Will we ever see political lifers like Kerry and Kennedy again? If Meehan and Travaglini are any sign, not likely.
Lowell congressman Marty Meehan labored for 13 years in relative anonymity, a legislative backbencher in – except for his first year – a minority party. The passage of years (which gave him seniority) and the fortunes of war (which, in turn, changed the fortunes of the Democrats) meant that Meehan found himself this year at the height of power, taking the reins of an influential House Armed Services subcommittee. So what did he do? He announced he was resigning, leaving to become chancellor at the University of Massachusetts at Lowell.
Meanwhile, four years after he became president of the Massachusetts Senate, life looked good for Robert Travaglini. The East Boston lawmaker had effectively consolidated his hold on power, a Democrat had just been elected governor, and Trav seemed to be in the catbird seat. So what did he do? He resigned as well, heading off to open his own lobbying firm.
These are just the latest of the curious cases of the wandering pols: At the peak of their careers, suddenly they’re gone. Embattled House Speaker Tom Finneran left to run a trade group (and now hosts a talk show). Travaglini’s predecessor, Tom Birmingham, practices law. Onetime governor Bill Weld dabbles in law and private equity in New York. His successor, Paul Cellucci, left midterm to become ambassador to Canada, and now he’s – well, does anyone really know?
Many of today’s pols caught the political bug early, influenced perhaps by a relative already in the game or by some chance opportunity to speak out in school (“Better lunches now!”). Something deep in their psyche thrived on the blend of gossip, wonkiness, and a willingness to expose oneself on a public stage that makes for a successful candidate. Whatever it was, people like Meehan and Travaglini spent most of their adult lives singularly focused on climbing the electoral ladder. That makes their departures all the more odd.
Sure, there are explanations for all these folks: Legal troubles or conflicts with family life are common. And then, of course, there’s money. A Massachusetts state rep – many have law degrees – makes around $55,000. First-year lawyers in downtown firms fetch more than $150,000. Young and single pols may not mind the discrepancy, but 10 years on, their pay is about the same, while those first-year lawyers have become partners, earning hundreds of thousands more.
Yet, while money makes for a good explanation, it’s not wholly persuasive. The real problem, I suspect, is this: From the inside, politics isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
To many starry-eyed kids, politicians can appear to be powerful figures: Stalwarts of their communities, these respected individuals get bridges, tunnels, and roads named after them. But reality doesn’t match those perceptions. Politics today is a meaner game than ever before. Government is fragmented – that’s intentional, by the way – and legislators and governors quickly find there’s little of substance that they can do on their own. State budgets are constrained, meaning that any grand new idea comes at the expense of unpalatable higher taxes or cuts in other, equally worthy programs. Moreover, the glory days of The New Deal and The New Frontier are long past. Today, we more frequently think of government as the problem rather than the solution. Indeed, some claim that if you really want to change the world, it’s better to do so through the private or nonprofit sectors – an argument that may well have persuaded Meehan as he contemplated the role that a revived UMass could play in his hometown.
Given all this, it’s easy to understand why so many pols, sick of whining supplicants at their doors, start looking for a way out. And the ways out are many. Successful politicians may not have much substantive knowledge, but they do have connections, and whether you’re a college looking to raise funds or a business worried about new regulations, those connections are worth a lot. That revolving door is disturbing but perhaps inevitable. For the men and women who once thought of government as a calling, the siren song today has far less allure. It makes one wonder: Perhaps we’ll never again see political lifers, a la John Kerry and Ted Kennedy. Then, again, perhaps that’s not all bad.
Originally published in the Boston Sunday Globe Magazine, May 13, 2007.