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State of Indiana

Hanoi Hilton

The lieutenant governor of the State of Indiana lies on a cot in the rotunda of the capitol, bleeding. High above his supine form, two heroic-size statues, labeled Law and Art, gaze across the marble and limestone dome, sightless and uncaring. Just off the rotunda, newspaper and TV reporters mill restlessly, awaiting a chance to quiz the governor about a budgetary surprise that erupted yesterday but unaware that the second highest administrator in the state is bleeding a few paces away. Near his cot, a white-coated medical technician watches the lieutenant governor open and close his fist rhythmically as a plastic bag fills with his blood donation.

Joe Kernan, a 1968 graduate of Notre Dame, decided to do his part in today’s statehouse blood drive on the spur of the moment while crossing the rotunda on his way to his office after chairing a meeting of the Indiana Housing Finance Authority board. But there’s a problem. "I forgot my wallet today," he pleads when he’s asked for a photo i.d. That crisis is quickly resolved by an attendant who vouches for his identity and invites Kernan to bypass a seven-person lineup of waiting donors. "These people have volunteered to let you go ahead of them," says the attendant. Kernan looks sheepish: "Are you sure? I don’t want to cut." They’re sure, and soon he’s reclining on the cot, adding his pint of rare B-negative to the blood bank reserves.

It’s only a little after 11 in the morning and already Kernan’s day has kept him on the move. In addition to the Housing Authority meeting, he has endured a photo shoot for the Commerce Department’s annual report ("wear a good tie!" the day’s activity log reminded him), talked to a reporter in his office, hurried a block and a half to a radio station on the Indianapolis Circle for a live on-air interview, and cheerfully greeted several dozen citizens he encountered during his travels, most of whom responded with a cheery "Hi, governor."

***

Joe Kernan didn’t anticipate a career in politics when he was graduated from Notre Dame in the Vietnam years. Nor did he anticipate the sunny May Sunday in 1972 when he found himself, a Naval lieutenant junior grade, in the rear seat of an RA-5C Vigilante reconnaissance jet on a bomb-damage mission over North Vietnam. After photographing the target, the two-man aircraft was directed down highway 1 to Thanh Hoa bridge, about 80 miles south of Hanoi. "That was a place where we lost an awful lot of airplanes during the war," he says, "and ours happened to be one of them." When enemy fire hit the Vigilante’s tail, the nose pitched down violently. "We came out of it, but I had no visual contact with the pilot in the front seat because of all my instruments," Kernan recalls. "I couldn’t talk to him either — our intercom was damaged. So I got on the radio to try to let the world know we’d been hit. I went through all the emergency and auxiliary channels as well as the regular channels, but there was no side tone and I knew I was talking to myself."

After recovering briefly, the jet’s nose pitched down once more and it was clear that the plane would not stay airborne for the minute or so it would take, at 650 mph, to make it back to the sea where the carrier USS Kitty Hawk might effect a water rescue. "I decided to punch out," Kernan recalls. "I pulled the handle and the cockpit filled with light — the canopy disappearing. I blacked out, and when I woke up on the ground people were coming from everywhere to welcome me to North Vietnam."

Kernan suffered no serious injury in ejecting, but his "welcome" included being stripped down to his shorts and T-shirt and knocked around. He and the plane’s pilot, who had broken his arm above the elbow, were held by their captors for a few days before being delivered to the Hanoi Hilton. Almost 11 months later, after the peace agreements ended the war, Kernan went home, determined never to eat pumpkin again. "I had pumpkin soup about twice a day for nine months," he grimaces; "I think I got shot down the first day of pumpkin season. But I have no complaints about my treatment. I harbor no ill will."

***

On his way into the Indiana Senate chamber after delivering a luncheon pep talk to a group of donors to the state Democratic Party, Kernan pauses momentarily to express his thanks to Senator Robert Garton, a 30-year veteran Republican legislator and the Senate’s president pro tem, for keeping alive a bill to provide scholarship assistance to the children of disabled veterans. The two men, leaders in their respective parties, have a respect for each other that transcends political differences. Kernan is openly appreciative of the help Garton provided as he was learning the customs and lore of the Senate. Garton calls the lieutenant governor easy to work with and praises him for running the Senate with an even hand. "Joe," he adds, "has a sense of humor and a sense of humility. To me he is a real war hero."

When Kernan mounts the raised platform from which he gavels the chamber to order, a daily routine begins: a string of senators line up with their pages and guests to be photographed with the lieutenant governor. Senate parliamentarian Kevin Murray points out to a visitor that Republicans as well as Democrats are invariably found in the lineup.

The course that led to that office began one night between Christmas and New Year’s of 1986, after Kernan had put in a term as controller for the city of South Bend, an appointive post he took following a few years in the business world after the Navy. That evening, he and his wife, Maggie, whom he married in 1974, were dining out with political friends. "You oughta run for mayor," one of them urged. "I said, ‘Why would I do that?’" Kernan recalls, "and I think Maggie thought, ‘Oh my God!’ But we talked about it at dinner, and Maggie and I went home and talked some more, and 10 days later I had a press conference."

Kernan attributes his decision to run for elective office in part to his parents: "They always believed that politics and government and public service were important." On January 1, 1988, with his parents looking on, Mayor Kernan took the office he was to hold for nine years, longer than any other South Bend mayor. He was in his third term when he accepted an invitation from Frank O’Bannon, a popular lieutenant governor who was seeking the state’s top office, to join the 1996 state ticket.

By most accounts, Kernan had run South Bend well and was particularly effective in the area of economic development, which is one of the several hats he now wears as lieutenant governor. His time as mayor was not without controversy, however. He helped bring the College Football Hall of Fame to South Bend, promising that private support would underwrite the attraction and no tax moneys would be required. That proved to be an overly optimistic promise, and there remains a vocal coterie of "I-told-you-so" critics among his home constituency. On the other hand, the Hall has become a popular tourist draw in a town where college football is a staple of life, and Kernan says he has no regrets about his decision.

***

Today’s Senate session will run well into the dinner hour, forcing the presiding officer to show up late at a reception for a political friend. Some important bills, including one dealing with property tax reassessment, are up for second reading. That’s when floor amendments can be debated, and this afternoon quite a few are on tap. There are the usual smile-producing moments, as when one senator takes the floor to support an amendment, pronouncing: "This bill is very simple and not uncomplex." There is also some partisan posturing over Governor O’Bannon’s recent announcement that he will veto any new spending bills this session in order to preserve Indiana’s fiscal surplus. That doesn’t sit well even with some members of the governor’s own party, not to mention offering ammunition to the opposition.

For the lieutenant governor, this issue means he is a target of opportunity today for radio, television and print reporters, and as the afternoon drones on he leaves the Senate briefly for a couple of TV tapings and an on-the-fly question from a newspaper writer. He takes seriously his duties as presiding Senate officer, and he vacates the dais as seldom as possible. A year ago, he cut short a trade mission to the Far East to return home for a special session of the General Assembly.

When Joe Kernan is heading for an appointment, companions sometimes find themselves trotting a little to keep up – trim but solidly built, he is a purposeful walker with a long stride that belies his 5-foot-9-inch height. It’s hard to remember that he had a hip replaced in November of 1996, two weeks after being elected lieutenant governor. After a few weeks on crutches, he was again hustling through the statehouse. The hip doesn’t bother him, he says, although it has made it tougher for the ex-Irish baseball catcher to beat out singles in capital softball games. Equally aggravating, it has kept him out of the left seat of private planes. During the gubernatorial race, he flew himself from rally to rally around the state, a timesaving campaign strategy. He misses flying and plans to get recertified before the next campaign takes off.

Frank O’Bannon and Joe Kernan are the Democratic ticket for re-election this fall. The issues are the kind of issues found in most states – taxes, education, property assessment standards, environmental policies. Although Indiana tends to vote heavily Republican in national elections, it often puts Democrats into state administrative offices. If the ticket is re-elected, speculation will inevitably escalate about what comes next for the lieutenant governor. O’Bannon, who demonstrated the way to move up from lieutenant governor to governor, calls Kernan "tough, caring, a valuable adviser to me, and one of the great lieutenant governors we’ve had." He expresses confidence that "there’s a bright future ahead for Joe."

Like a good athlete who won’t look past the next opponent, Kernan’s focus is fixed on this fall. He acknowledges only that he hopes to be in a position after the coming election "to begin thinking with Maggie about the future." He adds, "I have no burning desire to pursue anything at the federal level."  But win or lose this fall, it would surprise virtually no one in Indiana if he makes a run for governor in 2004.

***

Two years ago, Notre Dame invited Lieutenant Governor Joseph E. Kernan, the former government major who still had a couple of courses to complete in summer school when his class was graduated in 1968, to accept an honorary degree and give the commencement address. The honor was soured briefly by some boorish student reaction to the choice – reaction of the "why couldn’t they find somebody important to speak?" sort. Kernan was more amused than offended by the flap, and any residual embarrassment on campus was washed away by the standing ovation he received when he was introduced at the ceremonies.

His talk was upbeat, with sprinkles of humor ("When Monk asked me to speak . . . I thought he was going pretty deep in the bullpen") and the mandatory dollops of advice to the graduates. But a lot of it was about service and about family. One of nine children (seven girls, two boys), Kernan told the graduates that "my family means more to me than I would ever have thought possible." That was never more true, he said, than when he was a prisoner of war and came to realize that his flight’s escort plane "had lost us and we were presumed dead. I could not imagine what my mom, my dad, Maggie and my family were going through." For the one of the few times in his captivity, he cried.

Now, 26 years later, he spoke in the JACC with only his father present to hear his words. Both parents had been proud onlookers at all his official swearings-in, but his mother had died of cancer just four months earlier. "My one regret," he told the audience, "is that my mom is not here. But . . . I think she was probably responsible for setting this whole thing up today."

A second standing ovation followed the address.

Photo by Matt Cashore

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