[Congressional Record Volume 141, Number 40 (Friday, March 3, 1995)]
[Senate]
[Pages S3477-S3480]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
THE SENATE WITHOUT SENATOR METZENBAUM
Mr. SIMON. Mr. President, it has been only 2 months since the
retirement of our former colleague, Senator
[[Page S3478]] Howard Metzenbaum of Ohio, but already it is clearly
apparent that his unique role remains unfilled in this body.
None of the phrases coined to describe Howard Metzenbaum--``The
People's Watchdog,'' The Tiger From Ohio--quite does justice to the
real service he performed for the public and for the Republic in his
duties here.
Someone of his stature, courage, and sheer persistence comes to the
fore all too infrequently in public life today.
I commend to my colleagues, and to all others who care about this
institution, an article written in the closing days of Howard
Metzenbaum's Senate service that adds some historic perspective to his
distinguished career. I ask that the article be printed in the Record.
The article follows:
[From the Cleveland Plain Dealer, Dec. 4, 1994]
Howard's End
(By Thom Diemer)
Metzenbaum was true to form through his last days in the
Senate. His leaving was like a fingernail scratching a
chalkboard.
He always had a chip on his shoulder.
His pursed-lipped scowl could intimidate a trash-talking
bureaucrat or unnerve an imperious Republican. He knew he had
the edge, he confided to aides, once his adversary got angry.
Howard Metzenbaum was true to form through his last days in
the United States Senate. He went out with neither a bang nor
a whimper. His leaving was more like a fingernail scratching
a chalkboard.
Some of his colleagues squirmed as Metzenbaum battled for
one last lost cause. But most shrugged or grinned, saying in
so many words, ``That's Howard.''
In a special lame-duck Senate session on Thursday,
Metzenbaum railed against the General Agreement on Tariffs
and Trade, saying it was weighted down with ``deals for big
business'' and would ``shortchange American workers.'' He was
one of only 13 Democrats voting against the trade pact.
His determination, fearlessness and unrelenting
partisanship brought him acclaim and notoriety during 19
remarkable years as Ohio's junior senator.
``I think people know I vote in accordance with the
dictates of my conscience, not with the political winds,'' he
said in an interview last month. ``There are people who hate
me with a passion, but when I do meet them, I laugh and kid
them, and I tell them I absolutely defend their right to be
wrong.''
His character was shaped by a work ethic cultivated during
the Depression, a commitment to government activism
personified by the New Deal, close ties with the American
labor movement and an ethical grounding in Reform Judaism.
``I always worked,'' he said.
A lean upbringing in Cleveland's Glenville neighborhood
fueled his resentment for a system that he saw as stacked
against the little guy. Brushes with anti-Semitism opened his
heart to the plights of other minorities and persecuted
groups.
popularity defied logic
Metzenbaum's national stature grew as he gained power and
influence in the Senate, yet there was no mellowing. He could
be vitriolic, blustery and reckless even with retirement
looming at the age of 77.
He never shed his partisan image.
Political analysts puzzled for decades over the secret to
his electoral success: How did an acerbic, left-wing
ideologue, out of step philosophically with many of his
constituents in a Republican-leaning state, become one of the
most dominant public figures in Ohio history?
``There is no question that in my political career I have
taken strong stands. No question some people were very
unhappy with those stands,'' he said at his last Senate news
conference. ``But fortunately, enough people decided they
were positions of conscience or conviction and they respected
me for it. Therefore, a number of them voted for me and I was
able to remain in office.''
He was a curmudgeon, the last angry liberal.
In 1988, his final campaign, he vanquished Cleveland Mayor
George V. Voinovich by 588,000 votes. Results strongly
suggested more than 1 million Ohioans split their tickets,
voting for both Metzenbaum and Republican President George
Bush.
``He has been able to convert his liberalism into a
populism that not only benefits people on the bottom rungs of
the ladder, but also the middle class,'' Ohio State
University political scientist Herb Asher once said. ``That's
why he has been so successful in Ohio: Howard Metzenbaum is a
fighter, and a fighter for us--the middle class.''
Ohio Senate President Stanley J. Aronoff, who helped the
late Robert Taft Jr. of Cincinnati defeat Metzenbaum in
Metzenbaum's first Senate bid 24 years ago, said ``voters
have a propensity to like him or dislike him--very little in-
between.''
``The interesting thing with Metzenbaum is that, as time
went on, he was able to become comfortable even in
conservative Cincinnati,'' Aronoff added. ``In some respects,
even though his philosophy would be leftish, he came to be
regarded as conservative.''
consistency applauded
John C. Green, director of the University of Akron's
Raymond C. Bliss Institute for Applied Politics, explained it
this way: Metzenbaum, he said, had a ``tremendous knack for
being right about issues people care about''--job security,
pensions, workplace safety, cable television rates and a raft
of consumer issues.
Conversely, his battles on Capitol Hill against the Central
Intelligence Agency, multi-national corporations--or in favor
of gays in the military--were of little consequence to
average, working Ohioans.
``Talking to people we hear over and over again, `I don't
like Metzenbaum, I don't agree with him, but I always know
where he stands and I admire him for that,' Green said.
``Although he was perhaps more liberal on many issues than
Ohioans were, Sen. Metzenbaum has been remarkably
consistent.''
A Republican critic, media consultant Roger J. Stone, was
less generous.
``Two words,'' he said when asked to explain Metzenbaum's
electoral success, ``luck and money.''
Metzenbaum's fund-raising prowess was unmatched by any
other Ohio politician. He raised a record $8 million to
battle Voinovich, taking from union members, Hollywood stars,
the arts community and liberal-oriented interest groups. He
was never shy about asking.
mentor and tormentor
For years, Metzenbaum was said to be hated by Republicans,
unloved by his staff and disrespected by reporters, many of
whom saw him as a shameless publicity-monger. There was some
truth to all those observations, but Washington loves
success. Metzenbaum converted many of his critics because he
was effective at what he did.
Joel Johnson, his administrative assistant for most of his
last term, said he had been both a ``mentor and a tormentor''
to his staff.
He was fiendish about punctuality, demanded that work be
nearly perfect, and read the riot act in unsparing, colorful
language when an aide let him down.
``We were all pretty tough,'' said Barry Direnfeld, a
Cleveland native who started as a mailroom clerk for
Metzenbaum in 1974 and later became his legislative director.
``It was a hyper place.''
At a Capitol Hill retirement party for the old tiger during
the final week of the Senate session, dozens of former
staffers nodded as Johnson's voice cracked as he said how
proud he was to work for Metzenbaum, a tough boss who
inspired loyalty.
There were no tears from the Republicans or the reporters.
But they came to his party--from crusty Strom Thurmond, the
one-time Dixiecrat and only senator older than Metzenbaum, to
Doug Lowenstein, the journalist Metzenbaum credits for
hanging the nickname ``Headline Howie'' on him. Lowenstein
eventually worked as a legislative assistant for Metzenbaum.
His decision not to seek a fourth term opened the door for
a Republican, Mike DeWine, who defeated Metzenbaum's son-in-
law, Joel Hyatt, in the campaign for the open Senate seat in
November. But Metzenbaum battled to the wire, a whirl of
activity as the clock ran out on the 103rd Congress.
baseball obsession
He made a pest of himself trying to convince the Senate it
should jump into the baseball strike, stripping the owners of
their antitrust immunity so the players union could take them
to court.
His contempt for the millionaire owners, passion for anti-
monopoly laws and instinct for media attention drove him,
even while friends like Sen. Tom Harkin of Iowa implored him
to drop the issue. He seemed oblivious to the fact that the
ballplayers he supported were a far cry from the blue collar
trade unionists he stood up for as a labor lawyer in the
1950s and 1960s.
On Sept. 30, Metzenbaum ignored his pals' pleas and
struggled in vain to get his antitrust amendment attached to
another bill, But that wasn't the only item on the agenda.
The same day, he fired off a letter to President Clinton,
urging him to fire CIA Director James Woolsey for his
handling of the Aldrich Ames spy case.
On Oct. 8, the Senate's last day of regular business, he
had ``holds'' on a half-dozen bills and was threatening to
block a dozen more. Sen. Carl Levin, the Michigan Democrat,
said his office had forms to keep track of bills that were
stalled: ``a box for Republican holds, one for Democrats, and
one for Sen. Metzenbaum.''
he did it his way
Howard Morton Metzenbaum was born on Chesterfield Ave. on
Cleveland's East Side on June 4, 1917.
His father, Charles Metzenbaum, was a wholesale jobber who
sold bankrupt stocks during the Great Depression. ``They were
struggling to eke out an existence,'' he says of his father
and mother, Anna. ``They were wonderful parents. I found no
fault with them at all.''
No fault. That's about it. He is devoted to Shirley
Metzenbaum, his wife of 48 years, but he doesn't talk much
about the family he grew up with. When he does, it is with a
certain detachment.
An older brother, Irwin, once ran unsuccessfully for the
Ohio Senate and lives in obscurity in Cleveland. A cousin,
Jimmy, served in the Ohio legislature, immediately preceding
Metzenbaum, who was elected to the Ohio House in 1942. Years
later an uncle,
[[Page S3479]] Myron Metzenbaum, developed the ``Metzenbaum
scissors,'' a surgical tool common in operating rooms.
``I cannot explain why I am the way I am,'' said a man not
given to introspection. ``I cannot think of any individual
who molded me.''
No teacher, no mentor, no guru. He did it on his own.
Metzenbaum hurried through Glenville High School, running
track for the Tarblooders and once racing against the great
Jesse Owens, then at East Tech, who left him in the dust.
And he worked.
In high school, he sold magazines and hauled groceries in a
wagon to housewives at 10 cents a delivery.
He owned a car before he was old enough to drive. An older
boy operated an unlicensed livery service for him, ferrying
patrons to a race track. The business was short-lived. He
woke up one morning, and the car, a 1926 Essex,
was gone. His dad had sold it to make a mortgage payment on
their home.
Worse still, he and Alva ``Ted'' Bonda, a lifelong friend
and business partner, tried to sell class rings at Glenville,
but their entire inventory was stolen from a school locker.
``The person we bought them from bothered us for years,''
Bonda said, laughing at the debacle. ``I think that's why
Howard became a lawyer.''
At Ohio State University, he ran a bike rental business and
played trombone for 50 cents an hour in a youth orchestra.
During law school, he began drafting legislation for state
lawmakers.
He scalped tickets and sold mums outside Buckeye football
games and hit the road from time to time with a carload of
consumer items. Driving through towns like Findley and
Fremont, Metzenbaum and partners sold shopkeepers razor
blades, toiletries, pencils, and--yes, the old rumor is
true--condoms.
``The police would hassle you, because condoms at that
point were sort of something dirty or smutty,'' he recalled.
leftward tilt begins
War broke out in Europe. Metzenbaum, despite his allegiance
to Franklin D. Roosevelt, initially questioned U.S.
involvement. He was embarking on a dangerous flirtation with
the far left--associations that would haunt him throughout
his career.
Metzenbaum said he conducted himself in a way that no one
ever thought or suggested he was a communist--``Well, I won't
say nobody.''
Some did regard him as a fellow traveler. He had been a
member of the National Lawyers Guild and a co-founder of the
Ohio School of Social Sciences--organizations regarded as
communist fronts by red-hunters of the 1940s and 1950s.
Metzenbaum was red-baited in the 1970 campaign against
Taft, and again in 1987 when an old rival sprang to his
defense. A briefing paper urged GOP candidates to use his
past connections to brand Metzenbaum a ``communist
sympathizer.'' Sen. John Glenn, Ohio Democrat, a bitter foe
of Metzenbaum in the Democratic primaries of 1970 and 1974,
was among the first to denounce the paper, material prepared
by the National Republican Senate Campaign Committee.
The material was scrapped, but the irony couldn't be
missed: Metzenbaum, for all his left-wing leanings, is a
capitalist of the first order.
He started out as a tax consultant when he found the
prestigious law firms were not hiring ``nice young Jewish
lawyers,'' as he put it in a 1988 Plain Dealer Sunday
Magazine article.
He jumped into politics in 1942, right after law school,
serving first in the Ohio House, then in the Ohio Senate
where he sponsored a groundbreaking fair-employment act.
He remained in Columbus until 1950, leaving after he lost a
bid to become majority leader. He suspects anti-Semitism was
to blame; he can still tick off
the names of the five state senators who turned against him.
business blossoms
After the war, he and Bonda and a third partner, Sidney
Moss, got interested in the rental car business, but soon
realized there was more money to be made in airport parking
lots. At the time, airports were still on the order of
tourist attractions. Most travelers used trains or buses.
``There was no organized parking at airports,'' Bonda said,
``it was just free parking.''
Not for long. APCOA--Airport Parking Co. of America--made
them millions of dollars, branching out with well-lighted,
guarded lots at dozens of airports. The partners sold APCOA
to ITT in 1966 for an estimated $6 million.
It was the first of many profitable ventures for Metzenbaum
and Bonda, including the suburban Sun Newspapers, and part-
ownership in the Cleveland Indians. Some enterprises used
union labor; others kept unions out.
Metzenbaum married, reared four daughters and kept his
finger in politics and the labor movement. He served as
counsel to the Ohio AFL-CIO.
He marched in Selma with Martin Luther King Jr. and Viola
Liuzzo.
In 1958, he managed the campaign of the cantankerous
Stephen M. Young to a stunning upset victory over Sen. John
Bricker, a diehard Republican conservative. Six years later,
he helped Young win again, this time over Robert Taft Jr.
going for the big time
By 1970, Metzenbaum, his fortune made, his family secure,
decided to re-enter politics. All he had to do was defeat a
national hero--astronaunt John Glenn, who was also seeking
the Democratic Senate nomination.
That race was recalled at his farewell bash in October as a
number of old friends wore buttons from that campaign,
proclaiming, ``I'm a Metz fan.''
Little known outside the Cleveland area, he ran a brilliant
campaign against the overconfident Glenn. He used television
advertising extensively--a pioneering effort by Ohio
standards--and emphasized bread-and-butter issues.
Organized labor closed ranks behind him. The young consumer
movement embraced him. He even capitalized on the success of
the miracle New York Mets, using the ``Metz fan'' slogan.
He upset Glenn but lost to Taft in the general election.
Four years later when William Saxbe gave up Ohio's other
Senate seat to become attorney general, Gov. John J.
Gilligan, at the urging of union leaders, named Metzenbaum to
the open seat.
Glenn was furious and immediately challenged Metzenbaum in
the bar-knuckled 1974 Senate Democratic primary--the Civil
War of Ohio politics.
It was a low point for Metzenbaum, one of many in his
mercurial career.
When Metzenbaum suggested that ``Col. Glenn,'' a Marine
career officer, had never held a real job, Glenn unloaded on
him:
``Go with me and tell a Gold Star mother her son didn't
hold a job. Go with me to Arlington National Cemetery. . .
.'' He lectured his opponent, who, because of substandard
eyesight, had never served in the military.
Glenn won. Metzenbaum had to wait until 1976, when he
finally unseated Taft in what was almost certainly his last
chance to win a big one.
But the feud with Glenn lasted for years. The two men
hardly spoke during Metzenbaum's first term. Glenn refused to
expressly endorse him for re-election in 1982.
They reconciled at mid-decade, and worked well together
when Democrats recaptured the Senate majority in 1986.
``I've been waiting 20 years to say this,'' Glenn said at
Metzenbaum's goodbye party, ``come January of 1995, I'll be
the only one of us who has a job.''
The Metzenbaum style
Metzenbaum's big mouth and perpetual wheeling and dealing
got him in trouble.
In 1974, 22 Republican senators voted not to seat the
freshman Metzenbaum because of his dispute with the Internal
Revenue Service over a five-year-old tax liability. The
millionaire entrepreneur hadn't paid any federal income taxes
in 1969.
``That didn't bother me,'' he said. ``I stood there in back
and I said, `Incredible. Howard Metzenbaum's the subject of a
Senate debate. Isn't that great?'
Metzenbaum was embarrassed by the revelation in 1983 that
he accepted a $250,000 ``finders fee'' for putting together a
seller and buyer for the elegant Hay-Adams Hotel, a block
from the White House. Insisting all the while he had done
nothing wrong, he eventually gave back the fee, with
interest.
He called his clumsy performance in the Anita Hill-Clarence
Thomas hearings in 1991 a ``low point'' in his political
career. Charges that one of his staffers had leaked Hill's
sexual harassment allegations to the media knocked him off
balance.
Foreign affairs were not his forte. He once called for the
assassination of Libyan dictator Moammar Gadhafy--and he
praised Iraq's Saddam Hussein as a potential peacemaker,
before the Persian Gulf war.
A lifelong opponent of capital punishment, he disappointed
many of his closest supporters in 1987 when, with re-election
coming up the next year, he backed the death penalty for drug
kingpins in federal cases.
``In retrospect,'' he said recently, ``I am not positive
whether there was some rationalization about that decision or
not.''
He rarely had doubts about which course to take. He didn't
hesitate in opposing a popular constitutional amendment
banning desecration of the American flag, for instance.
But he almost voted for the Gramm-Rudman deficit reduction
plan--wrestling free from a panicked aide trying to stop
him--and the advocacy of his close friend Sen. Paul Simon
sorely tempted him to back a balanced budget law.
Pernnial roadblock
Despite a productive third term, Metzenbaum will be most
remembered for what he stopped, rather than what he pushed
through the legislative maze. He was a master of the
filibuster and an upsetter of the pork barrel. He had a
Holmesian knack for finding the mischievous language hidden
in legislation.
``The first major decision that Howard made was a break
with a new president and filibuster on decontrol of natural
gas prices,'' Direnfeld said, recalling the senator's battle
with President Carter in 1977. He said Metzenbaum's attitude
was, ``I will do whatever it takes.''
Metzenbaum lost and later had to admit deregulation didn't
cause the price explosion he feared.
As he said in announcing his retirement last summer, ``I've
won my share of battles and fought my share of lost causes.''
He was so proficient at weeding out waste, extravagance and
special interest projects that the Washington Post headlined
a 1982 news story: ``Thank God for Metzenbaum!''
[[Page S3480]] He stopped the free transfer of a federal
railroad to Alaska, exposed a timber industry giveaway in the
same state and shut down a multi-billion tax break for the
oil industry--to name a few battles won.
It was often said he saved taxpayers billions, yet he
frequently appeared on ``big spender'' lists put out by
conservative groups targeting lawmakers enamored of social
spending and redistribution-of-wealth tax policies.
He frequently got knocked down. He failed to bar companies
from replacing strikers with permanent new hires; had little
success in his war against the insurance industry, often fell
short in bids to deny antitrust exemptions to various
concerns, including baseball.
``Howard Metzenbaum seemed to go out of his way to
antagonize business,'' said Jack Reimers, immediate past
president of the Ohio Chamber of Commerce, recalling
Metzenbaum's Ohio Senate days. ``He was the opitome of the
anti-business politician--he thrived, savored and sought to
be viewed that way.''
He infuriated colleagues too, making lasting enemies who
waited for chances to torpedo his bills. ``One man's pork is
another man's building project,'' noted one former House
member.
Rep. David L. Hobson, a Springfield Republican respected on
both sides of the aisle, said the senator from his home state
never opened a line of
communication with him.
``We don't have any contract with Metzenbaum--none,'' said
Hobson. ``You know what people say to me? `That's Howard.'
champion of causes
When he joined the Senate majority in 1987, Metzenbaum was
determined to show he could legislate constructively. He
compiled a solid if unspectacular record of accomplishment.
The Ohioan passed legislation forcing companies to give
workers 60 days notice of a plant shutdown, ordering the food
industry to put nutrition labels on its products, and making
bankrupt companies honor their pension commitments.
He was a burr under the saddle of the National Rifle
Association. He sponsored the Brady handgun waiting-period
law and co-sponsored the assault weapons ban. He led the
successful fights to ban armor-piercing bullets and guns that
cannot be identified by airport metal detectors.
He wrote the key age discrimination law and was co-sponsor
of the Civil Rights Act of 1991. He was one of Israel's best
friends on Capitol Hill and a consistent voice for organized
labor.
Sen. Ernest Hollings, a South Carolina Democrat, angered by
Metzenbaum's interruptions during a debate, once referred to
him as ``the senator from B'nai B'rith.''
He championed laws for the smallest of constituencies. He
provided incentives for drug manufacturers to develop
``orphan drugs'' for treatment of rare diseases. Typical of
Metzenbaum, when he discovered some of the drug firms were
reaping big profits, he tried to trim back the incentives.
He won breakthrough federal funding for Alzheimer's
research, watched out for migrant workers, and was always
protective of America's children. One of the last bills he
got enacted--and one of his proudest achievements--will make
it easier for couples to adopt a child from a different race.
His dedication to the wellbeing of children, his adoration
of Shirley, his delight in his grandchildren--that was his
softer side.
``He is not the same man who came here 19 years ago. He had
a chip on his shoulder. He was demanding and impatient and
wanted to accomplish a lot,'' said Johnson. ``He changed. He
grew and matured.''
back to the future
To this day, he thinks he could have defied the Republican
landslide and won re-election this year, had he chosen to run
again. But even in semi-retirement, as president of the
Consumer Federation of America, he will be in the face of the
business interests he fought for years.
Take one last look at his Senate office in the Russell
Building on Capitol Hill. It is a revelation, nothing less
than a small gallery of contemporary art.
Instead of the tiresome grip-and-grin photos with
presidents and other luminaries, the works of Red Grooms,
Robert Rauschenberg and Frank Stella--all Metzenbaum
intimates--are on display.
He and Shirley nurtured the artistic communities in
Washington and Cleveland.
His instincts for good art, a good deal, and good politics
seldom failed him.
He was prescient in his maiden Senate speech. On April 10,
1974, he scolded his new colleagues for their leisurely
pace--for running an ``elephantine government that moves
clumsily to set policy by reacting to crisis.''
``The people pay a terrible price,'' he said. ``No wonder
the people are angry--they have a right to be.''
____________________