November 1934
The Sower
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David CreamerThe Sower
We're off to see the Wizard, the DeCamp is one because ... of the
Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Nebraslta's vonderful things he says he does.
Oz, the State Capitol. And if ever-oh- Behold, a day with tlie self-proclaimed
ever a Wiz there was, Sen. John Wiz of the Legislature.
First they came to a great
hall in which there were
many ladies and gentlemen
of the court dressed in rich
costumes. These people had
nothing to do but talk to
each other, but they always
came to wait outside the
Throne Room every morn
ing. John DeCamp plumps his bulky, 5-foot-6-inch
frame in his big yellow vinyl chair, a chair much
older and scruffier than the rest of his office
furniture. Ke kicks his feet up and officially
begins the work day by snapping open the
newspaper. It's 7:15 a.m.
"Well, John D., you gotta getta lot done
today," he mumbles to himself.
Folks peek in now and then, but only a few
cross the threshold. DeCamp's office is in an old
emptied vault in the State Capitol a vault now
privy to some of the most important meetings in
Nebraska. As chairman of the Legislature's bank
ing committee and one of the most powerful
senators, DeCamp spends a lot of time in the
vault . . . holding meetings. Some say he's
absolutely wizardly at getting things done.
"Everything that's accomplished is done right
here in private meetings, putting and piecing
things together," John D. says. "People who think
things are done on the floor are living in a fool's
paradise."
It's 8:30 now. John D. finishes reading four
newspapers and fires off four letters. Gary Rex,
attorney for the banking committee, needs to talk
to DeCamp. Or rather, have John D. talk to him.
DeCamp controls the meeting from behind his
desk. He moves constantly playing with paper,
wiping his glasses, sipping coffee. He speaks with
hands and shoulders even more than with his
mouth. John D. and Rex discuss the future of
several banks in the state. John D. speaks:
"Because I don't want this. Do you understand?
"Do you have the papers? Then get them."
Rex leaves the office, determined to "get
them." But there's no rest for the Wizard yet.
Attorney Dan Meyer needs a favor from
DeCamp. Meyer wants John D. to help find a job
for a lawyer friend who just moved to Lincoln.
The young lawyer fidgets, Meyer fusses and John
D. figures.
"I ll see what I can do," John D. concludes.
Pollster Joe B. Williams comes to see his old
friend the senator, to discuss the coming elections.
Williams monitors public opinion for a living, so
he thinks he knows who will win what elections.
John D. knows who will win.
"Just don't tell anybody," he says.
I am Oz, The Greet m& Terrible . . .
Oz himself is the Great Wizard.
He is more powerful than all the
rest of us together.
John DeCamp has been a state senator for
more than 14 years now. He feels confident in his
ability to know good from bad in the political
arena.
John D. talis in spades:
"There's no such thing as a true Democrat or a
true Republican. The true liberal who wants
complete freedom in his personal life, wants
government to control every aspect of business.
"The Republican who wants complete business
freedom wants to tell you how to pray and live."
John D. knows he's always been ahead of his
time. He says he developed an agricultural relief
plan three months before Iowa Gov. Terry
Branstadt and Gov. Bob Kerrey took the same
plan to the Governor's Conference.
"I held an ag relief conference in April 1984. It
was seen as a political ploy. It's precisely the
same program that Reagan just proposed. It
won't save everybody, but it will work."
John D. says he's not afraid to go against
public opinion. He says he was the only state
senator to fight Initiative 300, a plan touted as
salvation for the family farm. John D. says
Kerrey, Charlie Thone, James Exon, Ed Zorinsky
and Doug Bereuter favored the popular initiative
even though they knew it wouldn't work. He
also fought the death penalty, even though he
knew his district was for it.
"I figured they elected me to use my mind, not
follow. We could take instant polls on television
sets if we wanted that."
I am Oz, The Great and Terrible . . .
his own brand of poetry on freedom of the press.
He thinks objectivity in reporting should be a
thing of the past.
"1 think reporters today are so qualified that
it's tough to ask them not to use their intelligence
and not just spit out information. It would seem
dishonest to ask for complete objectivity. The
press works in a self-imposed hypocrisy."
I am Oz, The Great and Terrible . . .
am supposed to be a Great
Wizard.
And aren't you?
Not a bit of it, my dear. I'm just
a common man.
On the way home, now, looking forward to the
Nebraska Club and conversation with old friends.
John D. speaks on people, planes ... and politics:
"There are three types of legislators: those
who are economically self-sufficient, those who
are backed by some type of business ... and the
flakes.
"You want to know who backs me, right?"
John D. raises an eyebrow, cocks his head
quizzically.
"I'm sorry to say it's nobody."
John D. says he's just a poor boy ... a poor
boy whose image gets him into trouble with the
fat cats. Namely the state Republican party.
"I'm irate with the Republican hierarchy. The
days of annointing and appointing are gone.
People who have worked their way up can't get
what they want. They have to stop cutting up
their own people.
What is he like?
That is hard to Uttt. You see
Oz is a great Wizard, and can take
on any form he wishes. But who the
real Oz is, no living person can tell.
I am Oz, The Great and Terrible . . .
-Jeff Browne
He sits day after day in the Great
Throne Room of his palace, and
even those who wait upon him do
not see him face to face.
John D. drives westward on Interstate 80 on an
all-of-a-sudden autumn day. He is scheduled to
speak to the Nebraska Licensed Beverage Associa
tion about proposed liability laws in drunken
driving cases.
Worn cowboy boots pump brakes and gas
pedals. John D.'s hands stray from the steering
wheel as he tells of his separation from his
hometown, Neligh.
John D. says if the state expects the governor
to live in the governor's mansion, then DeCamp
should live in Lincoln, too. But his constituents
don't always agree. When DeCamp ran in 1982
for re-election to his 40th district seat, someone
stood up during a debate and said, "What the hell
do you know? You don't even live in Neligh."
"Well, he had me," John D. recalls with a grin.
"I knew this guy was from Neligh, so I just said,
'you wouldn't live in Neligh either if you didn't
have to.' "
I am Oz, The Great and Terrible . . .
And he rules the Emerald City
wisely and well. But to those who
approach him from curiosity, he is
most terrible.
John D. plays the crowd. He takes a cup of
coffee in one hand, approaches his audience and
says he wants to talk informally. John D. puts a
hoot on a chair and leans an elbow on one knee.
"I've never issued a press release, held a press
conference or solicited articles," he tells the
group. "I don't seek out the press."
NLBA members titter politely at his statement.
You see, the media never has trouble finding
DeCamp. John D. gets in the papers for
matters very personal, as well as very private. His
judgments are severe, no matter how close to
home. Consider the Lincoln Star:
"I call it the Lincoln Enquirer. I don't consider
it a legitimate newspaper."
He insists the press goes overboard on some
issues, destroying credibility. But John D. waxes
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