Bill Cotterell: Sine Die puts session in rear view mirror

Whatever we may think of the laws and policies they produce, Republicans have brought order and operational efficiency to the Florida Legislature.

This year, as usual, the House and Senate got a budget deal in time for a mandated 72-hour “cooling off” period that permitted the 60-day legislative session to end on time. The only speculation of the session’s second half focused not on some big bill or political showdown, but on whether Gov. Ron DeSantis had diminished his dominance by running for president and losing.

Early indications suggest the governor is still solidly in control. He vetoed a top priority of the House speaker, and there was no attempt at an override, so the speaker worked out a face-saving compromise. And of course, DeSantis alone has line-item veto power over all those goodies legislators stuffed into the budget — and they know they’ll have to live with him for two more sessions.

Adjournment “sine die” is Latin for “without a day,” meaning that when the sergeants at arms drop their handkerchiefs in the Capitol’s fourth-floor rotunda, there is not another day on the legislative calendars. Everybody who’s not term-limited, or politically worn out, can resume collecting money for re-election campaigns.

A great sportswriter once wrote that in basketball, they should give each team 100 points and start the game with two minutes left. Similarly, lawmaking would turn out about the same if legislators could put the governor’s budget plan in a joint committee and start the session with two weeks to play.

That’s when all the real work gets done anyway. The speaker, Senate president and their inner circle make all the big decisions, with guidance by the governor. Passing a budget is the only thing legislators are legally required to do and if negotiations hit a snag as time runs out, massive amounts of money magically appear for hometown projects that help members compromise.

It wasn’t always so smooth.

When Democrats ran the Capitol, for about 125 years after Reconstruction, it was common for sessions to be extended, even weeks. In the final hours, staffers literally sprinted between the House and Senate with hand-scrawled amendments or messages to fix big bills.

One year, they went a few hours past midnight on June 30 and started a new fiscal year without a budget. Anticipating such a stalemate, they drew up lists of “essential state employees” like highway patrol troopers and prison guards, who stayed on the job with a promise of getting paid.

Often, the sun was rising over Apalachee Parkway when legislators left the Old Capitol, back when it was the only Capitol.

That changed in 1996 when Republicans took over. Speaker Dan Webster, the first GOP speaker of modern times, decreed that the Legislature would quit at a decent hour — not just for sine die, but every day.

So, Gov. Lawton Chiles set up a table in the rotunda with a white linen tablecloth and a pitcher of orange juice on the final day. He poured for Webster and Senate President Toni Jennings to toast the end of the session.

Republicans haven’t been entirely harmonious, though. A few years ago, the House quit on Wednesday — leaving senators a take it-or-leave it agenda. All they could do was to pass or kill bills that had been approved by the House, no amending possible.

There were snookers sometimes. About 30 years ago, Chiles slipped a few little technical amendments onto some obscure bills, to strip the tobacco industry of legal defenses in court. The state then sued Big Tobacco for Medicaid costs of treating sick and dying smokers and collected billions.

Political mischief can occur in the final hours.

The late Rep. Hurley Rudd of Tallahassee was literally caught napping once as the Legislature pulled an all-nighter. An AP photographer got a picture of Rudd leaning back in his chair, eyes closed during a recess as the House waited for the Senate to return some bills in the wee hours. An opponent used the shot in campaign ads, accusing Rudd of sleeping on the job.

Rudd swore he was just checking his eyelids for holes. But he won re-election, as his Tallahassee-area constituents knew the Legislature has informal recesses like that during marathon meetings.

One year, some lobbyists hired a rather plump opera soprano to perform arias in the rotunda on the final day of the session — alluding to that old dictum about the show’s not over ’til the fat lady sings.

Legislators took the hint. They adjourned.

Bill Cotterell is a retired Capitol reporter for United Press International and the Tallahassee Democrat. He writes a weekly column for The News Service of Florida and City & State Florida. He can be reached at bcotterell@govexec.com. 

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This article originally appeared on Tallahassee Democrat: Bill Cotterell: Sine Die puts session in rear view mirror