John Britton, lobbyist’s lobbyist, is back to work again [St. Louis Post-Dispatch]

Dec. 31--JEFFERSON CITY -- John Britton came to the Missouri Capitol to start a lobbying career more than a half-century ago. He has been walking the marble halls ever since, building a reputation as one of the most influential figures in Jefferson City.

Just ask those who have tried for decades to raise beer taxes. Or those who want Missouri to join the 39 states that prohibit open containers of alcoholic beverages in cars. Or those who have fought for years for statewide restrictions on smoking in public places.

All point to Britton, the chain-smoking lobbyist for Anheuser-Busch InBev, as the main reason for their defeats. In one such testament, Michael Boland, a volunteer lobbyist for nearly 20 years for Mothers Against Drunk Driving, was ready to rejoice when contacted for an interview about Britton. Boland hoped Britton was retiring "and we could finally get some legislation passed."

But Britton, 86, is not retiring.

He has survived and thrived through Republican and Democratic administrations, an explosion in the number of the lobbyists, innumerable legislators' departures, technological change and a historic shift in partisan control of the Legislature.

During the legislative session that begins this week, he'll be back in his usual spot on the Capitol's third floor, buttonholing legislators who weren't born when he began manipulating the gears of government.

With his custom suits, an ever-present cigarette dangling from his mouth and the ability to supply a case of beer when a legislator asks, Britton fits the image of a glad-handing, well-heeled lobbyist.

Not only has he long carried the banner for liquor and tobacco interests, he was also the force behind the 1991 law that led to legalized riverboat gambling.

But beyond the caricature, Britton personifies the nuts and bolts of the influence business: He puts in marathon hours, cultivates personal relationships and knows his issues.

His detractors say he is a leading example of the outsize influence lobbyists have. And, they contend, he has played a key role in squashing opportunities to improve public health and safety.

Britton argues that he has defended individual liberties and tried to keep government from overreaching.

"How an individual lives his life is up to that individual, as long as he's within the boundaries of civilized conduct," he said. "And there's nothing sinister in somebody drinking or smoking or bouncing rubber balls against the courthouse walls."

GAINING INFLUENCE

Britton, an East Coast native, ex-Army paratrooper and 1949 Harvard graduate, came to sleepy Jefferson City to take a job lobbying for an association of road-paving companies. He moved here with his family -- he has five children and four stepchildren -- in 1957.

Several years later, he made the connection that would catapult him into lobbying prominence -- he took a job writing speeches for then-Attorney General Thomas Eagleton.

Eagleton's father was the lawyer for beer baron August A. "Gussie" Busch Jr. In 1964, Busch needed a new lobbyist. Tom Eagleton recommended Britton.

Britton is a recovering alcoholic. He quit drinking in 1958 and still goes to two Alcoholics Anonymous meetings a week.

He recalls when Eagleton asked if he wanted the brewery job. "I said, 'God, yes. But Tom, you know I don't drink.' (Eagleton) said, 'Who cares? You're not going there to prove how much beer you can drink.'"

Britton met with Gussie Busch, who bummed a cigarette and offered him a paycheck on the spot.

Having the brewery as a flagship client opened doors. Britton represented the Tobacco Institute -- an umbrella group of the country's big tobacco companies -- until it was disbanded as part of a court settlement in 1998.

He still lobbies for corporate heavyweights such as Enterprise Holdings Inc. and Express Scripts, as well as nonprofits such as the Missouri Historical Society and the St. Louis Zoo.

His far-flung clients include the movie industry, public television stations, beer wholesalers, life insurance underwriters, electric cooperatives, title companies, and the Burlington Northern and Santa Fe Railway Co.

"I don't think they stick with him because of loyalty," said lobbyist and former legislator Jewell Patek. "They stick with him because he gets results."

GETTING THINGS DONE

Britton often works six or seven days a week, though on Sundays he drops by his office -- a renovated house several blocks from the Capitol -- mainly to feed the four cats.

He splits the workload with three associates, including longtime business partner Jennifer Durham. Usually operating behind the scenes, they seek sponsors and friendly committees for bills they support and line up opposition and killer amendments for bills they oppose.

Britton does his work quietly, stopping by the offices of legislators. He doesn't text or tweet, though he does have a cellphone and is adjusting to email. He counts votes the old-fashioned way, on a paper scoresheet.

"It's not like he's carrying around an iPad or a laptop," said Gordon Reel, assistant vice president for governmental and public affairs at Enterprise, the Clayton-based rental car firm. "But at the end of the day, he gets the job done. He knows how to read people."

Lobbyist Bill Gamble, who has one of the longest client lists in the Capitol, learned the trade from Britton when Gamble worked for him from 1977 until 1984.

"He teaches you what I call blue-collar lobbying," Gamble said, "and that's to talk to people on the committee, whether they're Republicans or Democrats or freshmen or senior members. That's the way you're able to come up with the problems or questions, if there are any. You don't just count on one or two people."

Another Britton mantra: Never assume anything. Once, Gamble neglected to line up a legislator to second a motion to advance a bill. He told Britton he thought the co-sponsor would.

Britton caustically replied: "I don't pay you to think, and don't ever assume anything," Gamble recalls.

That sarcastic, intimidating style is vintage Britton.

Gov. Jay Nixon used to call Britton "the last of the attack lobbyists," recalls Chuck Hatfield, who worked for Nixon when he was attorney general.

"Lobbyists now try to ingratiate themselves with legislators," Hatfield said. "But John, he didn't care if he pissed you off. He wasn't afraid to really lay it out there and tell you that your idea was stupid."

Britton made one of his memorable statements years ago, when he championed Anheuser-Busch's opposition to an open-container law. His remarks were included in "Under the Influence," a book about the Busch family by former Post-Dispatch reporters Peter Hernon and Terry Ganey.

According to the book, Britton said the presence of alcohol wasn't the problem. "The real problem was the fact that the driver's hand is wrapped around a beer can instead of the steering wheel. In that context, a peanut butter sandwich was just as dangerous as a beer, Britton argued."

Britton said the analogy wasn't planned; it just slipped out.

"That was my famous peanut butter case -- or infamous," he quips.

Usually, Britton spices his testimony with more highbrow material, using his humanities and philosophy background to quote Beowulf or Descartes, Lincoln or Shakespeare.

"Just the fact that he'd quote Shakespeare for 90 percent of his testimony and not talk about the bill at hand -- and the bill would never get out of committee -- was kind of impressive," said Patek, recalling his reaction as a young House member. "You knew that he knew what was going to happen."

It also helped to have the House leadership dine at his home every Monday night, as he did in the late 1970s; or have a Senate Public Health Committee chairwoman's son on his lobbying payroll, as he did in the mid-1990s; or have Cardinals tickets to hand out, as he did until the brewery sold the baseball team in 1995.

He was so tight with the Senate's leadership in 1995 that after smoking was banned in Capitol corridors, the Senate passed a resolution declaring whatever area Britton inhabited on that side of the building a smoking zone. Senators said it was meant as a joke.

LEGACY DEBATED

In the old days, Britton set the record for spending on food and drink for legislators. In 1969, the Post-Dispatch reported that Britton spent "over $10,000 -- more than any other lobbyist."

One of his favorite photos, hanging in his office, shows a trio of former senators enjoying such an outing. It pictures J.B. "Jet" Banks of St. Louis, the first African-American majority leader; Clifford Jones of Ladue, a silk-stocking conservative; and John Downs of St. Joseph, a staunch civil libertarian.

Before term limits took effect, Britton said, legislators with opposing views had more time to build relationships and find common ground.

"There was a camaraderie," Britton said. "I miss that."

Britton no longer does much wining and dining. His wife, who used to cook gourmet meals for legislators, died last summer. Last legislative session, Britton spent $3,446, most of it for a party the brewery threw in April for the entire Legislature.

These days, when he takes legislators out, Britton shuns "white tablecloth" places. He likes to host a small band of freshman Democrats, such as Steve Webber of Columbia and Jacob Hummel of St. Louis, at a down-home restaurant in nearby Apache Flats. In addition to saving money, he avoids Jefferson City's ban on restaurant smoking.

Because of his lobbying reputation, Britton gets credit -- or blame -- for the Legislature's perennial shelving of legislation to make public places in Missouri smoke-free.

"He's been the major reason" that legislators balk at the bills, said Martin Pion, whose group, Missouri GASP, has warned of the dangers of secondhand smoke.

Critics like Pion say Britton's legacy is a state that has neglected public health. Take the failed 1997 push to increase taxes by about a penny for every 12 ounces of beer to fund prevention and treatment of alcohol abuse.

"A penny a drink was never going to affect the profits of Mr. Britton's clients, but it would help to prevent drunk driving," said Boland, the volunteer for MADD.

Britton says he's proud of keeping Missouri's excise tax on beer the second-lowest in the nation, as well as abolishing the state's blue laws and getting rid of the law making public intoxication a crime.

He's also proud that Missouri doesn't have a primary seat-belt law. Only if you're picked up for another offense can you be cited for failing to wear a seat belt. Britton himself doesn't wear one.

Britton vows to keep fighting his battles as long as he's physically able. He has no plans to retire.

"Contrary to popular belief, I am not a rich man," he said. Then he tallies his Social Security and veterans checks and concludes that maybe he could scrape by. But there's one problem.

"I don't know what the hell I'd do with myself."

___

(c)2011 the St. Louis Post-Dispatch

Visit the St. Louis Post-Dispatch at www.stltoday.com

Distributed by MCT Information Services