D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
February
2009
A Whole New Ballgame
Thrust into the legislative lineup in place of one of the state's most powerful senators, Howie Morales steps up to the plate.
Story and photos by David A. Fryxell
A warm January breeze rattles the branches bracketing the entrance to state Sen. Howie Morales' office, a barely noticeable caf-au-lait-colored door on the backside of the Hwy. 180 medical offices of his wife and father-in-law. A paper sign thumb-tacked to the door reassures visitors who suspect they may be in the wrong place: "This is the entrance to Senator Howie Morales's office. If the door is not open, please wait here, he will be here shortly. Thank you."
 |
Howie Morales was appointed to fill
the seat of the late Sen. Ben Altamirano, president of the New Mexico
Senate and a force in Santa Fe for 36 years. |
It's not exactly the sort of opulence or palpable expression of power you might expect from the successor to one of the most influential men in the New Mexico legislature. Morales was appointed a year ago to fill the seat of Sen. Ben Altamirano, who died in late December 2007 at age 77 after serving District 28 — which encompasses most of Grant, Catron and Socorro counties — for 36 years. Altamirano, a Democrat, had been chairman of the powerful Senate Finance Committee for 17 of those years before stepping up to the post of Senate president. A key ally of Gov. Bill Richardson, Altamirano was renowned for his ability to funnel funding to southwest New Mexico — a legacy that put his name on everything from Western New Mexico University's football field to Silver City's new civic and convention center. That latter project, for which Altamirano scored $2.5 million in one of his last big hauls for his district, will take over the former Teleperformance building across the highway from Morales' office.
"I often hear I have big shoes to fill," Howie Morales concedes. "But I've never been intimidated or threatened by that. Instead, I think: What a great example to follow!"
Although Morales, at age 35, was by far the youngest member of the state legislature when he arrived in Santa Fe last January, neither his youth nor those "big shoes" seemed to worry him. Indeed, it's fair to say that state senator was a job Morales has been preparing for all his life. To use a baseball analogy — and Morales' other passion, besides politics, is baseball — he was like a star prospect who'd risen through the minor leagues, paying his dues, readying himself to replace the team's star slugger.
After winning appointment to Altamirano's seat by Gov. Richardson, Morales ran for the Senate on his own in 2008. He easily turned back a primary challenge by Silver City activist Chris Aquino, then defeated GOP opponent Joseph Gros, senior pastor at Calvary Chapel in Silver City, by two to one — a margin of nearly 7,000 votes. The current legislative session is Morales' first as an elected state senator.
Although Morales may lack his predecessor's three decades-plus experience, his roots in the community go every bit as deep as those of Altamirano — to whom, in fact, he's distantly related. Both his father, Henry, and his grandfather — the father of his mother, Helen — worked in the local mines. His parents and grandparents grew up in the Santa Rita-Hurley area. His father had 16 siblings, giving Howie Morales almost enough cousins to get him elected all by themselves.
One of those cousins, now a vice president at 1st New Mexico Bank, gave Morales — born Henry, like his dad — his lifelong nickname: "She couldn't pronounce 'Henry.' It came out 'Howie,' and that stuck," he explains. "It's been really helpful having a name that's not very familiar — though some celebrities are named 'Howie' — because it sticks in people's heads."
Until his election as Grant County clerk in 2004, locals knew "Howie" best as a successful coach. As an assistant coach at Silver High School, where he also founded the Fellowship of Christian Athletes chapter, Morales was part of several district titles and the 1996 state triple-A boys basketball championship and the 1997 state triple-A baseball championship. Moving on to be head baseball coach at Cobre High School, he's led teams to the state playoffs seven straight years and won five district titles, four regional championships, and three third-place and two runner-up state trophies. He's been named district coach of the year five times. In 2005, Morales became the youngest baseball coach in New Mexico history to reach 100 wins, in the shortest amount of time, four and a half years.
So, nope, being the youngest member of the state senate didn't faze him. And you get the feeling that, with two near-misses at the state championship with his Cobre High baseball team, he's not the kind of guy who quits before he finishes first. In baseball or in politics.
Howie Morales is running late. Although it's only the first full week of January and the legislative session doesn't open until Jan. 20, he's already on the go. Up this morning to deliver a breakfast talk to a group of students at 7:30, a pre-session committee meeting after that, a friend's funeral this afternoon.
Appropriately enough for a day on the run, he's dressed in a slate-gray and black track suit. Not tall, solidly built but not so much as to qualify as "husky," Morales — who turned 36 on Jan. 5 — is darkly good-looking, with intense brown eyes and a ready smile. A black stubble this morning almost suggests he's been inspired by Gov. Richardson's beard — or it could just be getting up in time for that breakfast speech.
He opens the door to his office, which is much tonier inside than its bland facade would suggest. Black leather-looking chairs surround a small glass conference table. On the wall behind where Morales sits is a poster of his father, Henry V. Morales, as a handsome young man and as a helmeted Vietnam-era soldier. Baseball memorabilia tops a wooden bookcase, including the grinning visage of the Cobre Indians mascot — a knockoff of the Cleveland Indians' Chief Wahoo — above a bat labeled "Morales."
On the table is a photo of Morales' daughter, Elena Maria, now four months old. He smiles at the picture and says, "It used to be I'd get so busy, I wouldn't get to the house until 8 or 9 p.m. Since she was born, it's now more like 5:30."
Elena Maria and Morales' wife, Dr. Teresa Arizaga-Morales, medical director of behavioral health services at Gila Regional Medical Center, will stay with him as much as possible in Santa Fe during the legislative session, except when breaks allow Morales to come home. But he's already thinking ahead to future sessions: "What will we do when she's in school?"
Family considerations aren't the only sacrifice of serving in New Mexico's part-time, unpaid state legislature. When he was appointed to fill the rest of Altamirano's term in January 2008, Morales resigned as county clerk and quit his part-time teaching appointment at WNMU. He's been without a job — except as state senator and baseball coach — ever since.
"It was my commitment to the office," he explains. "I needed to learn the ins and outs, so I gave myself a whole year. Once this session's over, I'll try to go back into education full-time. There was an administrative opening at Cobre, but I didn't think it was fair to apply when I'd be gone for 60 days.
"The system is designed for retired individuals," Morales adds without rancor. "Last year, I was by far the youngest in the legislature — I think the next oldest was 48. But we're seeing a shift now, and this year there are maybe a half-dozen around the same age as me. Raising children, having a job — it's a new age for the legislature!"
Talking to Howie Morales, with his eternally sunny outlook and civics-lesson convictions, you begin to wonder: Is this guy too good to be true?
State Sen. John Arthur Smith, a Deming Democrat who chairs the powerful Finance Committee once headed by Altamirano, is one of those Morales credits for helping him get oriented to the legislature. Smith says the young District 28 senator is the real thing: "Well, number one, he complied with the best advice I was given when I started out, which was to listen an awful lot before you talk a lot," Smith says. "I didn't actually give that advice to Howie, though. He seemed to pick it up on his own.
"He's bright, with a broad knowledge of a lot of areas that, when you start to pick his brain, starts to surface," Smith goes on. "He seemed to get along with both sides of the aisle, too. Despite what you might think, not every issue is a partisan issue — many are not — so it's important to make those alliances for when you legitimately need help."
Whether on the ballfield or in the classroom, Morales says earnestly, "leadership was always part of what I did. I learned from my father, from community leaders like [former legislator] Murray Ryan, Sen. Altamirano, even relatives."
But it was education, not politics, that initially drew Morales. After graduating from Silver High School, he got a bachelor's degree in biology and special education and a master's in interdisciplinary studies bilingual/special education, both from WNMU. He went on to earn a PhD in education from New Mexico State University. All that training was put to work in five years teaching special education for Silver schools and three in Cobre, followed by two years as Cobre's special-education transition coordinator. Morales added the job of Cobre's head baseball coach in 2001. "Coaching is very similar to politics," he says. "You need communication, strategy, planning in baseball as well as in the Senate chambers. The difference is that, in the Senate, after you fight over one bill, you go on to the next bill. When you're working with children, sometimes kids get hurt. It can hurt a lot more when you're dealing with the lives of youth."
In 2004, Morales made his first foray into politics, running for Grant County clerk. "I knew I ultimately intended to run for the Senate seat when Benny Altamirano retired. But I had to be a candidate who didn't just jump in without any preparation. The county clerk position allowed me to stay connected with youth, to use my technology skills, and to give me exposure in the political arena. It was not just a stepping stone, though. It came right at the time when the clerk's office was facing some very big challenges."
In retrospect, in fact, Morales might have wished he'd picked an easier entry to elective office. During his tenure as county clerk — in the wake of the Florida "hanging chad" debacle — Grant County changed from "the big 1242 machines" for voting to touch-screen machines, and then, after a legislative dictate, to paper ballots. Morales says, "I joke with my former chief deputy — Robert Zamarripa, who became clerk after my appointment — that getting started in the state Senate was a lot easier than overseeing a primary or general election as county clerk!"
When Altamirano died and the opportunity to go to the state Senate opened up, Morales at first held back. "It was a sad situation, and I didn't jump at it immediately," he recalls. "I was sensitive to the family's desires, if any of them wanted to fill the seat. I still felt I would run in the June primary. Once the family supported me, then I put my name in."
The backing of Altamirano's widow, Nina, helped Morales win the unanimous endorsement of all three county commissions. In Socorro County, where Morales was least well known, there was a flurry of support for Michael Olguin, a former majority floor leader in the legislature, but that commission, too, ultimately recommended Morales, and Gov. Richardson made the appointment official shortly before the 2008 session.
"People saw me grow up in Grant County," Morales says, "but going to represent a new county was a challenge. I have to have the same character, show them the same leadership, regardless of geography."
When running for election the first time in his new district in November, Morales got only 42 percent of the vote in GOP-leaning (but sparsely populated) Catron County. But he carried Socorro County with roughly the same two-to-one margin by which he prevailed overall.
"Catron County is dominated by the GOP, but they've been so supportive," he says. "Socorro County, politically, is more of an extension of Grant County, and they've accepted me with open arms; I'll always be grateful."
Earning acceptance in the legislature, especially during a hurry-up 30-day session like last year's, was another challenge. Normally, new legislators start during the more leisurely, odd-year 60-day sessions, giving them a little time to get their sea legs.
"There was no honeymoon," Morales recalls. "In a 30-day session, you have to get right to work or not much gets accomplished. I stayed up late, studying the issues. There was a great learning curve — but there are always things to learn. I hope that 20 years from now, I can continue to learn things.
"I would like to know all the connections, the networks of those within the legislative chambers. I'd like to be able to be a bridge. I came in with no previous political ties, which I think was beneficial. People could get to know me, with no prejudged ideas."
Morales credits several veteran legislators with helping him get off on the right foot, in addition to Smith. Sen. Michael S. Sanchez (D-Belen), the majority floor leader, showed him around the Roundhouse. Sen. Tim Jennings (D-Roswell), who succeeded Altamirano as Senate president, offered advice from the chair right next to Morales'. On the House side, Rep. Ben Lujan (D-Santa Fe), the speaker, helped show him the ropes.
Morales was also assigned an official mentor, Sen. Linda Lopez (D-Albuquerque), who advised him to start slowly — sponsor only a couple of bills his first year. Morales didn't take her advice, however, and wound up putting his name on 19 bills.
"There was too much to do," he explains.
Foremost among those measures was insuring the survival of the Fort Bayard Medical Center. "Howie worked well to break the legislative logjam on Fort Bayard," says Smith. "If ever there were an opportunity to yank it from the area, it would have been when there was somebody brand-new at the game."
Morales describes his approach in typical civics-class terms: "I had to gain people's respect and trust. I feel strongly that my word is true, and what I say is what I'll stand by."
During the 2008 campaign, Morales' opponent, Joseph Gros, charged, "Howie Morales has talked about his district's need for a young, effective leader, but in 2008 he did a poor job of bringing home the bacon."
But Morales says there simply isn't much "bacon" to bring home anymore. "Over the last five years, New Mexico has enjoyed unprecedented windfalls, with lots of money to work with," he says. With the economy tanking and oil and gas revenues shrinking, however, those days are now history: Three years ago, Morales says, citing figures he clearly knows by heart, every senator had $4.1 million in capital-outlay money to allocate. Two years ago, that figure shrank to $3.7 million. In the 2008 legislative session, it plunged to $1.3 million.
"This year, it will be just $300,000 per senator. So it's back to reality, doing what we can."
Gros also ran heavily on social issues, citing Morales' support for stem-cell research and domestic partnerships and calling his support for health-care reform "socialized medicine." But such arguments never gained much traction, especially with voters who already know Morales as "Howie."
Morales confesses, though, that the campaign sometimes felt awkward. "I'm always friendly and outgoing, but I worried that people might be skeptical that I was that way just because I wanted their vote," he says. "Now that the election is over, things are back to normal."
His Deming colleague, John Arthur Smith, expects Morales to win a lot more elections. "He's of an age that will allow him to build tenure," Smith says. "For years, Grant County had lots of tenure in the legislature, with Tommy Foy, Murray Ryan, Ben Altamirano. We knew the day would come when that would be lost. Now, with the legislature likely to become even more urbanized after reapportionment in 2010, it's even more important. It has to be rebuilt."
As his second legislative session — the first to which he's been elected — begins, Howie Morales is heading to Santa Fe with a slightly different attitude. "I respect the amount of work and the years of service of those who've been there a long time. I'm not going in as a bulldozer, trying to change the whole system," he says. "But after one year, I've developed some respect for myself. I can be a little more aggressive, outspoken, more of an advocate."
The economic crisis will of course overshadow the entire legislative session, he acknowledges. New Mexico can probably get by for the coming fiscal year by dipping into reserves; currently at 12 to 13 percent, the state's reserve fund is mandated to a minimum of 10 percent, so there's a little wiggle room. Gov. Richardson has also proposed canceling $263 million worth of capital-outlay projects. For the fiscal year that begins in 2010, however, there are no such ready solutions.
Nor will there be much of that "bacon" to bring home even this session, not with a mere $300,000 per senator. Always looking on the bright side, Morales rationalizes, "When you have big money, you can fund big projects, but those don't always get completed. With smaller capital outlay funds, you can fund and actually complete some smaller projects that sometimes get lost otherwise."
His long list of capital-outlay priorities nonetheless will surely be pared down at the Roundhouse. Bigger-ticket wish-list items include expansion and renovation of the Bayard library and city hall, construction of the Grant County detention center, renovation of the Grant County airport industrial park, a new Hachita water system and community facility, a Santa Clara public-safety building, planning and design of a new Silver City town hall, and WNMU renovations. Projects Morales will be looking to reauthorize or complete include the Grant County civic center, Hurley town hall renovations, Memory Lane Cemetery expansion, and the Forgotten Veterans Memorial at Bataan Park.
"It will be a busy session even though there's not much money," he adds. "It's a chance to look at legislation, at laws and language, that sometimes gets overlooked because everybody's so busy going after the money."
Morales has a full-page, single-spaced list of ideas for such legislation, too. He'd like to see the New Mexico lottery scholarship requirements changed so students don't have to go to college straight after high school to be eligible — "Not all kids are ready," he explains. As a former election official, he supports the "national popular vote" plan, in which states would pledge to cast their electoral votes for the winner of the nationwide popular vote (Al Gore in 2000, for example), regardless of the electoral-college math. He wants to ban trans fats in foods, bring the New Mexico National Guard home, protect traditional healthcare practices, fight underage drinking, and extend health-care benefits to hard-rock miners to match those granted uranium miners.
He adds, "My constituents really dictate what bills I carry."
The proverbial elephant in the room for the 2009 legislative session will be Gov. Bill Richardson, who was expected to move on up to Washington, DC, as commerce secretary. With Richardson withdrawing in the face of a "pay to play" inquiry, suddenly the cards have been reshuffled in Santa Fe.
Morales recalls watching a football game and seeing the Richardson news crawl across the bottom of the TV screen. He grabbed the phone and called Smith in Deming. "I couldn't believe what I was seeing," Morales says. "We'd really moved on in the state in thinking of tomorrow. This was unexpected, but we've got to deal with what we have.
"I was looking forward to moving forward with Lieutenant Governor Diane Denish, but that didn't happen. We've still got a budget shortfall, the needs are still there, so we have to go forward. We have to work together — the Senate, the House and the executive — even with this shift in gears. Politics is the art of compromise, and that will be needed more so than ever."
Asked whether he might someday consider higher office — governor, lieutenant governor, secretary of state, congress? — himself, Morales at first replies, "I really enjoy the work I do, seeing the direct benefit I can give to my constituents in taxes, retirement, health care, cutting red tape for veterans, being an advocate. It's so rewarding.
"But," he goes on, "I've never felt the legislature was my end destination. I want to keep my options open. The only difficulty is that I love living here in Grant County and want to stay firmly connected here."
Then there are those kids on his Cobre High baseball team to consider. "When I got appointed to the legislature, some thought I'd no longer be their coach, and I was glad to see some sadness there," Morales says with a smile. "They see my strengths and weaknesses; they're very wise. I hope I can show them that they, too, are capable of achieving anything they set out to do, as long as they stay involved, building their leadership skills."
He feels much the same about his "little brother" — Morales set the record for the longest-lasting Big Brothers/Big Sisters relationship in the state, working with Kevin Vigil from age 7 to 18. "He's a Santa Clara policeman now, though he'll always be my 'little brother,'" Morales says with evident pride. "It shows the role mentorship plays — he's had a big impact on me, too.
"Kevin was there in uniform at the groundbreaking at Fort Bayard. He made me as proud of him as I was about the groundbreaking taking place."
Morales leans forward until the poster of his dad in uniform is right behind him. "I feel called to serve," he says. "I have no agenda other than to do the best job for my constituents. There are sacrifices, sure, but there are rewards, too."
Despite the "big shoes" he's stepped into, Morales insists that "power" isn't among those rewards. "I don't see it as a powerful position. I saw how powerless it is when I had $60 million in capital outlay requests last year and could only meet $1.3 million. That puts it into perspective.
"My role is as a public servant," he goes on. "I'm not interested, I don't expect to be treated any differently than when I was just a student at Silver High School. People who've known me all my life ask me what they should call me now: 'Senator'? 'Coach'?"
Howie Morales smiles and shakes his head. "It's just 'Howie,'" he says. "Always 'Howie.'"
David A. Fryxell is editor of Desert Exposure.