When Republican Bill Janklow was in office he wasn’t afraid of town halls, unlike cowardly Republicans today
Many Republican senators and congressmen are avoiding voters like the bill after a lunch with lobbyists.
That includes our trio of John Thune, Mike Rounds and Dusty Johnson . They have not held any town halls in recent months, preferring to huddle behind closed doors with audiences they trust will be friendly and non-threatening.
Because they can’t handle the truth. Most Americans are angry over the disruptions and chaos left in the wake of Donald Trump’s return to power. They want answers and action from their elected officials, and they want to express their dismay.
But John, Mike and Dusty, and most of their Republican colleagues, are just too scared. They might get asked a tough question or two!
That’s not how Bill Janklow would handle it. I know, because I witnessed his love for verbal contact and jousting.
When I was a student at SDSU, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth alongside South Dakota Democrats in elective office, Janklow (seen above, far left, inspecting tornado damage in a public domain 1998 photo posted on wikimedia commons) was a frequent guest at the University Student Union. It was a busy place, with thousands of students grabbing a bite to eat, chatting with friends or ducking class.
There were frequently programs by the main lunch area. SDSU Music Department jazzbo-in-charge Dr. Warren “Doc” Hatfield would bring in brilliant young musicians who would swing for hours. I was exposed to so much wonderful music, and can’t thank Doc enough.
We also had a lot of politicians pass through. They would make brief speeches, take a few questions and skulk away. They carried quite another tune, one that was muted, drab and hardly memorable.
Except for Janklow. He relished the chance to duel with students, many of whom held liberal positions and resented him and his work as attorney general and governor.
As AG, Janklow had instituted a policy of seizing the vehicles of people busted in drug cases. He had them sold — likely after trying to cut the pot smell and clean up the seeds, stems and lost rolling papers.
That was not a popular action on a college campus in the 1970s. I remember several longhaired, angry men berating Janklow, calling him names and questioning his intelligence and morality.
He clearly loved it. Janklow would fire back, challenge their control of the facts and explain why he was doing what he thought was best.
Native Americans angry over his ongoing legal war with the American Indian Movement (AIM) and activists like Russell Means and Dennis Banks would line up to attack and insult Janklow, accusing him of numerous violations and failings.
Janklow stood his ground and answered all accusations. Most people, including me, didn’t know that Means and Janklow had been friends for years. They met as young men and even during their many battles, maintained a respect for each other.
Just before ending his fourth term as governor, Janklow pardoned Means, erasing a 1975 felony conviction.
I never asked him a question, not until I was an Argus Leader reporter in the 1990s. But I sat through many sessions, fascinated by the fiery but often revealing exchanges.
Other high-profile figures appeared on the Student Union stage around noon, but none remained there as long as Janklow did. He seemed to love it.
Decades later, he told me that he sure did.
During a lengthy phone call in 2005, I brought up those appearances, and he recalled them fondly. He said if he could stand up to those questions and attacks, he could handle anything.
Back in the 1970s and early ‘80s, I was far from a fan of Wild Bill. My sentiments were with the students who dared take him on and were willing to withstand his often caustic responses.
But over the years, as I covered him for South Dakota newspapers, I came to deeply admire Janklow for his intelligence and dedication to the state. I didn’t agree with everything he said and done — I don’t agree with everything I’ve said or done — but I respected his drive to make the state a better place.
His love for a scrap, and his willingness to do or say almost anything to win one, was one of his faults, too. Janklow had a huge ego, had skin as thin as parchment and could be a bully.
He also drove much too fast and, at times, recklessly. In the end, that was the flaw that killed a man and ended his public career.
Janklow has been compared to Donald Trump, and I can understand why some people think that. There are some similarities.
But Janklow was genuinely curious and wanted to learn more about any subject that caught his attention. He was an intellectual in a windbreaker, a very accomplished lawyer and a good administrator.
Trump is none of those things.
Plus, Janklow had a softer side, quietly doing pro bono work as a lawyer, spinning old rock records as “BJ the DJ” at charity events and taking the time to listen to old people, kids and people who never expected a four-term governor to listen to them.
That includes people at town halls.
I covered several events he held in the 1990s and while there were not lines of college students in denim and high dudgeon waiting to take him on, there often were pointed questions and sharp remarks.
Bill Janklow didn’t avoid them. He didn’t hide from the public. He wasn’t afraid to hear what people had to say.
That’s a lesson John, Mike and Dusty could learn.
Fourth-generation South Dakotan Tom Lawrence has written for several newspapers and websites in South Dakota and other states for four decades. He has contributed to The New York Times, NPR, The London Telegraph, The Daily Beast and other media outlets. Do not republish without permission.
