Flight of the "Killer Bees"

State senators elude the Texas Rangers and sting a bill

It was one of the most celebrated man hunts in the history of the state. As many as 50 lawmen, including members of the vaunted Texas Rangers, combed the countryside, scanning the sagebrush and cactus scrubland from helicopters, throwing up roadblocks, searching bars, and rummaging through seedy Mexican border towns. For five days the hunt went on while the twelve wily fugitives eluded the long, sweaty arm of the law, even though their mug shots were splashed all across the front pages of the state's newspapers.

Finally, after 102 hours of avoiding pursuers, the twelve last week turned themselves in--to the Texas state senate, whence they had fled the previous week.

The doughty dozen were all state senators who had taken off in an elaborate ploy to block a controversial bill about a state presidential primary.

Backed by Lieutenant Governor William Hobby, 47, a conservative Democrat, the proposal would have established the presidential primary on March 11, 1980.

One aim was to give ex-Governor John Connally a chance to win early and big in the 1980 primary season and thus get a boost toward capturing the Republican nomination.

All liberal-to-moderate Democrats, the twelve senators had blocked legislation and opposed Hobby so often in the past that he had dubbed them "the Killer Bees." They did not so much mind an early primary as they did the plan to divide the voting into two events: one in March for President, the second in May for state offices.

The reason for the Bees' opposition stemmed from the state practice of allowing Texans of one party to cross over to vote in the other's primary. But voters cannot split their ballot: they have to go all Republican or all Democrat. The Bees wanted one primary so that conservative Democrats who chose to vote for Republican Connally would not be able to vote for opponents of liberal Democrats in the state races. On the other hand, Hobby wanted two primaries so that the conservative Democrats would be free to vote for Connally in one, and for their favorites on the state level in the other.

The Lieutenant Governor, after announcing his support for the split primary, went beyond his usual genial role as presiding officer of the senate and began lobbying actively for the bill. When prospects for passage continued to look bleak, Hobby tried to slip the measure past the Bees by bringing up an innocuous election funding bill that, he figured, could be amended to provide for the dual primary. When Hobby called up the funding bill, the Killer Bees struck.

Meeting in an office of Dallas Senator Oscar Mauzy, the dozen agreed simply to vanish from the 31 -seat state senate, thus blocking any senate action by preventing the necessary quorum of 21. The next morning ten of the Bees (two others simply left the state) began hiding out in a 12-ft. by 20-ft. room in a garage apartment that had only two beds, a shower, a toilet and a sink--and a peephole in the door. Most of the Bees figured that they would be there only a short time until Hobby agreed to drop the bill, but he instead empowered the state law-enforcement officers to arrest the fugitives and return them to Austin. He argued that under the law he could force them to appear on the senate floor.

A5 the search went on, the holed-up Bees whiled away the time by watching television soap operas, playing cards, studying the rules of the senate and consuming more than $350 worth of liquor and cold food smuggled into their hideaway by trusted assistants. The ill-prepared band soon began to swelter in the small room. They shed their outer clothes, padded around in underwear, and began to get on each other's nerves. Noted Mauzy: "When you get nine egomaniacs together, all nine want to be chief and no one wants to be an Indian."

The senators quickly established a telephone code (one ring, then hang up and dial again) to be sure callers were friendly. They refrained from phoning staffs and families for fear their lines were tapped by police. The aides who brought food and drink were required to knock twice in short bursts to identify themselves. No more than half a dozen outsiders knew where they were; even their wives had not been told their location so that they could legitimately profess ignorance to the police.

The lawmen never came close to finding the beehive, despite a statewide all-points bulletin, although they nearly did nail Senator Gene Jones, who had chosen to leave the hideout because he had just sworn off cigarettes and was getting edgy in the smoke-filled room. To avoid the police, Jones was house-hopping around Houston. When a Ranger and another lawman arrived at the place where he was staying, the clean-shaven Jones jumped over a back fence; the police thereupon arrested his mustachioed brother Clayton and, despite his avowal that he was the wrong man, helicoptered him back to Austin. People began calling the cops the "Bumble Bees."

Meanwhile Senator Jones, using intermediaries, was trying to work out a settlement with Hobby. In the end, the Lieutenant Governor gave in, agreeing to stop his parliamentary efforts to save the bill. The measure was then defeated. When the fugitives returned to the senate, they were cheered from the galleries, where some spectators had donned yellow-and-black Killer Bee T shirts and a few wore fake insect antennae on their heads. The senators then revealed that the hiding place that had flummoxed the police was right in Austin, just three miles from the red granite state capitol--as the bee flies.

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