book about the old and new of Texas, the clash of established ranching with wildcatter oil money, and if “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington” is an iconic movie about a naïve Senator learning national politics, Lawrence Wright's brilliant, hilarious Mr. Texas iconically depicts, not just modern-day Texas, but modern-day politics.

Money buys outsized influence, and not in visible ways. We see it in campaign ads, mailers and annoying texts. What we don’t see, what Mr. Texas shows us, is the heavy weight of money directly on the governmental levers of power.

L.D. Sparks arrives at a West Texas funeral of a not-so-dearly departed state legislator. L.D. is a lobbyist and he’s not paying respects. Operating under orders and retainer (lobbyists never work for free) from a billionaire, he’s on the hunt for a replacement. It’s a hilarious beginning to a story, where even death won’t slow the power hungry.

Watching a local media report, L.D. recruits Sonny Lamb, a hard luck rancher who’s married into his not-so-envious situation as a landowner. West Texas is drought stricken and the Lambs are forced, like their neighbors, to sell much of their cattle herd.

Sonny ekes a narrow win in the special election and arrives in Austin, where he learns how fealty is bought:

A long line of lobbyists awaited Sonny’s arrival, scores of them, maybe as many as a hundred, and more arriving. “Are you kidding” Sonny said under his breath, as he smiled and nodded. “These people actually came to meet me?”
“We’re just getting started,” L.D. promised.
Sonny got the sense that most of them were here because of L.D. Everybody knew him. They regarded him with respect bordering on awe, and the fact that Sonny was tucked under his wing clearly made an impression. The room was economically suited for its purpose, with a desk and chair facing the door, and a settee in the back, where L.D. situated himself, scrolling through his email and feigning interest. As his colleagues entered the room one by one, they glanced first at L.D. to make sure he registered their presence. L.D. would nod, break out a perfunctory smile, and go back to his phone, whereupon the lobbyist finally glanced down at Sonny, who was, after all, sitting right in front, waiting politely, like a puppy waiting for a treat, which was the envelope in the lobbyist’s hand. There was brief introduction. “Brian Massingill from AEP,” or was it AEG, Sonny wasn’t clear what either of them was. “Just wanted to say hello.” And the envelope would be handed over, Sonny would thank the person, then put the envelope in the drawer with the others because L.D. said it was bad form to pile them on the desk, much less open one in front of the donor and comment on the amount.

To his naïve surprise, Sonny finds he’s pimped himself to L.D.

Why not vote his conscious, ignore his pimp? Sonny is there to alleviate the water shortage in West Texas and he learns if he wants to make a difference, he needs to play the game and to play the game, he needs to play as many legislative sessions as he can. Freshman legislators never get their bills passed, they must return to fight another session and to return, they must run for reelection, which means raising money. Those who buck the billionaires get outspent next election.

A friend of mine, Hunter, is beginning law school after serving a stint on the staff of a state legislator. Hunter has opened my eyes into a few of the ongoings. When I mentioned Mr. Texas to Hunter as a book that seemed right up his alley, he became animated and mentioned the book was an accurate depiction.

Wright skewers idealogues on both sides of the aisle. Sensitivity warning: Do not read this at work, where others will wonder why you’re laughing hysterically. As to the conservatives who currently run Texas, here is Representative Lurleen introducing a bill:

. . . Texas had become a place where hatred was the key to political advancement. The problem the Dems faced was that not a single one of them was enough of a threat to merit the hatred that would propel them into statewide office. And the GOP, after decades of dominance, their agenda long since enacted, was running out of issues. The energy was all on the fringe, where hatred needed to be continually refreshed and Queen Lurleen ruled. . . .
. . . “Mr. Speaker, members, fellow Texans,” she began. “Every God-fearing society faces forces of evil that wish to bring it down. House Bill 127 excludes sexual predators and agents of perversion from teaching in day cares, public schools . . .”

Harold Morton, a legislator, asks of Lurleen on the House floor:

            “Let me see if I understand the implications of this monstrosity,” he said. “I’m an orthodontist. I straighten kids’ teeth. Under this bill, every time I, as a gay man, treat a patient under the age of eighteen, I’m committing a Class B misdemeanor?”
            “Correct.”
            “Lurleen, do you really want to put me in jail for being who I am?”
            “What I want, Representative Morton, is to cause you to get some help.”
            “Well, then help me understand what I’ve done that deserves a ten-thousand-dollar fine and six months in jail for fixing buck teeth?”
            “You have touched a child.”
            “With these?” Harold said, holding up his hands. “These hands? That have made thousands of children smile again?”

As to the liberal representatives who currently find themselves out of power, they’ve staged a walk-out to deny the House a quorum on Lurleen’s bill. The Speaker sends state troopers out to find them and bring them back. Here they are hiding in a motel courtyard:

            It was night, and time for the next meal. There was little else to do but eat and drink, especially the latter. All afternoon Lloyd had been concocting cocktails, which accounted for the giddy, out-of-focus conversations. Ernestine held up another slice of the pepperoni pizza. “I’m going to become a vegetarian as soon as I finish this.”
            Around this table of many liberals many agreed they had certainly overdone it on meat, and the way animals were treated was unjustifiable, especially factory farming, which was immoral, and what’s more, grazing was a major contributor to global warming, because of farting. All these things they believed, but none would ever offer a single bill confronting any of these issues. The lure of pepperoni was simply too great. Nor would any of them ever become a vegetarian. But they endorsed the concept.
            Suddenly, a pair of headlights turned off the highway and entered the Alamo Courts. The fugitives dove under the picnic tables or hid behind trees. . . .

I rooted for Sonny to take on and defeat the self-serving system because he’s us. His way of life is threatened, and he wants to make it better for himself and his constituents. He’s got beliefs, but he listens to other points of view, sees real people struggling and wonders if there’s a way to—and this is a four-letter word in politics these days—Compromise.

Mr. Texas is an iconic novel because it reverberates. I found myself wondering, Can I be more like Sonny? Not run for political office, but maybe just maybe, step up and take a keener interest in who I’m voting for? Can I chisel away the concrete immobilizing my feet, listen a bit more, ask questions, come to understand that people are basically the same, want basically the same things, a better life, provide for their families?

Trials By Writing by Geoff Mantooth

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