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Writing on the wall
Somewhere beneath those huge piles,
wrapped in brown butcher paper, are samples
of Chambers’ artwork. He’s better known for
his poetry — copies of often-humorous prose
concerning legislation or other senators are
often seen floating around the chambers or in
newspaper articles.
Legislative assistant Cynthia Grandberry,
has worked with Chambers for more than 25
years, and marvels at his drawings. She’s urged
him to display or sell them, but has managed
to get him to mat and frame only a few.
One he’s framed is a drawing of an African
woman’s dignified profile, superimposed over
an outline of Africa. Another depicts Jacqueline
Kennedy Onassis as Chambers sees her,
Grandberry said—half glamour, half vampire.
It shows a perfect replica of the former first
lady, but with vicious yellow-green eyes and
one fang-like tooth slightly protruding from the
right side of her mouth.
“I wish black people would appreciate what
the arts can do,” Chambers said. “Theater,
dance, music, painting, sculpting — as much
as I try to do things by explaining and telling
stories, if you can dramatize something, it’s far
more effective, people remember more, and it
leaves a lasting impression on them that spo
ken words like my explanation won’t do.”
Assistance for all
Chambers frequently pops in and out of his
messy domain, and it’s one of the few offices
in the Legislature where, upon knocking, the
senator himself will run to the door, poke his
head out and see who’s beckoning.
Often, his door opens to reveal someone who
needs help.
People who arrive at Room 1107 have come
in every complexion, and he has extended help
to those people, sometimes without being ei
ther asked or thanked.
Chambers has often been called a racist. He
often refers to the government as “your” (white
people’s) government, and talks about the op
pression black people have faced ever since the
country was founded.
He calls white people cowards, and says they
are lucky that blacks do not treat whites in the
same fashion they have been treated.
But actions may speak louder than words.
“White people come to me who’ve gone to
every white person and had the door slammed
in their face because they think I’ll be fair, that
I’ll be just,” Chambers said. “And I say, ‘If I’m
such a racist, why would you even come to me?’
“They say, ‘Well, Senator, I know you’re
not. I know you help people.’ When you all get
desperate you’ll go to the devil himself.”
Walk up to anyone on the streets ofNebraska
and you can be sure of (me thing: They’ll have
an opinion on Chambers. Many have had a
personal brush with the senator.
Mitchell Strong is a senior marketing ma
jor at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
When asked if he heard of Chambers, he
smiled, and said,“He helped me out a few years
M
ago.
When UNL student Candice Harms disap
peared in 1992, police had few leads. One was
a tip that she had been seen talking to a black
man the day she disappeared, Strang said.
So campus police came to Harms’ classes
and rounded up black men, Strong said. He was
one of them. They had to answer questions and
have their pictures taken — but the only thing
they had in common was their skin color.
One was a fullback on the football team,
another was just over 5 feet tall and pudgy.
Strong was a lithe quarter-mile track runner.
So they went to see Chambers. Strong said
they didn’t know if they were about to be ar
rested, or questioned more, but they knew they
would find a haven in the senator’s office.
“He got the campus police in trouble,”
Strong said. “We talked to the media in his of
fice. We did everything through him.”
Eventually, two white men were arrested and
convicted in connection with Harms’ murder.
Not only young blade men have benefited
from Chambers’ protective arms.
In 1984, a SWAT team killed a white farmer
in Cairo. Arthur Kirk had been served papers
hours before his death ordering him to pay
$100,000 of an outstanding loan of more than
$300,000. Police said he threatened officers,
so the sheriff brought the SWAT team to Kirk’s
farm to provide backup while serving warrants.
When they came to his form, Kirk fired shots
at the officers, and the SWAT team killed him.
Chambers thought the man’s civil rights
were violated. He pushed for grand jury inves
tigations, and helped circulate petitions around
the state for an investigation.
Kirk was known as a white supremacist.
“They say he was a racist, and they told me
all the reasons that I ought not help him,”
Photos by Jay Calderon
Chambers said. “I said ‘He was not killed be
cause he was a racist, so why should I not help
his family?’”
After he investigated the case, the state pa
trol changed SWAT team procedures that had
led to the investigation, Chambers said. It did
not matter that a black man from North Omaha
was the sort of person Kirk would have hated,
Chambers said. The system had wronged him.
That’s all that mattered.
The incident heartened many farmers of
western Nebraska to Chambers.
“They had never seen anyone like me be
fore, white or black. They told me that they
wished somebody white would do like I do.”
Lending a hand
Chambers doesn’t always wait to be asked
for help. If he sees problems, he steps in.
In 1987, a grieving father in Ashland dug
up the coffin of his 9-week-old daughter, who
had recently died of Sudden Infant Death Syn
drome. He brought her to the hospital, saying
she was ill. The county attorney planned to
charge him with illegal exhumation, which
could’ve brought prison time and a $1,000 fine.
Chambers wrote the county attorney, say
ing “he needs compassion, understanding and,
perhaps, treatment. But nothing will be gained
by society or (the man) if he should be taken
Through a trial, convicted and either impris
oned or fined.” The county attorney reconsid
ered his decision to prosecute.
Chambers has similarly intervened at UNL.
In 1986, he asked the attorney general to
get scholarships reinstated for two injured fe
male gymnasts. The university had revoked the
scholarships after they were injured, which,
according to a 1984 state law, was illegal. One
gymnast was not aware of the law, and had ac
cepted a partial scholarship from the univer
sity. After the attorney general’s investigation,
the full scholarship was reinstated.
When NU Women’s Basketball Coach An
gela Beck was offered a contract that awarded
yearly salary increases based on attendance,
Chambers sent an outraged letter to UNL’s le
gal counsel. He said the contract equated Beck
with “ladies of the night,” who must also bring
in paying customers. Beck could increase at
tendance by dressing the players as “Hooters
girls,” Chambers pointed out in the letter. In
the end, Beck accepted the contract.
In 1985, Chambers railed against a proposed
academic center for women athletes. The uni
versity planned to spend $40,000 renovating
-
study rooms in Smith Residence Hall after com
plaints that only men could use the new $1
million Hewit Athletic Academic Center — a
stipulation of the donator William Hewit.
Chambers called the study rooms offensive
tokenism.
At arm’s length
After looking at his political record, it does
not come as a surprise that Chambers is affili
ated with no party — he’s the only indepen
dent in the Nebraska Legislature.
Independence goes past a lack of party ties.
Sen. Landis said the perfect description for
Chambers’ relationships with colleagues is a
quote attributed to George Bernard Shaw: “She
was a sinking ship firing on her rescuers.”
Landis said even senators who have affec
tion for Chambers are kept at arm’s length. He’s
courtly and good-humored off the floor, Landis
said, but when it comes to debate, watch out.
“He will let nothing impede him. I’ve felt
the sting ofhis words many times,” Landis said.
“He never develops so close a friendship that
he feels muzzled on the flow.”
Chambers is a known pundit of the rule
book, and an advocate of the filibuster—which
allows him, at times, to dominate debate.
“The force of his arguments provoke many
amendments and alterations,” Landis said. “His
mastery of the rules allows him to influence
floor discussion.”
Even when drafting new bills, Chambers
figures into the equation, Landis said.
“I have heard my colleagues say ‘We better
not do that because Emie’ll go nuts!’”
Others curtly say Chambers’ role is hyped.
“His role is simply one of 49 senators,” Sen.
Kate Witek of Omaha sudd.
Witek said his constant hammering away
at issues was sometimes uncalled for, and Sen.
Waiher said it sometimes loses him votes.
“There are times that he becomes pretty
accusatory and actually makes it difficult for
others to vote for the position that he’s advo
cating.”
Another common Chambers tactic is to set
up deliberate questions that force legislators to
agree with an argument he’s trying to prove.
Some humbly succumb. Others avoid the trap
by not answering, as Sen. Carol Hudkins of
Malcolm did earlier this session during debate
on a trivial bill to designate a state fish and
crop. Hudkins told Chambers:
“I was told a long time ago never to engage
in a debate, because you would ask us ques
tians where, if you agree to A, which is obvi
ous, and you agree to B, which is obvious, then
you have to agree to C, and if you agree to C,
that shows what a nut you are.” ~
Warner chuckles as he recalls freshman
senators who, time and again, think they can
beat Chambers at his own game.
“They think they know how to handle
Ernie,” Warner said. “Without exception, num
ber one, they don’t, and number two, they usu
ally end up defending him.”
But Chambers insists that if there is full
discussion on an issue, he will not speak. Other
times, he is alone in his arguments.
“There are a lot of matters, such as the death
penalty, same-sex marriages, physician-assisted
dying, where I will be virtually the only voice,”
he said. “If I don’t deal with those issues, no
body will.”
Action and reaction
Though many disagree with some of his
controversial bills, they agree with his method.
“I don’t believe hardly anything he be
lieves,” said John Harris, special assistant to
UNL’s vice chancellor for student affairs. “But
I respect him because he’s always the same.
“He’s taken conviction to a new level, and
that’s a bad thing for his enemies. He’s like a
pit bull — he bites on and never lets go.”
Chambers’ high-profile job also is useful for
breaking stereotypes about black people, oth
ers said.
Nick Rathod, 21, was an intern at the Capi
tol while a freshman political science major at
Nebraska Wesleyan University. Moving to a
mostly white state from New York was culture
shock. Nebraskans, many who grew up in small,
homogeneous farming towns, expected all
blacks to have accents or be in gangs, he said.
“(Chambers) relates to... a lot of problems
minorities have to go through—covert acts of
racism, even some overt acts, (and) the atti
tudes of Nebraskans to blacks,” Rathod said.
“Here, all they see is what they see on TV.
Swimming upstream
So what, exactly, is it that drives Chambers
to fight an uphill battle every session, to cham
pion so many causes?
It’s not money. Although he has a bachelor’s
degree in history and a law degree from
Creighton University, he has never worked as
a lawyer. Before serving in the Legislature, he
was a barber in Omaha. Now he has given that
up, and devotes his time to senatorial duties—
making $12,000 a year.
It’s not religion. His family grew up listen
ing to their father preach from a pulpit in the
same district he now represents, but Chambers
has denounced the Christian faith.
It's not fame. He grants few interviews with
the media, unless they have questions about
particular bills. He’s even more hesitant to share
his personal life; he’ll only tell selected snip
pets of his past to try to emphasize a point.
Almost all that’s known about his family is that
he has four grown children and was divorced.
His motivation may be simple distrust. In
cidents when he was a child, Chambers said,
have influenced the way he thinks today.
Growing up, Chambers said, he saw white
grocers in his neighborhood rip off old men at
the grocery store—one onion for seven cents,
two fra* 15. He heard a verse in church that
said “suffer the little children to crane unto me
and forbid them not for such is the kingdom of
heaven.” Later, he saw children being disci
plined with whips.
I would wonder, how can they teach that
these things are in the Bible, and then be so
mean to children?
“So 1 didn’t believe what religious people
said either.”
Hypocrisy, Chambers said, forced him to
watch people closely, and take scrupulous men
tal notes of comments they made. It’s a trait he
still uses during debate, when he’ll throw back
a comment another senator made, only to hear,
“Well, 1 didn't mean that!”
Hypocrites, he says, remain favorite targets.
“1 take the air out of their balloons,” Cham
bers said. “I delight in sharpening my poison
darts and plunging them into their wicked,
wicked hearts.”
Keeping those darts sharpened every day for
27 years may seem like an exhaustive task, but
Chambers says he cannot vegetate. He must
always be making things better than they are.
“Life is hard by the yard,” he said, “but a cinch
by the inch,” and there’s nothing so terrible he
can’t handle one instant of it at a time.
“I’m not like these people who get converted
this morning and are going to run out and
change the world,” Chambers said. “When jus
tice does not prevail, they’re devastated.
“I don’t expect justice, but I continue to work
toward it. I never bum out, because I never
thought there was going to be success.
“Success for me is doing what is available
for me to do.”