The O’Toole Chronicles: How to Be a Legislator — and Actually Be Good at It

After spending a few decades in and around Trenton, I have come to one conclusion about being a successful legislator:

It isn’t that complicated.

That doesn’t mean it’s easy.

Plenty of smart people have walked into the State House convinced they were destined for greatness, only to walk out a few years later wondering why nobody noticed they were there.

The secret isn’t brilliance. It isn’t giving the greatest floor speech since Cicero. And it certainly isn’t introducing 200 bills and issuing a press release declaring yourself the most productive legislator since Alexander Hamilton.

The secret is doing a hundred little things right, over and over again.

First rule: Show up.

Sounds ridiculously simple. It isn’t.

Show up for sessions. Show up for committee meetings. (See incredible record of Senator George Geist). While you are at it, serve on meaningful committees. Say budget and judiciary. Pro-tip: before a significant committee hearing, have the commissioner show up at your legislative office. (Ask Transportation Czar Kris Kolluri for advice). While at the statehouse, create personal and political alliances. Spot talent on the left and right and settle in. (See Senator Brian Stack and Senator Michael Doherty). Speaking of showing up, show up in your district. Show up at the firehouse dinner, the Chamber breakfast, the Little League opening, the senior picnic, the Softball World Series, and the Eagle Scout ceremony. The ribbon cuttings. The town fairs and Saturday fresh markets. The parades. The large and small events. Stop by a council meeting and say hello. Get a warm welcome at the local board of education and see if you can help. The senior club meets weekly. Say hello to the men and women in blue, and who doesn’t like a firefighter?  A box of treats and a smile go a long way. It all adds up. It is cumulative.

People remember who showed up.

And they really remember who didn’t.

Second: Know your district.

Pick a handful of bills that actually matter to the people who sent you to Trenton. Fix an intersection. Help a hospital. Protect a school. Solve a flooding problem. Help your towns get their fair share. All politics is local.

When under the Gold Dome, you don’t need your name on every bill.

You need your fingerprints on the right ones.

Then find a few issues bigger than your district. Something with statewide appeal. Something that demonstrates that while you know every diner in your legislative district (See former AG and Assemblyman Cary Edwards record), you also understand that New Jersey extends beyond its borders.

Third: Learn to read legislative traffic.

This may be one of the most underrated skills in Trenton.

Watch the important bills moving through your house. If a good bill is gathering momentum and you believe in it, don’t stand on the sidewalk watching the parade.

Get on the bill.

Become a co-prime.

And watch the other house too. If something important is moving through the Senate and you’re in the Assembly—or vice versa—know about it before it arrives on your desk.

There are no prizes for discovering legislation after everybody else.

And this is important: don’t assume your constituents use the Office of Legislative Services website.  If you want them to know what bills you’ve sponsored, tell them.

Fourth: Become the king or queen of resolutions.

Sponsor them by the thousands.

Girl Scouts and Eagle Scouts. Retirements. Anniversaries. Championship teams. Grand openings. Volunteer firefighters. Community leaders. Important birthdays. A 100-year-old resident should not make it to 101 without receiving something with the Great Seal of New Jersey on it. Those recipients will excitedly tell a few family and friends and so on. (See Heather Locklear in the 1984 Fabergé Organics commercial — “and they will tell two friends and so on and so on.”).

(And fun fact: New Jersey Globe Editor David Wildstein once dated Heather Locklear.  You should force him to tell the story on The Insider Edge.)

Some people underestimate the power of ceremonial resolutions.

They shouldn’t.

Government is ultimately about people, and sometimes recognizing someone’s accomplishment means more to that family than passing another 147-page piece of legislation nobody outside Trenton will ever read. And it will hang on that wall until someone reads the will, and the siblings will quarrel over it.

Fifth: Talk to the staff.

Constantly.

And not merely because you need something.

Thank them.

Legislative staffers, committee aides and partisan staff are the air traffic controllers of Trenton. They know what’s taking off, what’s landing, what’s delayed, and what’s about to crash into the side of the mountain.

Treat them well.

Besides being the decent thing to do, you’ll be amazed how much you learn. Most legislators (90%) don’t properly appreciate the value of staff. Staff are the backbone, and often the skeleton, of the legislative process. If I hear one more legislator say he or she wrote that bill, I will call on the staffer who did the drafting in my next column and call out that lying legislator.

Sixth: Keep the social-media coals warm.

You don’t have to post every time you order lunch. Some legislators post the dumbest, most insane “facts.” New flash-No one wants to see your medical records or your latest colonoscopy results. You aren’t that interested, but maybe the topic you are working on might interest the public.

But people should know you’re working.

Politics abhors a vacuum.

If you don’t tell people what you’re doing, someone else will eventually tell them what you’re not doing.

Seventh: Understand public opinion.

Don’t govern by poll.

But don’t govern wearing noise-canceling headphones either.

Listen.

Know when the public mood has changed. Know when an issue that mattered six months ago has been replaced by something else.

Good politicians have convictions.

Great politicians also have radar. Today’s politics has changed more than ever, and you need to keep pace.

Eighth: Raise money.

Yes, I said it.

Politics costs money. And that shouldn’t surprise anyone.

And here’s the part candidates don’t particularly enjoy hearing: make the calls yourself.

Don’t hand somebody a list of donors and say, “Call these people for me.” Most legislators are too proud or too stupid to make all the calls themselves.

Pick up the phone. Ask.

And if they don’t answer, call back.  I did and raised a ton, every year.  Pro tip: each year, give away a lot to the locals, and they will remember when it comes time.

Another tip—get into the habit of calling top donors and not asking for money, but asking their opinion. On anything. Politics. The Yankees. The Yalta Conference.  Thank them.

Remember them.

Fundraising isn’t merely about collecting checks. It’s another form of relationship building.

And if you’re unwilling to ask someone personally to invest in your political career, don’t be shocked when they don’t.

This next part ought to be tattooed on your chief of staff’s forehead: don’t burn through your money in dumb, lavish expenditures and expect leadership to bail you out if your race suddenly tightens. Of course, this mandate applies only after hours, when your staff isn’t prohibited from working on political campaigns. Legislators must act like grownups.  Buck stops here.

Ninth: Attend everything—but master the Irish goodbye.

Walk in.

Shake every hand.

Thank the host.

Say hello to the mayor, the council members, the police chief, the volunteers, the bartender and the person cleaning the room.

Take the picture.

Then leave.

Being the last person at Beefsteak at 11:47 p.m. offers absolutely no political benefit.

Nobody ever lost an election because they left the Rotary dinner twenty minutes early.

Plenty have gotten themselves into trouble by staying two hours too long. If you are wasting hours at one event, you don’t have enough to do, or your home life must really suck. (See examples of countless legislators.)

Tenth: Read eighth section again and implement.  

Eleventh: Bring government home.

Invite cabinet members into your district.

Bring commissioners to town halls. Bring agency officials to see the problem instead of sending them another memo describing it.

There’s an enormous difference between telling someone in Trenton that a bridge is falling apart and standing under the bridge with the commissioner while concrete falls around you. Collateral benefit:  that commissioner is now on the clock and owns that problem. That event conveys connectivity and power of the incumbency. Take full advantage.

Government gets remarkably efficient when the problem is standing directly in front of the person who can fix it.

Twelfth: Don’t replace retail politics and retail government with technology.  It’s still ok to go meet people, especially if you’re an extrovert by nature.  Don’t rely entirely on technology.  Handwritten notes and phone calls are still ok. This new generation (Beta, Gen Z, and Millennials) has replaced old-fashioned oral communication with robotic-like texting. It just isn’t the same. It lacks charm, humor, intensity, and authenticity to be completely effective.

And Number Thirteen: Make your own luck.

Don’t rely on anyone’s coattails.  Bob Franks put it plainly and succinctly: “Trust a$$holes$ to your detriment.” 

Fun Fact 2: When Chuck Hardwick was Assembly Speaker, he rode on Air Force One when President Reagan came to New Jersey; he flew to D.C., then took a taxi to Andrews Air Force Base.  On board, Hardwick secured a stack of Air Force One bite cards and, over the next couple of days, wrote to municipal chairs, mayors, donors, and colleagues.  Every note, dozens of them, said the same thing: “I’m sitting here in Air Force One with Ronald Reagan, and I know I wouldn’t be here without you.”  Gold!

And finally:

Be the happy warrior.

Politics is already miserable enough.

Nobody wants to spend their time with the legislator who walks into every room complaining about leadership, the governor, the press, the other party, their colleagues, their district, their committee assignment, and the chicken dinner.

Smile.

Shake hands.

Laugh.

Be grateful you’re there.

Because thousands of people will trade places with you tomorrow.

I spent 40 years around public life and learned that the most successful legislators weren’t necessarily the smartest people in the room.

They were the people who worked.

They loved it.

They showed up.

They listened.

They remembered names.

They returned phone calls.

They knew the staff.

They raised the money.

They watched the legislative traffic.

They took care of their districts.

They recognized other people’s accomplishments instead of constantly advertising their own.

And they understood one final rule that may be the most important of all:

Never confuse holding office with being important.

The office is important.

You’re just lucky enough to occupy it for a little while.

So show up.

Do the work.

Take care of people.

Make some friends.

Pass a few good bills.

Sponsor a thousand resolutions.

Raise some money.

Smile.

And when you’ve shaken the last hand—

Get the hell out of Beefsteak, go home, and watch something cool on Netflix.