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.It was a custom-made void for Mark Mullen and his ambitions, whatever end strategy he might have been considering.Mullen had made of himself a living local legend—although one whose grasp on power was at a crucial juncture.Born outside Barre forty-five years ago, the youngest of two sons of a quarryman father, he’d been elected to the House while still in his early twenties and had stayed there ever since, eventually sitting on most of the committees, and finally—though a member of the minority party that year—being elected speaker, a quirky phenomenon almost unique to Vermont, and one the Republicans had since come to rue.At the time, however, his selection had been no surprise.An instinctive consensus builder and a genuine “people person,” Mullen paid minimal attention to party lines, orchestrating the Legislature less from the podium and more by intimate personal contact, although naturally most often to the advantage of the Democrats.His early reign had not been without controversy—with predictable accusations of favoritism and grandstanding—but lately it had smoothed out to the point of becoming bland.His influence had begun to pall.Mullen’s creation of this special committee, instead of letting the Reynolds Bill loose among the standing committees, had struck many as the action of a man both doubtful of his old clout and transparently eager to make a big splash.My drive to Montpelier this time was very different from before, when the snow and ice had turned the countryside into a crystal palace.Now a strong feeling of change was pervasive in the countryside—the unlocking season, as some called it, was nigh—when winter’s frozen grip began yielding to something just shy of spring.This wouldn’t have been the case during the legislative sessions of yore.Back then, the State House had called it quits by early April, so the mostly farmer/lawmakers could return to their fields and maybe get in a little late sugaring if they were lucky or lived up north.But times had changed and The Bill, as some sorrowful legislators were calling it, had delayed things even more, so that nobody was placing bets on when they’d be going home.But while the mood in the State House was souring, its crush of humanity had steadfastly remained the same.The hallways were as crammed with people—an inordinately large number of them in uniform—and the sense of tension was as palpable as before.I was supposed to meet with the study committee at one but found that the schedule had gone routinely off track.So I located an old and decorous chair, tucked under the wing of one of the building’s two sweeping staircases, and prepared for a long wait.A tall, thin, angular man wearing a suit and a tangled mop of dark hair slid into the chair next to mine—Commissioner of Public Safety David Stanton.“Hi, Joe,” he said, leaning over to shake hands.“Long time.”“Yup.” I gestured at the stream of people passing before us.“You pretty pleased with what you set in motion?”Still smiling, he watched me closely.“I set in motion?”“Reynolds wouldn’t have started all this without the governor’s blessing, and Howie wouldn’t have given it without consulting you.That makes you the logical choice for the next Secretary of Criminal Justice.”“He consulted me, sure,” Stanton agreed coyly, ignoring my conclusion.“But this is Reynolds’s baby.Not mine.”“Oh-oh—that mean you’re looking to jump ship?”He laughed.“You’re worse than the news guys.I have no idea where this is headed.”“I’m not against it heading somewhere,” I said to reassure him.“And I never expected the Legislature not to tie it up in knots.But I was thinking as I drove up here that the debate’s been pretty interesting—opened up a few closets a lot of people might’ve liked kept shut.”“Like the sheriffs?”“Like everybody—all that local control baloney.I’ve always loved how those official press releases about interagency cooperation compared to the real thing.This has ripped off some of the camouflage.”Stanton cut me a look.“Sounding pretty cynical, there, Joe.”I shook my head.“I’m happy it’s getting shaken up—long overdue.I just hope things don’t end up exactly where they were.”He stared at the floor, nodding silently in agreement.I became aware of a shadow to my left and turned to find a young page awkwardly standing by my chair.“What’s up?”“Are you Mr.Gunther?”I admitted as much.“Speaker Mullen would like to meet you in his office.”Stanton laughed softly.“Watch your step there, Joe.”I got up and patted his shoulder.“You, too.For what’s it worth, I think you’d be good in that job.”I followed the page upstairs to the second floor, through the vast, empty House chamber with its brilliant red carpeting and enormous bronze chandelier festooned with statues of nude women, snakes, and eagles.We climbed the low stage at the front, circled the carved, pulpit-like speaker’s podium, and almost ducked under a large, low-hung portrait of George Washington into a narrow hallway connecting the old building to a new addition housing a modern cafeteria and Mark Mullen’s office.There, barricaded behind a small reception area guarded by a secretary, I found the speaker stretched out across an old leather tilt-back chair, his feet planted on his antique desk, talking on the phone.He smiled as the page faded away, waved me to a chair, and quickly wrapped up his conversation.He then rose, leaned over, shook hands, and said, “Joe Gunther.I’m sorry we’ve never met till now.Heard a lot about you.Appreciated what you said when the Senate called you in.You want some coffee?”“I’m fine, thanks.”“I’m also sorry we had to drag you up here again, but I told ’em I didn’t think we could do this thing justice if we didn’t get some of the brains in on it they’d had the first time around.”“There going to be big changes?” I asked innocently.He didn’t duck.“Count on it.You don’t throw out over two hundred years of tradition without pissing a few people off.Reynolds was living in a dream world if he thought otherwise.You two buddy-buddy?”“Hardly.”“Good, ’cause he’s in for a wake-up.The Senate has no idea what’s going on in this state.They see some dead babies, all the headlines, they run a poll, and next thing you know, they’re talking about a mandate from the people.It’s a joke.The people don’t know any more about the problem than they do.It is a problem—I know that just like you do—but to solve it you need expert advice, to find out what you can do and what you can’t.Simple as that—and hard as that, too
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