It was a fun year with Jeb

By DIANE ROBERTS

© St. Petersburg Times, published January 16, 2000

Time flies faster than a wood stork fleeing Everglades development when you're having this much fun.

Hard to believe it's been a whole year since the Dear Leader stood on the steps of the Old Capitol in Tallahassee and swore to uphold the Constitution of the state of Florida, (no matter how much it irritated him). So to mark Year 1 of the Dear Leader's benevolent reign, here's a month-by-month, blow-by-blow account.

January: Though the weather was as nippy as a Skyy martini, Inauguration Day was a great triumph for the Bush family. Former President Bush, Mrs. Bush, George W. Bush, George P. Bush, George Q. Bush, Georgiana Bush, John Birch Bush, Ayn Rand Bush, Anastasio Somoza Bush and his lovely wife Tequiza (from the Latin American branch of the family), all looked on proudly as Jeb! took the oath of office.

Other important guests included Speaker of the House John Thrasher, dressed in garnet and gold body paint, Senate President Toni Jennings, dressed in a hard hat, and proud Bush supporter Miguel Recarey, who wore dark glasses and a witty blond wig and stood behind a large oak tree.

A massed chorus of hand-scrubbed fifth graders sang the moving Stephen Foster-penned lyrics of our state song: "Still longin' for de ole plantation,/An' for de ole folks at home!" as the guests from Miami listened on their universal translators. The only jarring moment came when an enormous he-coon stalked across the lawn and, to put it delicately, did his business only a few feet from the gubernatorial party.

In the evening, Jeb! and his charming wife Columba (who is always so beautifully dressed) danced the night away. When asked how he liked life in Tallahassee, the new governor replied that there is no decent coffee to be had, people talk funny, the plumbing is not what he is used to, and there are too many trees. Other than that, he said he loves it.

February: Hassle City, as Poppy, pacing in the Oval Office, used to say. The Dear Leader had some problems with that pesky Sunshine law, just because last month he held a few meetings with Toni Jennings and John Thrasher at midnight with a flashlight in the pup tent in the backyard at the mansion. Why can't these freedom of information people lighten up?

Then there were those hiccups with Cabinet members and agency heads. Inexplicably, a gaggle of schoolchildren failed to understand Secretary of Education Tom Gallagher when he very kindly started to talk to them about "Dr. Zeus," author of How the Grinch Stole Easter. And when Cynthia Henderson, new head of the Department of Business and Professional Regulation, revealed to a reporter from a communist newspaper in St. Petersburg that she used to represent the best of American womanhood as a Playboy bunny, many across the state failed to appreciate the honor of wearing the tail and ears of the Hefner empire, one of the nation's great companies.

On the upside, the governor presented his first state budget, rich with appropriations for better coffee and lavish with tax cuts for those who, through their previous collection of wealth, have shown themselves to be the most deserving.

March: The legislative session opened and Jeb! presented the State of the State of His Head, proposing vouchers not only for schools but for country clubs: "Why," demanded our dynamic young governor, "should not every Floridian have the opportunity to play a decent course?"

Representatives and senators greeted the address with raptures, vowing a fresh, groovy era of "Gap-style" politics -- everybody in khakis, everybody for the death penalty. Gone was the chaotic jumble of previous opening days: legislative desks were tidy, the color of flower arrangements was strictly regulated, signs put up all over the Capitol read "Orderliness." Legislators promised that the trains would run on time.

April: A law promoting respect for even numbers was passed. The governor proudly signed "2-4-6-8-10-20-Life" in the presence of many beaming representatives of Florida's well-armed police forces.

The governor also demonstrated his heroism in helping remove a large, recalcitrant raccoon from the attic of a Baptist school in West Palm Beach. He later joked with teachers that he still couldn't get the big old he-coon out of his own house: "He just won't leave the mansion," said the governor."He swims in the pool, watches deer hunting shows on pay-per-view in our den and cooks grits in our kitchen."

May: The governor turned down a trip to Nigeria. He was supposed to go on safari to photograph rare water pumps in that fascinating country, but in the end declined because of the lack of decent coffee.

June: Columba Bush returned from a trip to Paris with 20 grand's worth of designer clothes. Badly dressed (polyester!) border agents insisted that the part of the customs form stating the limit to be $400 did, in fact, apply to her. "It's not like I shot the president," said a contrite Mrs. B.

July: Columba Bush was still suffering the slings and arrows of outraged citizens accustomed to dressing on a budget. Cruel jokes about suitcases full of Chanel and Christian Dior abounded. Cruel jokes about suitcases full of money followed. The governor defended his wife and his business dealings with commendable gallantry: "What we do with our credit cards is our own business."

August: Some heinous killer-types turned cry baby over the electric chair, egged on by bleeding hearts who think it's "cruel and unusual" if somebody's head explodes or somebody's skin burns like pork crackling during execution.

September: Hurricane Floyd was the governor's first big meteorological trial, and he set a fine example, reminding the citizens to get in a good supply of batteries, candles, L.L. Bean rainwear and brewskis.

October: There was a state-wide hissy fit as FSU football star Peter Warrick got a couple hundred bucks worth of clothes from Dillard's at a 95 percent discount. "It's not like I tried to smuggle a Dior cocktail dress from Paris," he said. The governor had no comment.

November: The governor's plan to build a really clean, nice, even pretty, cement plant on some stupid river was opposed by hippie-types who don't understand the importance of cement to our state. Don't they see that in building this plant we actually stimulate wildlife in unused parts of Florida? If the animals don't have trucks to run from, how will they get any exercise? And why does everyone think the Ichetucknee is so great? The nearest Starbucks is miles away.

The governor's plan to end all racism in Florida was similarly misunderstood. "One Florida" will ensure that no one is allowed to notice if a person has, for example, dark skin. Yet the Corinne Browns and Darryl Joneses and Les Millers just don't get it. Why can't these people be grateful when somebody tries to uplift them?

December: The governor spent a quiet family Christmas with Columba (looking particularly elegant in Givenchy) and the children, reading up on lethal injection, laughing gas and guillotines in preparation for January's special legislative session solemnly entitled "Kill 'Em: Kill 'Em Right Now." He decided against crucifixion as a possible alternative to Old Sparky on the grounds that some religious groups might be offended.

The governor and the first lady spent New Year's in Tallahassee, leafing through Vogue and setting traps for those blasted raccoons that keep messing up the mansion lawn. 2000 looks to be a really big year in the Sunshine State as we lead the way to bigger and better executions, unencumbered by tiresome defense lawyers, unslowed by appeals, undelayed by compassion, undeterred by the truth.

-- Diane Roberts is a Times editorial writer.

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