03.10.00

By Sylvia Moore

Being thrown into the General Assembly as a freshman reporter was truly one of the most intimidating events of my life. I often knew which delegates I had to interview, but I had no idea what they looked like.

I’d peek into "my little blue book," the Virginia Legislative Directory, looking at the pictures of delegates and senators beside their names. Then I’d look at the crowd coming out into the corridors of the Capital.

I’d look at a picture, then at a delegate: "I think this is him. No, the guy in the picture has his hair parted in the middle. Maybe it is him; perhaps he is just having a bad hair day. Let me look around again."

I wrote my name all over that little blue book to ensure it wasn't stolen and kept an eye on it as I would a 10-carat diamond in my safekeeping. The value of this booklet cannot be underestimated.

Finally, after a good 10 minutes studying the pictures, I’d have the courage to approach a delegate. "Excuse me please, Delegate Barlow."

You really want to ask, "Are you Delegate Barlow?" but that would sound as if you don't know the man. Not only would it make you look stupid in his eyes, but it might deflate his ego as delegates feel sure they are well-known. A reporter has to exude confidence.

My confidence withered slightly when I got myself into trouble by writing that a bill had died, when in fact, it had just been passed by for the day – or just for the hour.

I had imagined this General Assembly business was similar to a City Council meeting. The council votes on something at a meeting, and that's that. You can run back to your paper and report on it.

At the General Assembly, a bill can be passed by – meaning skipped over – for the day, then suddenly it’s revived.

The delegates will vote against a bill. Then, during a recess, the bill's sponsor will solicit votes. Is it a question of "Vote for my legislation and I'll vote for yours"? Anyway, that seems to be the way business is conducted in the great Halls of Power. Recess over – the bill passes!

Christina Nuckols, a reporter for the Roanoke Times, is in her third year of covering the General Assembly. She is seated next to me. She recognizes all the members of the House as they rise to speak. I fumble with the chamber’s seating chart (my most valuable possession next to the little blue book) and think to myself:

"Let's see now: The gentlemen who's speaking has white hair, and he is in the back row, on the Democrat side, third from the wall. Let me make sure this chart is not upside down because they announced he was from Virginia Beach and the man on the chart is from Marion. Yes, it is, upside down; it's actually the Republican in the last row, six chairs in from the first aisle ..."

Christina tells me that continuity helps, and I see the results of it working in person as she greets delegate after delegate. They seek her out to tell her what's going on.

One delegate – sorry, he was not seated, so I couldn't look at my chart and tell you who he was – said to her knowingly, "They're trying to filibuster; they know we did a better job than they did."

After she receives this tidbit, another delegate approaches Christina. "Off the record," he whispers to her, "they say they want to spend the evening considering the transportation bill tonight and deal with it in the morning. You know what they'll do instead?"

We both lean forward to find out the big secret. "They'll just go and eat at a fancy restaurant. They're not going to look at the bill."

I listen in amazement to these words of wisdom conveyed to the Times reporter. I ask her opinion about off-the-record pondering by the delegates. She said it's a good idea to allow the delegates to talk off the record as it maintains a cordial relationship.

It's the last day of the General Assembly. I'm beginning to recognize most of the delegates as they stand to speak. I'm not checking out my chart or my little blue book as much.

Next year I'm going to do a much better job!