Graham goes softly

Defining moments catapulted Sen. Bob Graham, a thoughtful Florida icon, into a national figure with a lasting political legacy.

[AP photo] On the Capitol subway Tuesday, Sen. Bob Graham, 68, looks over his final speech for the Senate, where he has worked 18 years. He was Florida governor eight years, served 12 in the state legislature, and has a long list of accomplishments on education, health care and the environment.

[AP] A few remaiming items are packed in Graham's office as he finishes out his last days in the Senate.

WASHINGTON - Sen. Bob Graham is at his desk, glasses perched on his nose, trying to choose the right words to say goodbye.

His office walls are bare. His Everglades paintings, University of Florida yearbooks and Bill Clinton autographed photos have been shipped home to Miami Lakes. Graham is about to give his farewell address to the Senate, and he wants his communications director, Paul Anderson, to make some last-minute changes.

Always a policy wonk, Graham wants to say more about federalism. (Federalism!) And he wants Anderson to research the precise number of senators who have served with him since he was elected in 1986.

"Okayyyyyy," Graham says. "In the paragraph where we list people, we ought to say something like, "On behalf of more than 1,000 people I have worked with in my career..."'

At 68, Graham is retiring. He's worked 18 years in the Senate, eight as governor and 12 in the Florida Legislature. It's been quite a ride. The man who hit a low point as "Governor Jell-O" became a Florida icon with a long list of accomplishments in education, health care and the environment.

He also sang hokey songs, wore corny ties and scribbled odd things in little notebooks. Washington was never sure what to make of Bob Graham.

The eccentric uncle

As Graham rides the subway to the Capitol to give his farewell address, a reporter asks about his habit of singing at campaign events when he ran for president. Graham steps from the subway car and breaks into his theme song.

"You've got a friend in Bob Graham! That's what everybody's saying!"

The songs cemented Graham's quirky reputation. Considered one of the brainiest U.S. senators - he could recite Medicare reimbursement rates from memory - he also came across as the eccentric uncle, the one who wore loud sport coats and pulled your cheeks.

Many in the Washington establishment did not take him seriously. Some journalists and pundits believed his note-taking was emblematic of a deeper strangeness.

People in Washington shun diaries - they don't keep anything that might be subpoenaed by a grand jury - and Graham's were especially odd because he logged everything from his daily health routine ("Apply scalp medication") to his change of clothes ("Dress in gray suit") to his search for an "alternative dry cleaning facility."

Graham also struggled for respect because he wasn't a master of the snappy quote. Ask him about Medicare and he'll give you a long-winded history lesson about Lyndon Johnson's Great Society and how the pharmaceutical industry had changed health care.

Graham accomplished much in Congress - protecting the Everglades, boosting veterans benefits, expanding Medicare. But in the clubby Senate, he often was the outsider. Consider this episode from 1998:

Graham was on the subway with Sens. Al D'Amato and Pete Domenici, who were reviewing the latest estimate for a budget surplus. D'Amato joked that they should keep the money for themselves.

"Four-billion for you," he said, pointing to Domenici, "4-billion for you," he said to Graham, "and 4-billion for me."

"Well, Al," said Graham, "why don't we allocate the money based on when our states entered the union?"

Room 207, Carol City High School

In anyone's life, there are turning points, twists of fate that launch big things. For Graham, it was a question about cold pizza.

A state senator in 1974, Graham was at an education hearing in Jacksonville. When students got a chance to speak, they griped about bad cafeteria food. They said they already had complained to the mayor and the sheriff, but the pizza was still cold.

Amazed the kids knew so little about government that they would go to the mayor and sheriff, Graham told a group of civics teachers they needed to change what they teach.

A teacher from Carol City High School in Miami challenged him to come see the problem firsthand.

On Sept. 3, Graham showed up in Room 207 to teach civics. For 18 weeks, the kids got an inside lesson in government. Graham, in turn, got an inside look at the challenges of teaching in public school.

"It was really a life-changing experience for me," Graham told an oral history interviewer at the University of Florida. "I learned more about kids, parents and the reality of education than I had in the eight years sitting on education committees in the Legislature."

The experience grew into his "workdays" in which he tried someone's job for a day.

A great campaign gimmick, the workdays helped him get elected governor in 1978. He kept doing them about once a month - laborer, firefighter, sheriff's deputy, dock worker, pea picker - and made them his signature.

S.V. Date, a Palm Beach Post reporter who authored the Graham biography Quiet Passion, said workdays "gave him the ability to talk to regular people and not just people from Harvard Law."

The cold pizza question and the Carol City experience still inspire Graham. Next year, he plans to write a book on how people can influence government.

The Mariel boatlift

The boats kept coming - sailboats, shrimp boats and dinghies filled with Cubans fleeing Fidel Castro. The 1980 boatlift from the Port of Mariel brought 125,000 people to Florida, putting a huge strain on state and local government.

As governor, Graham was struggling to show he was in charge, earning the nickname "Governor Jell-O." Dempsey Barron, a Democratic power broker, described Graham during his first term as "the weakest ever to serve."

Now the young governor had a chance to prove himself. He was firm with the Carter administration: The federal government needed to help Florida.

He bristled when an officer at a Navy air station refused to allow the refugees to stay near the base's officer's quarters.

"G-- d--- it!" Graham said into the phone. "We are not here operating a country club. We have got a full-scale national crisis."

Castro eventually closed the port and stopped the exodus, but the huge influx of people had a major impact on Florida for years. Today, Graham cites the Mariel boatlift as one of the defining moments of his career, along with a trucker strike that he helped settle and directing the state response to hurricanes.

"I got a lot of gratification out of successfully resolving those crises," Graham says.

In many ways, his time as a problem-solving governor was his most satisfying. He led an effort to protect sensitive lands and oversaw new laws to manage the state's rapid growth. He boosted education spending, lengthened the school day and reduced class sizes.

"He made the state believe in itself," said Charlie Reed, his former chief of staff.

When Graham finished his eight years as governor, Barron had kinder words: "He was a strong and decisive governor, sometimes almost hard-headed, but he always did his homework."

No one paid much attention in spring 2001 when Graham became chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee. After 14 years in Washington, it was the perfect low-profile assignment for a low-profile guy.

But after the Sept.11 attacks, Graham was suddenly a national figure.

He oversaw the congressional inquiry into the attacks - a thorny task, because the Bush administration was reluctant to admit mistakes and the House intelligence committee was run by a Republican.

That Republican happened to be Porter Goss, of Sanibel, who years earlier Gov. Graham had appointed to the Lee County Board of Commissioners. Graham's good relations with Goss helped defuse partisan problems.

Graham clashed often with the Bush administration about what could be declassified. When the report came out, he included pages with virtually every word blanked out, to illustrate that the administration was being overly secretive.

He earned positive marks for running the congressional investigation, and his time in the spotlight made him think he was destined for national office. But he discovered his subtle style and thoughtful approach aren't the stuff of modern presidential campaigns.

In June 2003, Graham and other candidates spoke at a picnic inside a big barn in Mount Pleasant, Iowa. Graham had the misfortune of speaking after Howard Dean.

The former Vermont governor gave a fiery speech attacking the Bush administration for misleading the nation about the war in Iraq. Dean got a standing ovation. Graham came next. He spoke haltingly, with frequent "uhs," and delivered his standard lines about his political resume. He got polite applause.

Many in the crowd were perplexed when he broke into song. "You've got a friend in Bob Graham..."

Graham strode onto the Senate floor last Tuesday, his farewell address tucked in a blue folder. Other than the presiding officer, Sen. Lincoln Chafee of Rhode Island, not one other senator was in the chamber. A handful of tourists sat in the gallery.

Graham put on his glasses, clipped a microphone to his jacket and signaled to be recognized.

"The senator from Florida."

"Mr. President, my 18-year tenure in the Senate has capped an extremely satisfying personal experience with great rewards and gratification of public service," Graham told the empty chamber.

"These have been some of the most significant influences on my life."

He spoke fondly about his wife, Adele, their four daughters and 11 grandchildren.

"At one point, Adele used to be nervous in public settings. Today, I wish I had her calm, her persuasiveness, her effectiveness in public settings," he said.

He said that on Thanksgiving, surrounded by family, he carved his name in his desk - a tradition for outgoing senators. He mentioned his retirement plans: to open a think tank to foster better relations with Latin America and encourage young people to work in government.

He spoke of federalism, and the how government works best when it is closest to the people. He said Congress should "spend less time looking at the rearview mirror for the accidents behind and more time looking out of the front windshield." He spoke of the importance of the Senate's role in confirming federal judges.

The speech was classic Graham. A little wordy, a little nerdy, heartfelt and free of bombast.

He quoted Harry Truman: "I have seen a great many men in public life, and one of their besetting sins is to stay in office too long."

Graham said, "I decided that I would not be guilty of this common failing, and that I should make way for younger men."

He closed the folder and handed his speech to a Senate clerk, to file away for history.

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