Arizona has produced remarkable leaders, but none more inspiring than Sierra Vista’s greatest living visionary, the speaker of the Arizona House of Representatives, David Gowan.
Rep. Gowan is a simple man. “Coming from a rural district, I believe in our liberties and freedom. And perks. Grabbing all the perks of elected office you can. Want to hold my gavel? See my gun? It’s loaded. Safety’s on. I’m not stupid, you know.”
Only the divinely inspired speak with such eloquence.
“We believe in family values and freedom. And perks.” The word “freedom” rolls off the great Gowan’s silver tongue as frequently as the word “wabbit” falls from Elmer Fudd’s lips.
Rep. Gowan is ambitious. When he announced he was running for Congress, he laid out a vision: “I will continue working to shrink the size of government. Except when it comes to the perks of office. I may have to redecorate my office.”
Rep. Gowan cares deeply about the people, specifically people named Billy Cloud. Last year, Billy chauffeured Gowan around in an official state car they borrowed, and — unlike “Thelma and Louise” — they returned intact more than two weeks later, and with nearly 5,000 miles added to the odometer.
Gowan is the Jack Kerouac of Arizona.
“Now I got to pay back the $12,000 I owe the taxpayers for that road trip thanks to that commie reporter Stephenson of the Capitol Times. That media scum dug through my records and discovered it was actually a campaign trip. I’ll teach him a...”
Billy interrupted: “Where can I drive you to next, Mr. Gowan, sir?”
Gowan: “Billy, you’re a pal. How’d you like to be sergeant-at-arms for the Legislature? It pays $40,000. But for you, my friend, we’ll find money to double it.”
Billy: “$80,000! Hot dog. But how?”
Gowan: “Hey, I’m the man who was going to find $2 million in taxpayer dollars to renovate the House basement, adding a gym so I could maintain this Bruce Lee body of mine. There’s always money to take away from public education! I’m speaker of the House. King of the forest. Big man on campus.”
Rep. Gowan boldly protects his fellow legislators from “The People” of Arizona by saying “No!” to the press. This turned into a setback, though, when First Amendment types whined.
The dear leader had to cancel his call for journalists working on the floor of the House to undergo extensive background checks, disappointing unrepentant Stalinists everywhere.
Rep. Gowan is a friend to the downtrodden: Folks like poor Mike Ingram, a minority stakeholder of the Arizona Diamondbacks and backer of a 28,000- home development being planned in Benson, in a county that is fretting over whether it will have enough “silly old water” to sustain life 100 years from now.
Which is why Speaker Gowan, our beloved “Man of the People Named Mike,” had a front row seat at the Diamondbacks’ opening game, next to Mike.
“We’re working on a bill to trash the authority of counties to overrule local zoning decisions, especially the stupid ones — based on baloney about water and how this is supposedly a desert,” the Big Man tells him.
Mike: “Home run!”
But to truly understand Boss Gowan’s unique approach to governance, one need only hear the touching tale of his visits to a polytechnic high school auto shop in Vail, where students learn vocational skills, thanks to the state’s Joint Technical Educational District. JTED is one of the terrible government programs Rep. Gowan has courageously worked to cut out of existence.
“Hey, kid. Fix my car, will ya’?”
Students: “You need another repair job? That’s the third one already. Why don’t you pay a mechanic?”
Gowan: “You’re saving me a thousand bucks in car repair bills. Pop the hood.”
It’s clear that Rep. Gowan merits a monument, and that is why today I am proposing a colossus, a giant stick man, made from welded muffler pipes and shotgun barrels, with a noble gumball dispenser for a head, gazing heavenward.
One hand should brandish a gavel, while the other points over the horizon, with an ax, to a bold future of perks, pals and power. Surely, the great Gowan can find the funds to build it.