The Friday Fades

By One that Ought to Know

If you ever find yourself in Carson City on a Friday—heaven help you—you might think the State Legislature had packed up its wigs and gavels, boarded a stagecoach, and vanished into the sagebrush. The hearing rooms sit as empty as a church pew in a gambling house, the corridors echo with the distant hum of disinterest, and the only thing getting passed is time.

Now, let us not be hasty. There are laws to make, budgets to get balanced, and speeches to bloviate, but not on Fridays. At least not in the first two months of the legislative session when, by all accounts, the halls of government resemble a ghost town more than a capitol.

Senator Ira Hansen, a fellow from Sparks–with eight sessions under his belt and a disposition like a buckboard over a gravel road, was asked how much work gets done on a Friday. He didn’t mince words, “None. Almost none,” he said, with the candor of a man who’s seen a thing or two and has grown tired of seeing it again.

According to the good Senator, if the citizenry were the bosses and the lawmakers the help, there’d be a heap of pink slips fluttering through the air like autumn leaves. “You would fire us,” he said, “because we’re only working four out of the five days that you’re paying us for.”

And that’s before he warmed up.

And the records, alas, bear him out. Of 84 scheduled Friday committee meetings, 40 got canceled. That’s nearly half—a batting average that would have even the most hopeless baseball team blushing.

Now, lest you think this is all one-sided, we did hear from Senator Angie Taylor, a Democratic chairwoman of the Education Committee and, by her own account, no deserter of duty. She explained that sometimes meetings are scratched because legislators are still sweet-talking the stakeholders or waiting for the bills to roll like reluctant tumbleweeds.

“But when the bills are there, we’re there,” she insisted.

It’s a fine enough defense—provided the bills don’t know it’s Friday, too.

As for the pay, it’s $130 a day—a sum that might buy you a decent supper and a room above the livery stable–but which adds up when you multiply it by 120 days, especially if spending twenty percent of that time catching up on your correspondence from a fishing dock.

Senator Hansen invites one and all to visit on a Friday and witness the quietude firsthand. “Sit here for an hour,” he said, “and watch how much work is being done.”

The man should charge admission.

Senator Taylor, when asked point-blank if she ever took a three-day weekend. She said no.

She didn’t speak for the others, and who can blame her? In politics, it’s everyone for themself once voting’s done and the weekend’s nigh.

So whether this early exodus is a symptom of legislative inefficiency or simply the calm before the late-session storm, I leave it to you, dear reader. But if you plan to visit the legislature on a Friday, don’t forget to pack a book—and maybe a blanket.