Lunch with Ernest

Call him the reluctant politician

Tom Lee was active in the Brandon chamber and was a member of the county's planning commission largely because of a desire to help the community where he has lived since elementary school.

But in 1995, he balked more than once at suggestions that he run for the state Senate seat being vacated by Malcolm Beard. Lee finally gave in, and after two terms, now finds himself in the powerful role of incoming Senate president.

Over lunch at TGI Friday's, we talked about lessons learned in Tallahassee, his contentious dispute with Gov. Jeb Bush over medical malpractice insurance and, most important, his mustache. Pull up a chair, and join us.

TOM: I think the best thing is the community really still hasn't lost its values as a family-oriented, down-to-earth bedroom community to Tampa. The risks of becoming urban and impersonal are pretty significant, but it's awful hard to maintain a sense of community when you grow like we've grown. As someone who grew up in the building business and served on the planning commission for a few years, you see some of the downside of what has happened out here.

So much of the commercial core of the community has been cannibalized by some of the new developments in the I-75 corridor and now in what really are the suburbs of traditional Brandon: Bloomingdale, River Hills, FishHawk. Unfortunately, what you have as a result is kind of a blighted-looking Highway 60. It's not pedestrian-friendly. They're trying to do something about it, but it's too far gone now. I'm afraid Highway 60 will always be Highway 60. The greatest downside of all the growth has been some deterioration of quality of life in terms of access to infrastructure.

In 1995, I was coming off an elevator with (former county commissioner) Ed Turanchik. Some guy who I didn't know says, "I hear you're running for Senate next year." I looked at him like he was a ghost, like he was trying to freak me out. And he said, "No, I'm serious. I hear that Malcolm Beard is retiring and you're going to run for Senate." I would have bet the farm I would never run for anything. Finally, I had a meeting with my dad and some people, and they said, "You love your community. If you're ever going to do anything where you can really step up and help your community, you could do more good in one day in the Florida Senate than you could do all year working out here in the community."

I finally decided I'm 33 years old, I've had some success in business, some success in the community, if I was ever going to do this, now would be the time. I thought I was going to get whipped, but it all worked out.

The thing I realize is that people in your community, who grew up with you, went door to door with you, had no interest in politics and probably will never get involved with another candidate - they got involved because they really did believe in you. People outside the community, they got involved one day after they knew you were going to win. The guys who wouldn't return your phone calls when they started, they're not going to return them when you leave. That whole experience of how I got there - lifted up from the community, not supported by the special interest initially - has kind of made me much more of an apolitical maverick in the Senate than you're really used to seeing. But it's who I am. I've always been willing to go to war for things I believe in.

I think everything was going okay until the Republican Party turned on itself. This internal holy war evolved from a fistfight between two special interest groups. I'm saying, What are we doing here? We've got the president of the United States back on the ballot in 2004, we've got a chance to pick up a United States Senate seat and we're imploding as a party over an issue that you cannot say what the definition of right and wrong is. It is not quantifiable. It's like asking somebody what their favorite color is. The deeper we got into it, the more embarrassing it became. Ultimately, it would have been okay if some of the tactics and strategies had not turned personal.

I always believe you fight fair and you have respect for the people you're fighting against because I'm wrong a lot, and I don't have all the answers. In fact, I don't have most of them. So I'm never so arrogant as to believe there's only one way to achieve a solution and it's my way. Ultimately, if you're going to get something done, you have to compromise with enough people in the process to get the votes passed. That always seems like one of the downsides of democracy, but it's probably the single greatest beauty of it.

Yeah, but not as amazed as a lot of other people. I'll be in a parade, particularly when I first started out, and people I went to school with and have kids now, they're like, What's this country come to? People who know me locally, they never figured I was wired for something like this and they're kind of shocked. Most elected officials get lots of thumbs-up at the parade. I get a lot of my friends saying, "Tommy Lee, how's Pamela?"

What you're seeing is old photos and new photos. I haven't had a mustache in about a year. I get a letter (in May of 2002) in my office marked personal and confidential. I come in and it's laying on my desk and they kind of push it under my nose. They wanted me to see it. You could tell it was a kind of loopy artistic writing that women tend to have. It says, I've been following your career. I'm really proud of you. I knew there was a big "but" coming, and there was. It said, but you need a huge image makeover. It said three things: One, I noticed during sessions you were wearing darker shirts. You might think it's fashionable, but it makes you look like a gangster. Two, let's face it, you're losing your hair. It's nothing to be ashamed of, who isn't? But you ought to have a haircut that's more reflective of that like Matt Lauer or Bruce Willis. Finally, it said, and the mustache, it's got to go. It's very dated, people don't trust folks with mustaches and it makes you look like a '70s porn star. I still have this letter. If I take anything with me from public service, I'm taking this letter.

Eventually, Lee, 41, let his daughter Regan cut his mustache with an electric trimmer. With a daughter named Regan, you may think he's a staunch Republican, but Lee jokes that he named her after Linda Blair's character in The Exorcist. She's tough, like me. What may be more telling is his son's name. He has just always liked the name Brandon.

- Ernest Hooper also writes a column for the Tampa & State section of the St. Petersburg Times. Lunch With Ernest is edited for brevity and clarity. To suggest lunch partners, call Ernest at 226-3406 or e-mail hooper@sptimes.com

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