Frank Watson, heir to Senate GOP leader James “Pate” Philip’s depleted political fortune, was a township supervisor when he noticed a stream of poor folks passing through his native Bond County to get money for gas, meals and lodging.
It frosted him. “These people, many, were literally traveling across this county at the expense of local government,” Watson said. “I was very upset by that … the attitude that it’s a free ride.”
So the eager young public official put a cap on how much families could get in “transient” assistance. Three bucks worth of gas–enough to get them out of the county.
That was the mid-1970s. But the experience, along with the deeply traditional values passed on by a hometown with 7,000 people and more than 20 churches, helped shape what became a hallmark of Watson’s legislative persona: a steadfast social and fiscal conservative.
The man now charged with leading Illinois Senate Republicans back from the political wilderness has never shied from controversial views. A decade ago he earned the wrath of some in the state by pushing a law that denies additional welfare benefits to women who have more children while on public aid. He also supports the right to carry concealed weapons.
Despite such stances, the soon-to-be Senate minority leader represents more than a historic shift of Republican power from DuPage County to southern Illinois. Although Watson espouses many of the conservative views of his predecessor, those who have watched the political rise of the small-town pharmacist predict a leadership style far different from the inflexible, us-against-them approach of Philip.
People who have worked with Watson, 57, on issues ranging from Chicago school reform to welfare describe a politician willing to listen to those who disagree with him.
“The picture is, in my view, of a guy who’s conservative in many ways but on issue to issue is open to discussion and will make his own mind up,” said John Bouman, deputy director for advocacy at the Chicago-based National Center on Poverty Law. “He has, at least to now, been more accessible and willing to hear the case from different sides.”
Other traditional opponents, including local labor leaders, note Watson’s frequent party-line votes against them. But they grudgingly acknowledge that he takes care of his constituents.
“He’s a good politician. You call him, he’ll call you back,” said Frank Lucco, chairman of the Bond County Democratic Party. “And you can tell it by the vote totals.”
A big winner
Watson won re-election last month with 60 percent of the vote, even though Democrats, who controlled the state’s recent legislative remap, redrew the boundaries of his district to include the organized labor stronghold of Decatur.
Even Watson’s own sister thought he was toast until the returns rolled in.
“Obviously not just conservative Republicans voted for him,” said Melissa Walker, who grew up with her brother in one of Greenville’s turn-of-the-century Victorian homes. “In a small town like that, I don’t think philosophically a lot of people get into politics. It’s, `What can my local legislator do for me?’ And Frank tries to do it.”
Indeed, Watson hasn’t been timid about assisting his constituents and local associates. In 1997 he helped longtime Greenville-based uniform maker DeMoulin Bros. & Co. win a $28,000 job-training grant for its workers.
Watson, a paid director of the company’s board, said he placed a phone call to officials of the Illinois Department of Commerce and Community Affairs to help facilitate a meeting with the company’s owners.
As a legislator who also happens to be a pharmacist, Watson often has had to finesse the sometimes awkward position of owning a business that benefits directly from state policy. “I’ve declared conflicts on the floor of the Senate oftentimes when an issue dealing with pharmacy is debated or voted on,” he said.
Just weeks before this fall’s election, he hosted a seminar at a senior citizen center in Greenville to inform elderly residents about a state program offering expanded prescription drug benefits.
The event was an undeniable “two-fer”: both a timely reminder of political beneficence and something that could generate more business for his family’s store.
But Watson said the seminar, like those he helped host in other towns around his district, was simply meant to make seniors aware of the program.
“There wasn’t anyone handing out literature at the door saying, `You have to go to Watson’s Drug to fill your prescription,” he said. “I was very sensitive about that.”
The shop has been a part of Greenville’s red brick downtown square since Watson’s great-great uncle Charles W. Watson opened it in 1881.
Since then the Watsons have ranked among Greenville’s business elite. Frank Watson’s parents socialized with the school superintendent, bankers and factory owners.
They raised their two children across the street from Greenville College, a Christian liberal arts school affiliated with the Free Methodist Church. In those days, the college forbade its students to drink, dance or go to the movies. Female students couldn’t wear short-sleeved shirts.
The school’s conservative outlook greatly affected life in the town; to this day, no restaurants serve alcohol in Greenville.
Watson’s parents, who were Presbyterians, tried to strike a balance between respecting the small-town values and broadening their children’s minds, taking them on frequent visits to St. Louis, 45 miles to the west, and to other parts of the country.
Political parents
Both of Watson’s parents were involved in local politics. His father, known as Cy, was a Republican precinct committeeman. His mother, Pauline, stumped for candidates ranging from Barry Goldwater to Charles Percy.
Their son took to politics early, covering his bedroom door with stickers for the likes of Richard Nixon and Illinois Gov. William Stratton.
In the mid-1970s he ran successfully for Central Township supervisor, moving on to the Illinois House in 1978 and the Senate four years later.
In a secret ballot this month among Republican senators, Watson was elected to replace Philip as GOP leader in the Senate when the Republicans–following election losses–are officially reduced from majority to minority status in January.
Showing off the Dominican cigar Philip gave him as a congratulatory gift, Watson rejected the suggestion that his selection repudiated two decades of DuPage County Republican power.
“It wasn’t like it was Downstate versus DuPage County,” he said as he gave a visitor a tour of his home office, which is filled with memorabilia from his beloved Purdue University and St. Louis Cardinals. But Watson acknowledged that “we want to change the image of the Republican Party.”
No matter what happens from here, Watson’s accession to Senate Republican leader was a welcome milestone for many southern Illinoisans, who for years have felt ignored by Chicago-area political chieftains of both parties.
Douglas Marti, the Bond County GOP chairman, put it best.
“Given the general loss of political clout for southern Illinois in recent years,” he said, “this is pretty sweet.”
