What's it worth to run the state?
Florida lawmakers don't get rich on their salary. But some have seen their fortunes rise since taking office. (First of two parts)
By LUCY MORGAN
Published February 20, 2005
TALLAHASSEE - We call them citizen legislators.
For 60 days each spring they come to Tallahassee to make new laws and approve a multibillion-dollar budget.
Back home, legislators work as lawyers, business people, educators, doctors, insurance agents, farmers and Realtors. Most of the 120 House members and 40 senators have other jobs and serve only parttime in jobs that pay $29,916 a year.
In theory, citizen legislators are more likely to represent the needs of average Floridians.
But few of these lawmakers would be considered ordinary citizens. Many of them have outside jobs with employers that rely on money from the state or enjoy exemptions from state taxes. Nearly a third are millionaires. And two of them, including the legislator in line to become House speaker in 2006, have negative net worths.
Can legislators who owe more than they own be expected to understand the nuances of a state budget that tops $60-billion?
Can millionaires relate to the problems of ordinary Floridians?
Can legislators whose private jobs and public duties sometimes overlap serve without a conflict of interest?
The answers depend on whom you ask.
Fifty-three millionairesWhile 22 of the 160 legislators report their legislative salary as their principal income, a review of annual financial disclosure forms shows that 37 House members and 16 senators reported net worths of more than $1-million in 2004.
Thirty-one of them have become millionaires while in office.
Reubin Askew, who as governor from 1971 to 1979 became the architect of the state's financial disclosure requirements, says he wanted Floridians to be able to compare what a person had when elected with what he or she acquired while in office. Askew says he is disappointed that few have used disclosure reports to make the comparison.
"If people know how much a man is worth when he takes office, they can monitor whether he unduly profits from his position by having full financial information," he said.
Some of the lawmakers whose net worths have escalated in recent years attribute the growth to rapid increases in property values. And most say they would have gained more if they had spent more time on their private business and less time serving constituents.
Sen. Dennis Jones, R-Treasure Island, has spent most of the past 25 years in the Legislature. A chiropractor, Jones has seen his net worth grow from $143,000 in 1978 to $2,322,158 in 2004.
Jones says his private business has prospered, thanks in part to a son who helps him run a chiropractic clinic in St. Petersburg and the increased value of land he owns. He has added to his holdings on the Rainbow River near Dunnellon and traded a modest home in St. Petersburg for a waterfront home on Treasure Island during his years in office.
Jones says his private business would have thrived even more had he not spent so much time as a legislator.
At the other end of the scale, 12 lawmakers report a net worth of less than $50,000. And two of those, including House Speaker-to-be Marco Rubio, R-Miami, have negative net worths - their debts exceed their assets.
Rubio, 33, says his financial situation is the result of law school loans and a mortgage on his house.
"I'm trying to flip that," Rubio said when asked about the negative net worth he has carried since he was elected to the House in 2000.
House Speaker Allan Bense, a self-made millionaire with a net worth of $9.5-million, says it is hard for lawmakers who are not wealthy to make a living and put in the time required for leadership roles. Bense leaves his contracting and golf course businesses in Panama City in the hands of partners these days, spending most of his time on legislative business.
"But I like to believe all members are here for the right reasons and everyone has input," said Bense. "I don't think it affects the way I legislate. I think I would put the interests of the state first."
Senate President Tom Lee, a Republican homebuilder from Brandon who has a net worth of $1.8-million, says he is able to serve because there are family members in his company.
Rep. Randy Johnson, R-Celebration, fears that less affluent people are being pushed out of legislative service.
"The system is cocked and loaded to solicit the wealthy to serve," said Johnson. "Those who are financially sound are very interested in keeping legislative pay low, which keeps everybody else out. The average voter might think it makes sense, but the net effect is that only millionaires can afford to run for the jobs.
"You cannot support yourself on a legislative salary - it's a recipe for disaster for those who try," said Johnson. "The temptations are great."
Johnson's regular job is directing the nonprofit, tax-exempt Central Florida Sports Authority, which promotes sporting events in the Orlando area.
Johnson has prospered in the Legislature. When he was elected in 1998, his net worth was $25,733. Six years later, it was $416,060, an increase he attributes primarily to rising property values at Celebration, the upscale community where he lives.
Johnson's salary at the sports authority has risen sharply, too, from $97,500 in 1998 to $187,465 now.
Rep. Bob Allen, R-Merritt Island, tried living on a legislative salary before getting a new job last year with EMC Technology.
"It's very hard. People expect their legislators to be available," Allen said. "We didn't have cable, drove old cars and didn't own a house until 2003."
Some lawmakers say they are able to function without an outside job because they have spouses or other family members who bring home the bacon.
"My wife takes care of me," said Rep. Stan Mayfield, R-Vero Beach. "She runs a mortgage company and lets me live with her."
Mayfield believes lawmakers have to be independently wealthy or have some support mechanism.
"You can do another job, you can do both jobs, but the politics gets a little sticky sometimes," he said.
Mayfield ought to know. He worked as a consultant for the local school district until his political enemies started taking pot shots at his dual role.
Rep. Carl Domino, R-Jupiter, says he has taken shots, too - for having too much money.
Domino, the richest lawmaker with a net worth of more than $35-million, says he only needs to remember his roots. His father was an enlisted man in the military, and Domino sold hamburgers at Florida State to make his way through school. Later, he used loans and scholarships to get his MBA at Harvard.
He works now as an investment manager with a healthy portfolio of stocks and bonds. When elected, Domino had a net worth of $24.8-million.
"A couple of people have tried to make my money an issue," Domino said. "But I had to go out and earn it. I understand what it is to only get one present at Christmas time."
Being in the Legislature did cost him his job with Northern Trust, says Domino. The company dismissed him after it had trouble reaching him during a session.
Fox in the henhouse?Legislators attend committee meetings in Tallahassee at least one week a month from September to February, then spend all of March and April in regular session. Most spend time in their districts making appearances and helping constituents, and they are sometimes summoned back to the capital for special sessions.
Since most legislators have jobs in addition to their legislative roles, the potential for conflicts of interest is inevitable.
A number of legislators are employed by county school systems or other government entities that have a vested interest in the state budget. Health care professionals have a stake in legislation that affects the state's health care delivery system, just as insurance agents have an interest in bills that would increase rates and educators an interest in bigger budgets for schools and pay for teachers. Two lawmakers are employees of BellSouth, a major player in telecommunications legislation.
In recent years legislators have drawn criticism when their private business interests appeared to conflict with their legislative roles.
For instance, Rep. Dennis Ross, R-Lakeland, a lawyer whose firm represented Publix Supermarkets, was criticized by environmentalists in 2003 when he successfully sponsored a proposal to limit liability for dry cleaning establishments that polluted neighboring land. In 2001, Publix lost a legal fight in Lee County after dry cleaning fluid migrated from a Publix-owned shopping center to nearby property.
Rep. Donald Brown, R-DeFuniak Springs, an insurance agent, last year unsuccessfully pushed to let auto insurers raise rates without going through the regulatory process.
In 2003, Rep. Dennis Baxley, R-Ocala, a funeral director, pushed a bill that would transfer regulation of funeral contracts away from then-Comptroller Bob Milligan at the same time Milligan's office was auditing Baxley's business. His attempts failed, and Milligan later charged Baxley's companies with 556 violations of a law regulating the sale of preneed contracts and cemetery plots.
Sen. Tony Hill, D-Jacksonville, a former longshoreman who works for the AFL-CIO, sought unsuccessfully last year to curtail background checks the state requires for workers on Jacksonville's docks.
A Times survey last year found that at least 18 of the 34 lawmakers most responsible for shaping state tax policy benefit from loopholes in Florida's corporate income tax. Several other legislators were employed by nonprofit agencies funded in part by public money.
Combined, those state policymakers have or had interests in at least 50 businesses that are exempt from the state's corporate income tax.
Legislative leaders face a dilemma when appointing committees and committee leaders. Should they put insurance agents in charge of insurance issues, doctors in charge of health care and teachers in charge of education?
"It looks to the average citizen like it creates the potential for having the fox guard the henhouse," said Lee. "But with a fair-minded, objective member who is trying to do the right thing for Florida, it can be invaluable."
"It's a tough call," said Bense. "But I don't think someone from an urban area should be chairman of the agriculture committee."
The two leaders say they have to be on guard against possible conflicts of interest.
"It depends on the moral construct of the member," said Lee. "The key to me is knowing my members, knowing their reputation and whether they can be above the extraordinary pressure."
"I have to judge people on their performance," said former Gov. Askew. "You can have very honest people with money and very honest people with no money."
Lee likes having lawmakers with different backgrounds, particularly when they have no need to use the process for personal gain.
Some school districts allow lawmakers to pursue legislative duties and pay them full salary while they are in Tallahassee. They like having them there when it's time to vote on the state budget.
But some lawmakers have run into trouble at home when they hold down a public sector job.
Rep. Ralph Arza, R-Hialeah, was a teacher at Miami Senior High School when first elected in 2000. But he resigned from his teaching job last year after a controversy erupted.
"It became pretty adversarial," Arza said.
"Being a legislator and having to make a living is a challenge," he said. "It's not easy. Sometimes our expertise comes in the field we would naturally serve in. If you are an employee of a school or university, as long as it's disclosed it's not a problem."
Arza has done pretty well since his election in 2000. His net worth is up 128 percent.
Times researchers Deirdre Morrow and Kitty Bennett contributed to this report, which drew on reports in other Florida newspapers.