Then She Vanished

Eleven

In contrast to California’s enormous Central Valley, the state Assembly Chamber is patterned after the proper British House of Commons, a handsome blend of dark hardwoods, brass, and green carpet. Eighty-two seats for eighty-two legislators. You feel important just waddling in.

I sat in the Assembly gallery, with a nice view of the proceedings below. Only a few citizens in the gallery this late morning, each of us ushered in under the baleful eyes of the sergeant-at-arms. Security had been tight as I knew it would be. The Chaos Committee’s influence had been swift. My weapons and phone were locked in a pistol case stashed in the trunk of my rental car.

Dalton Strait looked up and waved shortly after I sat down. He was seated on the right side of the chamber floor, on the Speaker’s left, along with a few of the Republicans still left in the assembly. He wore a trim beige suit on this spring morning. Even from the gallery he looked to be intensely focused.

Today’s session was a “third reading” on the floor. Which meant that bill AB-1987, authored by Dalton and narrowly having made it out of his own Committee on Veterans Affairs, now needed an assembly majority to send it to the California State Senate, where the process would repeat. Should AB-1987 pass both houses of the legislature, it would be sent to the governor to sign, veto, or allow to pass into law unsigned.

I’d read the bill in my hotel room the previous night: “Increased Funding for Veterans’ Home Mortgage Programs, Counseling, and CalVet Scholarships.” It carried a massive price tag.

Then I’d read the Sacramento, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego newspaper analyses of AB-1987, and downloaded a collection of TV and radio pieces — including one of our governor — opining on the bill. AB-1987 wasn’t a front-page or top-of-the-hour story. But the consensus: “taxpayer dollars could be used in smarter ways. Health care industry and bankers may rejoice, but Vets deserve better.” Only the Union-Tribune, Fox News outlets, and conservative talk-radio stations were in favor.

So it looked to be tough sledding today for Dalton and the rest of us needy warriors. Not only did Democrats outnumber Republicans sixty-two to twenty, they had a much cheaper bill coming up through another committee. And of course, Dalton Strait himself — one of the most conservative members of the assembly — was a thorn in the side of the legislature’s supermajority. As such, he was clear in the sights of the California Democratic Party, as represented by Ammna Safar.

After the roll call, prayers, and previous day’s journal was read, Dalton had the floor. He had taken off his coat and now stood with a microphone in his hand. His shirt was crisp but his hair looked shaped by the pillow.

“We are here today to decide the future of AB-1987. This bill will give much needed help to our veterans who have served bravely and selflessly around the world. The price of America’s greatness is high and no one has paid a greater share of it than our men and women in combat. It is dangerous, bloody, and sometimes lethal work. Life and friends are lost. I know.”

Strait’s voice was deep and I heard a slur far back in it. Exhaustion? Or something to fight off exhaustion? He seemed oddly detached from this proceeding, as if he was talking mainly to himself.

“It is clear to me that my fellow armed services veterans are in great need of help. I see them almost every day. Our suicide rates are up. Our instances of untreated PTSD are unacceptable. Our dependence on opioid painkillers has skyrocketed to the point where none are available at our VA hospitals for men and women who sorely need them. Sorely.” He shook his head. “That’s an understatement. Our limbs are missing and our minds find no rest and our families are damaged — sometimes beyond repair. Some have no homes. That is shameful. There can be no partisan divide on this issue.

“The great State of California has been generous with our military, but not generous enough. My bill will bring additional millions to the table. For housing, better medical care and education. These veterans want out of the past. They want to heal their wounds and create new lives from the destruction that they have nobly endured. They want to wake up and see the day as new. Far from the past. The very least we can do is help to make them whole again. Put your fingers on those Yes buttons, people. Do the right thing this time.”

A collective groan and shuffle of the members on the floor, then the Speaker rose and the sergeant-at-arms called for order.

“Thank you, Mr. Strait,” said the Speaker. “But not so fast. As is our custom, we’ll no doubt have some questions and comments on this bold attempt at lawmaking.”

For the next hour, Dalton’s Strait’s bipartisans railed against, defended, and questioned his bill. The attack was heavy: “We’d be remiss to pass along this extravagant bill… It is tantamount to throwing away taxpayer money for programs that are already working well… double-dipping… reasonable adjustments… smarter ways to address these problems of our veterans, Mr. Strait… can’t vote for this as written… Mr. Strait, can you trim down the excessive dollars here?”

Unless there were forty-two silent aye voters amid the negative vocal majority, it looked like AB-1987 was nearing the end of its run.

I watched Dalton as he listened. For a while he sat still, resting on his elbow, his big frame draped over his desk. Then he sat back, slid down in his seat a little, and crossed his arms. Maybe bored. Maybe disgusted.

The vote went along party lines — twenty Republicans in favor and sixty-two Democrats against — not quite the end of the story. It was now Dalton’s option to seek reconsideration and another vote.

He stood again, took a deep breath, and gave a rambling recap. Talked about the vets sleeping on the sidewalks in our cities, hungry and cold and hopeless. Said how fast even the lucky ones could spiral down. Talked about how easy it was to just give up, especially when you looked around and saw not one person who knew what you’d been through and what it was like to come home to nothing. Said if anything, the bill wasn’t big enough. Money, money, money, he said. That’s what it’s all about.

There was a long silence in the chamber when Dalton was finished. Seemed like the assembly members didn’t want to move. But the vote was the same, sixty-two against and twenty in favor of AB-1987, six months authored and steered through committee by Dalton Strait, now burning in lopsided flames on the assembly floor.

Dalton and I sat deep in the Butcher’s Block, far from the windows and the May sunshine. A late lunch on the way, bottles of Drake’s 1500 Pale Ale and one-ounce pours of WhistlePig twelve-year-old rye whiskey on the table before us. Shortly after sitting down, we had gotten onto sports, the usual for us San Diego guys: odds of the Chargers coming back to town, Padres, Phil Mickelson, Aztec basketball.

Now he tapped his half-empty whiskey glass on the table and caught the waitress’s eye.

“I knew they’d shoot it down,” he said. “It’s pro forma at this point. But I like watching them stumble over their own feet, trying to find ways to make sense. Now you watch, the Dems’ version of the same thing will come along, watered down and budget minded, and it will stand a good chance.”

“Riding your wake,” I said.

He shrugged, opening his hands in helplessness. “Off with their heads.”

“Now, Dalton,” said the waitress, setting forth fresh whiskeys. “You be nice and play fair.”

“And what will that get me in this town?”

“A smile from your server.”

“Oh, Betsy, I shall be nice and play fair.”

“Happy hour menus?”

“But of course!”

Time flies when you’re in good company, have drinks courtesy of your state assemblyman, and he has invited you to dinner at his favorite Capitol-close restaurant. Hailing the cab with a hearty wave, Dalton didn’t look like a man who was in debt more money than he made in a year. And would have been much deeper had he and his wife not apparently been spending campaign dollars given to him by the People.

I wasn’t exactly sure what he looked like.