A Personable Empty Suit, by Careful, Conscious Design

Pawlenty is at his best in times of trouble: steady, low-key, reassuring. That talent worked especially well after the bridge fell. Playing preacher instead of politician, he served as state chaplain, dominating the scene—and the cameras—more as a voice of comfort and sorrow than head of government who had vetoed transportation bill after transportation bill while his running mate, Carol Molnau, who he had appointed to head the transportation agency, stood by. How he escaped the wreckage without taking a major political hit and emerged to become a contender for the vice presidency is one of Minnesota’s most amazing escape stories.

Essentially, Pawlenty let himself be the victim and in passivity got what he wanted. Or what his political higher-ups wanted. He let the legislature dispose of Molnau, who had become the face of culpability. He let the Chamber of Commerce and the Democrats take the heat for passing the paltry gas tax (5.5 cents to start, three more pennies later). And, although he stamped his foot, as Jim Abeler saw up close, he didn’t seem all that unhappy to “lose.” It was adroit shadowboxing, intended primarily to show that he was still in league with the crowd who wouldn’t pass a 1 cent tax to help a little old lady cross a potholed freeway if it was their mother.

Republican hardliners in the legislature hadn’t liked the short-lived spirit of bipartisanship that developed during the bridgeside vigils. But what reeled Pawlenty back into the fold was a shot across his bow from Grover Norquist, the high priest of the antitax movement, who had also been chaperoning Pawlenty’s ambitions. Norquist wrote to fellow travelers in the wake of the collapse, bucking up the troops across the country, telling them not to let a little bridge collapse stampede them into raising taxes. But Pawlenty’s name was not on the list of Norquist’s antitax stalwarts.

Pawlenty had been wobbling. His spokesman, Brian McClung, had told the press that the governor believed “we need to do everything we can to address this situation and the extraordinary costs.”

By September—six weeks after the bridge fell—Pawlenty’s signature was proudly attached to Norquist’s newest pledge list of antitax officials. T–Paw was back on board. “He’s quite an eloquent speaker, but his rhetoric doesn’t match his actions,” says House speaker Margaret Anderson Kelliher (DFL–Minneapolis). “At the end of the day, he talked about doing things, but nothing really happened.”

By the time Minnesota’s 150th birthday was honored in May with a postal stamp featuring a picturesque bridge over the Mississippi near Winona, that bridge and half a dozen others had been shut down for repairs or replacement. But Pawlenty had absolved himself of the infrastructure crisis so thoroughly that when he delivered his annual State of the State address, he only mentioned the I–35W Bridge in passing. But the problem couldn’t be avoided: A bridge over the Mississippi in St. Cloud—visible from the windows of the auditorium where Pawlenty spoke—was shut down weeks later.

The St. Cloud speech was the one where Pawlenty theatrically brandished a red pen and called it his “taxpayer protection pen,” vowing to veto new taxes. Republican lawmakers roared and stood to applaud.

But one man did not follow their lead. Al Quie, a former Republican governor (1979–83) and, in his day, a fiscal conservative, sat silently, arms folded across his chest. He was not pleased with the performance he was watching.

On the morning of Pawlenty’s first inauguration, in 2003, a prayer service for Pawlenty at the giant Wooddale church was so exuberant—and so energetically evangelical—that Quie, a born-again Christian himself, took the occasion to caution Pawlenty. All the prayers for Jesus to guide Pawlenty were wonderful, Quie said, when it was his turn to offer a prayer. But the new governor needed to remember something: He would be governor for all Minnesotans, not just followers of Jesus.

Which leaves us at, “What’s next?” Headed to Washington? A third term as governor of Minnesota? Or a future career in telecommunications?

“I’m a believer in the collective judgment of the voters,” says Dave Jennings. “Tim Pawlenty is skating on thin ice. You can fool the voters for a while. But not forever.”