Nonpolitical Politician

Arizona's Democratic leaders were not overly disturbed last fall when the voters confounded all the experts and, for the third time in the state's 39-year history, elected a Republican governor. It was just one of those flukes, they assured themselves. And besides, the Democrats still held overwhelming control of the legislature--all of the 19 senate seats, 61 of the 72 house seats. The bosses figured it was just a case of tolerating the helpless outsider in the state house for a couple of years, until nature's error could be corrected at the next election.

But the governor, a personable, vigorous, Baptist preacher's son and radio executive named Howard Pyle,* figured differently. He had gotten elected by talking plain, nonpolitical talk to the thousands of Arizonans who had come to know his honey-dipped voice from his poetry and philosophy recitations, and from his smart, newsy commentaries over radio station KTAR. "I was elected," he explained, "because I was not a politician and I had no aspirations to become a politician." He decided that the same tactics would work just as well with the legislature.

New Friends. Soon the 45-year-old amateur with the smooth voice and open manner began to win a lot of new friends. He trudged frequently over to the old State Capitol to chat with the boys, told everyone that he expected no trouble with the legislature, that he knew the legislators were Arizonans first and Democrats second. He also knew that a lot of Arizona's Democrats were actually politicos of every creed, who wore the party label as the only way of getting elected in Democratic Arizona. The governor's proposals began sliding through the legislature.

One bill dismantled the state's patronage-ridden Health, Corrections and Welfare departments and wrapped them into one compact agency. Others began scraping the sludge out of other corners of the government. As fast as they passed his reorganization proposals, Governor Pyle submitted more. His goal: to whittle the state's overlapping conglomeration of 115 bureaus, boards, commissions and departments, which were answerable to no one, into an efficient network of 17, directly responsible to the governor.

Distressing Habit. Democratic leaders watched with dismay while their huge majority in the legislature melted away--13 of the 19 senators got behind Howard Pyle; as many as 40 of the Democratic house members fell into the distressing habit of voting for his measures. The bosses thought up an epithet for them--"Republicrats"--and screamed at their heresy. But the Democrats kept on supporting earnest, reform-minded Howard Pyle. "I'm still a Democrat; we're all Democrats," explained Republicrat Leader Bill Kimball, a tall Tucson lawyer in the senate. "But we vote here as citizens of Arizona."

The unprecedented harmony carried right through to the end of the legislative session. So far the governor has signed a total of 76 bills, vetoed none. On closing day last week, he was escorted to the rostrum by a committee of senators and representatives. The governor laid a droopy bouquet of purple stock before him and grinned at the legislators. "Hello folks," said he. "I think you have done a marvelous job. You have allowed your political faith to play as small a role as anyone could hope for."

Ceremoniously, he lifted the bouquet and handed it to the sergeant-at-arms. "To be placed on the dead issues," said the governor. The Arizona legislature adjourned with a big, happy smile. "Nothing like this has ever happened before," said a veteran newsman. "Usually at the end of a session the Democratic members go home mad at the Democratic governor."

* Second cousin to the late Columnist Ernie Pyle; their grandfathers were brothers.

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