Chapter 3

Transition

Waking up governor-elect was exhilarating. We had to formulate an agenda, plan an inauguration, review department heads, appoint staff, wind down the campaign, and much more. It was a dizzying list of obligations. But compared to the pressure of the campaign, it felt positively sublime.

Once a new governor is elected, the action— and the spotlight—clearly moves to them. Everybody is interested in the future, not the past. All governors get their turns as the exciting new face and the departing old hand, and it was important to me not to intrude upon Norm Bangerter’s final weeks. At the same time, however, I wanted a quick start to begin framing the construct of the new administration.

Two days after the election, with lieutenant governor-elect Olene Walker at my side, I held a press conference to announce the next steps in the transition. I also announced that I would begin appointing new department heads by month’s end, reiterating my intent to give state government the freshness that comes with a change in administrations.

“This is a new administration. This is the Leavitt-Walker administration. There will be new faces, new directors, and new priorities,” I told reporters. Additionally, I promised a different management style from the Bangerter administration. “After the first one hundred days, there will be no question in anybody’s minds about the difference between Mike Leavitt and Norm Bangerter. I think we’re in for an exciting four years.”

Such change is always necessary, I explained, because government cannot renew itself. “That’s why we have elections.”

New Faces, New Priorities

Though it was a frenetic pace, we had gotten a little bit of a head start. A month before the election, I had asked Nolan Karras to head up a transition team, and he produced a remarkably detailed plan that laid out, step by step, the decisions we needed to make. Among the first recommendations was the early selection of a chief of staff, and there was a list for that, too.

One of the names that stood out to me was Charlie Johnson, Governor Bangerter’s budget director. I offered the position to Charlie in late October, and he accepted, although he could not be freed from his responsibilities in the Bangerter administration until he finished the state budget in mid-December.

Toward the end of election week, Jackie and I took a breather. We made a quick getaway with the children to San Juan Capistrano, California, to reassure the kids that despite this major development in our lives, we were still a family. We stayed for a few days in a beach house made available by Larry Lunt, a personal friend.

The trip to California was the first time we had traveled with a security detail—a strange new reality. The highway patrol officers and I were uncertain how to handle some things. Did they really need to spend the night parked outside the house? If I wanted to go for a walk, did they have to follow and if so, how close? What degree of confidentiality could we count on? Did we need to factor their presence into conversations, or were they reliable enough to keep family things private? What exactly were their duties? Soon enough, these basic questions were answered and life with a security presence became routine.

Thankfully, Jackie and I were able to go for long walks along Capistrano Beach, where our conversations were mostly focused on how we should deal with this new family dynamic.

Our first major decision was whether we should live in the Governor’s Mansion. We had moved into our home on Laird Avenue almost fourteen years before the election. For Jackie, the prospect of leaving it felt like an abandonment of warmth, privacy, security, and peace. The Governor’s Mansion viewed from afar seemed cold, publicly exposed, and disruptive. To me, it felt adventurous, interesting, and new. Our children were quite conflicted. They sensed the adventure but also intuited a degree of change and undefined social costs. They asked where they would attend school and church and how their friendships would be affected.

We reached an important compromise: We would keep our home on Laird but rent it out; we would move to the Governor’s Mansion, but the children would stay in the same schools; and our family would attend church at the same Latter-day Saints ward.

When we returned from California, we felt more prepared to deal with the changes coming our way. Jackie called First Lady Colleen Bangerter and arranged to spend time walking through the mansion to size up the task ahead of her. I turned back to the dizzying list.

Along with the transition demands, I had been invited to the National Governors Association’s seminar for new governors in Colorado Springs, Colorado, in mid-November. Right on its heels were meetings of the Republican Governors Association in Wisconsin and the Western Governors’ Association in Las Vegas.

UVCC Vote

Additionally, there was a critical piece of business left in my tenure on the State Board of Regents—a vote on changing the status of Utah Valley Community College—looming very quickly.

During the campaign, the question of granting four-year status to Utah Valley Community College (UVCC) had become a controversial issue. It divided the higher education community, including the Board of Regents. I had not resigned as a regent while running for governor, reasoning that if I lost, I could continue serving out the four remaining years of my term on the board.

The regents had put off dealing with UVCC’s request until after the election due to the political sensitivity. It was clear to me the vote was going to be close. In fact, I thought there was a good chance that without my vote, the vote would be tied and the measure would die. I had already decided that Utah County needed a public, four-year teaching college. Brigham Young University was limiting enrollment and making it nearly impossible for most in-state students to gain admission. And it was simply not feasible for students from the fastest-growing region of the state to depend on the University of Utah, located more than forty miles away.

Few people knew if I would attend the meeting, which was held November 10, one week after the election. I had been deliberately vague in order to keep people from pressuring me. When I walked in the door, it created quite a stir. As I recall, I said very little, conscious of my new status as governor-elect, but cast the deciding vote to allow the college to offer three bachelor’s degrees on a trial basis. I took a little heat over it from critics of the policy, but the passage of time has clearly shown it was the right thing to do. The three initial bachelor’s degrees offered were business management, computer science and information systems, and technology management. One year later, UVCC’s name was changed to Utah Valley State College, and in 2008 it became Utah Valley University.

Transition and Staff Building

Work on the transition was moving forward. Nolan Karras and his team had appointed a series of sub-teams charged with making overviews of each department of state government. I had wanted many teams like this for two reasons. First, taking even a cursory look at an entire state government involved an enormous amount of work, and second, I wanted everyone who had played a significant role in getting me elected to feel part of the victory.

Co-chairs led each of the teams, who were tasked to interview each department’s leadership, inventory the major challenges they faced, and make recommendations on any organizational changes we wanted to undertake during the first legislative session. Those reports needed to be integrated with commitments I had made during the election so that an agenda could be finalized. The timeframe for compilation of reports was three to six weeks.

During the second week following the election, we moved into a small suite of offices, which Governor Bangerter had provided for us on the first floor of the State Office Building. We also needed staff, but there was virtually no money available for transition salaries.

Charlie Johnson, who was tied up with the budget, did double duty with the transition when he could. LaVarr Webb kept the gaps filled, as he always did, and we divided the rest of the campaign staff into two groups: One to plan the inauguration and the other to help with the transition. I assured the campaign staff that an opportunity would be available in state government at some point in the near future. But there were two positions I knew we needed to fill quickly—a media spokesperson and a personal assistant.

I already knew who I wanted as my spokesperson. Vicki Varela and I had worked together on the Board of Regents and on three referendum campaigns during the previous four years. She was talented, experienced, and I enjoyed working with her. A few days after the election, I called to open the conversation. She was interested but not sure. It took several days of conversations and working through some important employment arrangements, but she finally agreed.

The job of assistant was filled after a fortuitous call from my father. He told me that a former employee of his in Cedar City, Alayne Peterson, had talked with him recently about moving back to Utah after a number of years living in Texas. It had been years since I had seen Alayne, but I remembered her as able and fun. She had helped on my father’s own campaign for governor in 1976 for a short time before moving to Texas.

Alayne and I talked over the phone, and I invited her to come to Salt Lake so we could discuss the job face-to-face. Then I had a better idea to save time and money. Sensing that it was a great fit, I offered her the job over the phone.

LaVarr Webb’s leadership throughout the campaign had been exemplary, and I considered him as a potential chief of staff. Ultimately, I concluded the administration needed LaVarr in a position where his mastery of strategy, concepts, words, and ideas would be foremost, while Charlie could focus on operations. LaVarr remained by my side as an invaluable policy advisor and trusted friend.

Our transition committee reports started coming back. Each one had a series of recommendations for the new leadership of the department. In many cases, we also asked the transition committee to provide me with names of prospects for department heads. Every few days we made appointments of new personnel—each one a building block for a new administration.

There were a couple of important things we did in developing the administration. First, in choosing my cabinet, not a single person was asked if he or she was Republican or Democrat. I hired people I

thought were competent and on whose loyalty I felt I could rely. Second, I hired mature and seasoned people. There is a tendency in building government administrations to fill them with people who got there politically. We hired many young people who had helped on the campaign, but those who served in the most senior positions of my administration were experienced people with track records of success.

On November 25, I announced I would appoint four deputy governors, one of whom would be Mayor Joe Jenkins of Provo. We needed to make the announcement in a timely way so that Joe could resign as mayor and be ready by inauguration day in early January.

Utah State Capitol Rotunda

Then, a few weeks later, the plan shifted. Instead of deputy governor, we changed Joe’s assignment and asked him to head up the Department of Community and Economic Development. We also dispensed with the title of “deputy governor,” going instead with a slight variation of the terminology—for example, deputy for policy or deputy for intergovernmental affairs. That kind of decision was important because it helped to empower members of the staff and began to define portfolios of responsibility.

Our first staff meeting was held on November 28. Our discussion centered on the appointments of department heads. The first two were announced shortly thereafter: Ted Stewart was named director of the Department of Natural Resources, and Raylene Ireland was announced as director of Administrative Services.

I felt the need, too, to begin reaching out to state employees. We organized meetings with the division directors of each department. Each time I have taken over a large organization, I have found it important to spend time getting to know the employees in groups of fifteen to twenty. After these meetings, I then hold a larger meeting with all employees—a pattern that evolved when I became governor. I’ve refined it over the years but generally found it to be an important and effective way of connecting with a lot of people.

In the small meetings it is important to say only a little at the beginning and to ask each person to tell me about themselves. Almost always the sessions reveal things colleagues in the same office didn’t know about each other, so there is an element of discovery. It soon becomes evident to them that the purpose of the discussion is to learn more about each other as people, not laying out policy and procedures.

There are significant benefits to this approach. First, chemistry is important, and you leave knowing some people a bit better and having a story to help you remember them. Second, they leave knowing more about you as a person and understand that you value them as a person, not just as a functionary in an organization. Lastly, every detail about the conversation spreads like wildfire throughout the organization. The details aren’t as important as the firsthand reports on what the new guy is like.

New Governors Seminar

One of the most valuable experiences I had while preparing to take office came with my introduction to the National Governors Association, an organization I would become heavily involved with in subsequent years. The NGA holds a seminar for new governors every other year, where veteran governors share their experience and advice with incoming governors.

The “class of 1992” included a handful of newly elected governors like myself, plus others who had already taken office but had not attended before. Among the presenters was Governor John Engler of Michigan, who had been elected two years earlier. I spent considerable time talking with Engler. He had been in the news frequently because the Michigan Legislature, in a hostile act toward him, had repealed the property tax, throwing the state’s tax system into chaos. Rather than vetoing the bill, as legislators assumed he would, John embraced the idea as an opportunity and forced a reform on the tax system. He became a hero among conservatives.

Being so newly minted and green, I didn’t feel anywhere near the same stature as Engler, or even the longer-term sitting governors who were in attendance. I felt like a minor leaguer just being called up to the majors.

Sessions were frank and comprehensive, ranging from expectations and ethics to staffing and balancing family and work time. Spouses were included in their own sessions. What made the seminar most unique was the complete absence of partisanship. I was not sure which party several of the instructor governors belonged to.

Perhaps the most lasting thing to come from that three-day conference was the relationships it fostered. Over the years, I worked with the governors I met there in different ways, and genuine friendships developed.

Afterward, Jackie and I, along with our team, flew to Wisconsin to attend the Republican Governors Association meeting. We had immediate staffing needs addressed and transition work well under way. Still, I was filled with anticipation to get back to Utah and to keep pressing forward. I had so much to do, and a narrowing window of time before inauguration day.

Media Brushfire

In early December, we had our first mini crisis with the news media. I had asked Doug Bodrero, head of the Department of Public Safety, to develop a method of conducting background checks on candidates for key positions. He recommended we use a form used by law enforcement agencies to screen new police applicants. I looked at it quickly and approved it. Doing a background check seemed like a good idea, and I didn’t want to reinvent the process.

Several days after the first forms went out, The Deseret News reported I was asking candidates to disclose if they drank alcohol and what prescription drugs they used. The questions were clearly on the form, and although it was an appropriate inquiry for a position in law enforcement, given the religious sensitivity the use of alcohol had among members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, our use of it was interpreted as a religious litmus test.

Every major news organization pounced and ignited a brushfire. Kathryn Kendall, staff attorney for the Utah chapter of the American Civil Liberties Union, said of the form, “Is it legal? Yes. Is it moral? No. Asking questions about personal background … smacks to me of an ideological litmus test. The governor is precluding diversity.” Kendall went on to say that the form suggested to other employers, “it’s okay to invade the privacy of workers under the pretense of deciding who’s going to do a good job.” 3

LaVarr Webb and I were in Las Vegas at Western Governors’ Association meetings when the story broke. LaVarr attempted to tamp down the accusations of heavy-handedness by saying, “We do want to maintain a high ethical standard and we want to make sure employees don’t have anything in their backgrounds that will cause embarrassment.”

The reporter then spoke with Charlie Johnson. He was asked if Governor Bangerter conducted investigations on potential appointees. Charlie replied that Bangerter interviewed candidates to determine if there were any potential problems rather than asking them to undergo background checks.

Amid the tumult, I was leaving the Salt Lake Hilton one day following a speech and was surrounded by media. All they wanted to ask about was the questionnaire. I said, “I’m taking responsibility for this. I’m not dodging the fact that the questionnaire was inappropriate. I was horrified like everyone else.” I acknowledged I hadn’t read the form closely enough, and I told them the form would be replaced.

It was an important first test. I needed to show the media I would deal directly with them and take responsibility. In addition, we learned a good lesson about the need to run a tighter ship to avoid giving multiple messages to reporters.

Countdown to the Inauguration

During the last couple weeks of the transition, we began to frame policy positions on three important controversies that continued throughout my entire first term as governor. The first was whether the state would continue to support appeals on a lawsuit challenging Utah’s abortion law. The second was litigation related to Utah’s system of child protective services. The third involved Utah’s willingness, or lack thereof, to store high-level nuclear waste. It is important to note how quickly a new governor is put into a position to make lasting and important policy decisions.

As the holidays approached, Jackie and I knew this might be the last Christmas we would have in our home on Laird. While that didn’t turn out to be true, the thought made that year especially significant. Our children were young and about to experience great change in their lives.

On December 30, The Salt Lake Tribune reported the appointment of six more department directors: Bob Wilcox, Insurance; Connie White, Commerce; Dianne Nielson, Environmental Quality; Cary Peterson, Agriculture; Ed Leary, Financial Institutions; and Joe Jenkins, Community and Economic Development. I also named Lynne Ward as my budget director.

I had earlier announced the appointment of Lane McCotter as director of the Department of Corrections, and the reappointment of Doug Bodrero, staying on as director of Public Safety. With Ted Stewart and Raylene Ireland named weeks earlier, I had eleven members of the cabinet lined up and ready to go.

Just before New Year’s, the Bangerters invited Jackie and me to accompany them to the Copper Bowl to watch the University of Utah football team in action. We traveled to Tucson, Arizona, together in the state plane. The trip was a nice way to reconcile the changeover for both of us. I took care to remain a secondary figure and to respect Bangerter’s stature as governor, if just for a few more days.