Governor, lawmakers adjust to post-quake conditions

The giddy, goofy mood reminds some of elementary school. Others say the jolt of adreneline and hyper lawmakers makes it seem like the Legislature-does-XFL.

DAVID AMMONS, THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

OLYMPIA -- Remember what it's like to live out of a suitcase or moving boxes?

It's no fun, but Gov. Gary Locke and the Washington Legislature know the feeling. They're slowly adjusting to the political and budgetary aftershocks of the magnitude 6.8 earthquake that rattled the capital city on Feb. 28 and evicted them from their elegant digs in the Capitol.

Locke is running the governor's office from his car and from satellite offices around town.

Lawmakers are hunkered down -- squished, really -- in makeshift chambers across the street and many are forced to share offices, do without telephones and laptops as they hold floor sessions, and forgo perks like hot meals and private restrooms.

Nerves get frayed and the chambers, particularly the sardine-can House, start to smell like a locker room.

Still, the Legislature seems to be having fun, if that's possible to say about an emergency that has upset so many and damaged so much. The giddy, goofy mood reminds some of elementary school. Others say the jolt of adrenaline and hyper lawmakers makes it seem like the Legislature-does-XFL.

Jumpy? "Whenever there's a loud noise, everybody jumps 10 feet in the air," Rep. Jeff Morris, D-Sedro Woolley, says with a chortle.

Locke, lobbyists, lawmakers

Being evacuated from the Capitol has changed daily life for the key players.

It's the same, only different, with occasional moments of weirdness. A look at how they're coping:

-The lawmakers. The House and Senate have set up temporary chambers in their respective budget committee rooms.

The House, with twice as many members and a much smaller hearing room, has the tougher challenges. Members are crammed five abreast at long, skinny folding tables barely deep enough to hold essential papers. People in the middle find it next to impossible to get out for a potty break or anything else.

"It's like being jammed into narrow seats on a jetliner on a transcontinental flight," says Cynthia Zehnder, the co-chief clerk.

There's a caste system: Committee chairmen are given nicer chairs on the committee room dais, with a working microphone and a bit of leg room. The plebes get the cheap seats, no microphone and no room to spread out. None of the members have phones and are banned from using cell phones. The laptop computers they use in the regular chambers are useless for online work.

The Senate floor is cramped, but less so than the House. The folding tables are larger and only three senators share each. Runners carry microphones to each senator who wants to speak.

Leaders say the makeshift, make-do setup has worked surprisingly well.

"People have been very flexible, very accommodating, living in such tight quarters where you always have the possibility of a blowup," says Senate Majority Leader Sid Snyder, D-Long Beach.

Sen. Jeanne Kohl-Welles, D-Seattle, a sociologist, said she has been "pleased and intrigued" to watch her colleagues respond to displacement, anxiety and loss.

"It was like a bad disaster movie" at first, but her colleagues have done a great job of adapting to a multitude of changes great and small -- the loss of the familiar, having people jammed closer together, not having the amenities that make the job easier.

The wilderness experience is fun in a weird way, says Rep. Laura Ruderman, D-Kirkland.

"Hey, this is 'Little House on the Prairie,' only there's indoor plumbing," she says.

"Tempers are short, but there is more conviviality, too," she adds.

"It's an adventure," Co-Speaker Clyde Ballard, R-East Wenatchee, told the House the other day. "It's kind of like a camping trip."

Rep. Morris quips, "When the smell of ripe bodies goes up, tolerance goes down."

Both houses are managing to churn out large volumes of bills, despite the handicaps, although Morris worries "We're getting quantity, not quality. We're not being as deliberative as we might be."

The House had to invent a new way of voting, since the electronic voting machine couldn't be hooked up. Rather than waste hours with rollcalls, the 98 members vote grade-school style, raising their hands for yes and no. Only the nos are announced by name. Everyone else who is present is recorded in the journal as a yes vote. They can vote in 10 seconds or less.

-The governor. Locke and the secretary of state, treasurer and auditor are all homeless and are having to make do with makeshift offices around town.

The governor seems to thrive under adversity -- and there's plenty going around. "Our state is being tested now, perhaps more than ever before in its history," with the quake, runaway energy prices and a drought, he says.

He has taken a higher profile. No governor wants crises, but it does give them a chance to show their prowess as managers and to directly connect with people on issues of visceral concern.

And he must have some pull: The day after his drought declaration, it started raining.

-The lobbyists. The cadre of lobbyists had to leave their den in the Capitol basement, including their phone message center, fax machines and other basics. Now, on sunny days, they hang out at the sundial between the House and Senate office buildings, nabbing legislators and staffers as they happen by. Unlike in the Capitol, there are no public galleries in the temporary chambers, so lobbyists have to watch the proceedings via closed-circuit TV in nearby hearing rooms. The rooms are noisy, cluttered affairs with phones jangling and colleagues clustering to plot strategy. It reminds one of a frat house lounge.

Lobbyists say it's tougher to get the attention of preoccupied and displaced legislators, and tougher yet to predict how specific pieces of legislation will fare.

-The public. Most rallies have been canceled and there is no place for visitors to watch floor sessions except for the aforementioned lobbyist lairs. The proceedings, as well as many committee hearings and news conferences, are televised live, on taped replay and over the Internet by TVW, the state's version of C-SPAN.

Homeless how long?

House members are holding out hope that they can get back into the Capitol in a few weeks, but seismic engineers haven't given the go-ahead. The Senate, housed on the side of the building with greater damage, isn't figuring on moving back for the rest of the session.

"A week ago, there was huge momentum to try to get back in, but now we've made it work (in temporary quarters) and people aren't talking about it much any more," says Tim Brown, co-chief clerk of the House. "Now we're talking about the risk of going back in."

Another way out

Some lawmakers are eying King County Council races this fall. Sen. Pam Roach, R-Auburn, is hoping to win appointment to a seat vacated by Chris Vance, now the state GOP chairman. Roach is under fire for saying she'd keep her Senate seat while serving on the council this year. A fellow senator, Julia Patterson, D-SeaTac, is running for the same seat. In another council district with a vacancy, Sen. Bill Finkbeiner, R-Kirkland, and Reps. Kathy Lambert, R-Woodinville, are expected to run. And in a third seat, Rep. Carolyn Edmonds, D-Shoreline, already has announced.

Meanwhile, a former senator and Supreme Court justice, Phil Talmadge, has formed a new law firm with Seattle attorney Cleveland Stockmeyer in Tukwila. Talmadge is expected to run for governor if Gary Locke hangs it up after two terms.

David Ammons is the state political writer for the Associated Press. He may be reached at P.O. Box 607, Olympia, WA 98507, or at dammons@ap.org on the Internet.

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