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Buddy Story
Haley Barbour and his wife Marsha in Biloxi. After Hurricane Katrina, the backslapping governor says, it's a time for "hitching up your britches."
(Susan Walsh -- AP)
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Now Barbour is talking about Katrina's "vast destruction," "utter desolation" and "gargantuan devastation." He favors elaborate metaphors, often involving animals. Finding temporary housing for displaced Mississippians, he says, is like "digesting an elephant . . . a slow, slow process."
He also equates the housing problem with "those toys that you get for your kids, where you get the hammer and beat the chipmunk down and it pops back up. That's what this housing deal is."
Barbour makes regular trips to "the devastation" -- the operative synonym for the coastal region. Like Reagan, the governor's political idol, Barbour emphasizes hopeful rhetoric even amid despair-inducing conditions. He talks of how Katrina could, in the long term, be the impetus for a "renaissance" in Mississippi.
This renaissance, if it occurs, could be a springboard into a run for president in 2008 -- something Barbour had been considering before Katrina. "He is, in some ways, in a very enviable political position," says W. Martin Wiseman, director of the John C. Stennis Institute of Government at Mississippi State University. Wiseman adds that Barbour's fortunes will be determined largely by his ability to bring in federal relief dollars -- a task he is suited to.
"There will be no federal account that he won't know about or tap into," says Ed Gillespie, a Barbour protege who served as RNC chairman until last year.
"He knows what to ask Thad Cochran to do, and what not to ask him," Rogers says, referring to one of Mississippi's Republican senators and chairman of the Appropriations Committee, who will hold great influence over how federal relief money will be spent. "He knows where FEMA money is. He knows how it all works."
Barbour also benefits from the chaos next door in Louisiana, which has received more scrutiny and criticism. He is often asked for his assessment of Louisiana, particularly of its Democratic governor, Blanco. He won't answer explicitly, but his critique is barely veiled. Asked about a proposal to turn over Mississippi's relief effort to a federal "czar," Barbour says, "We don't need that here," adding that neither do neighboring Alabama or Florida. "These states are capable of doing the right thing."
Louisiana?
"That's not for me to say," he says.
Devastating Duty
Barbour and his wife are unwinding at the governor's mansion after another Katrina-logged day. Marsha Barbour sips from a large tumbler of Jack Daniel's, Haley from a glass of white wine.
"I'm on a diet," the governor says, explaining his choice of beverage. (He normally drinks bourbon, Maker's Mark.)
They sit in a small dining area, picking at a plate of spiced shrimp and cheese. Completed in 1842, the pillared mansion covers a full city block and is the second-oldest continuously occupied governor's residence in the country.
