His New York Times obituary declared him “the largely unheralded chief architect of the Clean Air Act.” It and the Washington Post story also noted his key role in the Clean Water Act. These and other posthumous recognitions of a congressional aide’s impact followed an extraordinary lifetime event, a 2014 Supreme Court oral argument on a major environmental case, when Justice Stephen Breyer wondered what “Mr. Billings . . . the staff person” would have intended regarding the meaning of the Clean Air Act. That shout out to Leon G. Billings prompted Supreme Court scholar Richard J. Lazarus to write that America has “reason to be grateful” for the “impressive work” of staffers like Leon.
As staff director of the Senate Subcommittee on Air and Water Pollution from 1966 to 1978, Leon worked with a talented, bipartisan group of senators to produce, implement, and preserve a revolutionary new environmental regulatory regime which has made profound, enduring contributions to improving public health and the environment. A half century after the two landmark laws, it’s worth reflecting on Leon’s life for lessons about effective political activism, in the environmental arena and elsewhere.
Leon’s 1966 resume made him an unlikely staff architect of an environmental legislative revolution. He wasn’t a lawyer or an ecologist and had no environmental credentials. And he was, and remained, a partisan Democrat, a disposition seemingly inconsistent with shepherding bipartisan legislative triumphs. When, during Leon’s later service in the Maryland General Assembly (1991-2003), conservative columnist Robert Novak labeled him the nation’s most partisan Democratic legislator, Leon dispatched a thank you note. Yet Leon’s political understanding, skill, commitment, and personal qualities made him indispensable in creating and preserving the 1970s’ environmental regime.
Prior to his death four years ago, Leon often wrote, spoke, and taught about the extraordinary legislators on the Senate subcommittee whom he so admired. Edmund S. Muskie, whom Leon served, officially or unofficially, for three decades, was “this nation’s most important environmental leader” and “the first steward of the planet Earth,” Leon said in eulogizing the senator. Leon’s 2005 lecture “In the Shadow of Greatness” celebrated Muskie and his Republican colleague, Howard Baker. Together they used law to force technological innovation to promote health and environmental values. In Eagleton and the Environment: Promises Made; Promises Kept and elsewhere, Leon credited Thomas Eagleton, a Democrat, with the statutes’ premise that government should be accountable, by making promises mandatory, setting deadlines, and providing remedies including citizen suits. Leon praised Republicans John Sherman Cooper, J. Caleb Boggs, and others, too. Few so selflessly celebrated these public servants so often for so long. But not only was Leon in the room when the great environmental laws happened, he was instrumental in their happening. “Simply put, absent Leon, the Clean Air Act and the Clean Water Act, strong, durable, effective statutes, would not have been enacted,” judged Tom Jorling, the Republicans’ committee counsel and Leon’s close friend.
Leon was born in Helena, Montana, in 1937 to two crusading, progressive journalists. His parents often hosted visiting activists, exposing the child to vibrant political discourse. Leon inherited many of his parents’ political sensibilities. After short-term jobs in the West, newlywed Leon and wife, Pat, arrived in Washington, D.C., in 1963, when Leon began as legislative representative of the American Public Power Association, which advocated for community-owned power. That work engaged him with the Senate Committee on Public Works, whose staff director, Ron Linton, recruited Leon for Muskie’s pollution subcommittee.
His first years there presented challenges. He erred occasionally in an unfamiliar field. Muskie’s preference that staff report through administrative assistant Don Nicoll initially limited Leon’s access to the senator. Leon was responsible for staffing Muskie regarding public works issues generally, including Maine’s proposed Dickey-Lincoln hydroelectric project. In an early encounter, Leon told Muskie that he needed to ask Senate majority leader Mike Mansfield for appropriations for that project, giving Muskie four arguments to use. The brilliant, but sometimes short-tempered Maine senator replied with a fierce, incisive attack on Leon’s arguments. Shaken, Leon started to retreat from the senator’s office only to be restrained by Nicoll. Muskie then phoned Mansfield and repeated three of Leon’s points virtually verbatim. Lessons from that experience helped Leon build his creative partnership with the senator.
Leon soon established himself as a formidable Senate figure. In short, Leon’s talent, approach, and performance translated into influence. But it’s worth disentangling some of the interrelated qualities.
Leon was committed to vindicating the public interest. He saw pollution as a struggle between haves and have nots, a battle between public and private interests. As Jorling later observed, Leon “saw the outrage in a person or corporation degrading the commons of air and water, especially threatening public health. When Leon’s sense of fairness and justice were offended —watch out. The strength of the Clean Air Act and the Clean Water Act were very much a response.”
Leon was a learner. He mastered environmental subjects by preparing for, attending, and studying hearings, reading reports, and conversing with experts, including during daily commutes in his pickup truck with Jorling, a lawyer and ecologist. That process converted Leon from environmental know-nothing to environmental expert, but required a continuing commitment in a dynamic field.
Leon established relationships with senators and their staffs by open and frequent communication. Leon understood that his influence derived from his relationship with Muskie and the others and nurtured those relationships. Even before Leon and Jorling began commuting together, Leon had morning coffee with Boggs’s aide William Hildenbrand, who shared insights about building committee consensus. He met with diverse Senate aides to understand their members’ inclinations and needs. He learned to read Muskie and others. He interacted with full committee staff to keep them informed and on board. Conversations continued and relationships deepened at the Tune Inn, a Capitol Hill bar, where Leon ate and drank often enough to command a VIP table.
There was nothing obsequious about Leon. He battled people from Ralph Nader to auto executives whose talking points Leon once legendarily converted into a paper airplane that wouldn’t fly. When Leon asked Muskie during the 1976-77 transition to recommend him as Jimmy Carter’s EPA director, Muskie replied, “Leon, you don’t know how to kiss ass well enough to be EPA administrator.” Muskie supported Leon’s bid and, when Carter chose another, Muskie communicated his displeasure in what Carter considered the second most unpleasant conversation of his first year as president.
Characteristically, however, Leon helped Carter’s environmental team; commitment to the cause, professionalism, and decency, not personal disappointment, governed his behavior. Leon functioned as sort of a junior partner to Muskie, in Nicoll’s observation, and in 1978 Muskie made Leon his administrative assistant, partly because Leon would level with, and argue with, him.
Integrity guided Leon in his work. His intellectual honesty infused countless memos and briefings in which he told Muskie and other senators what he knew and didn’t know, the strengths and weaknesses of various arguments, and the likely consequences of available options. Candor created credibility and invited reliance, by Muskie and others, Democrat and Republican.
Leon understood legislative politics and was committed to problem-solving through civil and rational communication to reach consensus. He arranged hearings to educate all members. “Leon wanted all of the senators to be engaged and to learn. He wanted every member to be on board,” recalls fellow staffer and long-time friend Eliot Cutler. He appreciated political communication as a two-way street and spent time anticipating and resolving issues, often before members raised them. To Leon, “there wasn’t a barrier that couldn’t be solved,” says Jorling. “There was a way to address it, to resolve it. Leon was very skilled at addressing issues.” Like Muskie, Leon worked to make the air and water legislation appeal to an overwhelming bipartisan consensus, notwithstanding their novelty and strength.
Finally, Leon understood that governance required continuing engagement. Leon helped create the legislative history, remembered it and invoked it to remind others why the environmental laws were crafted as they were. Laws needed to be implemented and revised to reflect experience. That required ongoing legislative oversight, especially in a novel area like the environment. And achievements needed protection from counter assaults. Upon receiving an award in March 1981, Leon admonished that environmental values “are not always shared values and they cannot be taken for granted. So we must restate our objectives. We must reprove our case. But most of all, we must regenerate political support for these values.” Leon was a democrat as well as a Democrat.
With Muskie, Leon left the Senate for the Department of State in May 1980, and then, as he sometimes put it, was privatized by Ronald Reagan’s 1980 election. Leon remained in the political arena. He became executive director of the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee (1982-83), advised the Mondale presidential campaign, and unsuccessfully sought the Democratic nomination for an open seat in the House of Representatives in 1986.
Leon was appointed to his wife, Pat’s, seat in the Maryland House of Delegates in January 1991 after her death from cancer. Her pro-choice position had been central to her 1990 campaign, and Leon’s support for abortion rights legislation addressed that commitment. He served in the state legislature until 2003. Always the environmental entrepreneur, he leveraged his green credentials and state legislative service to found the National Caucus of Environmental Legislators in the mid-1990s.
Leon continued to write about the environment and good political and legislative practice, served on various boards to honor Muskie, protect the environment, and advance other causes dear to him, advised officeholders, and remained civically active. And a man who once met with presidents and travelled the world with Muskie found fulfillment in teaching the next generation, with Jorling, about “The Origins of Environmental Law” at Columbia, Yale, University of Maine Law School, and Arizona State and lecturing elsewhere.
Leon’s death came one week after the 2016 presidential election while he and his wife of 21 years, Cherry, visited a grandson near Nashville.
Twenty years earlier, Leon had accepted an honorary degree awarded Muskie posthumously. Leon told the graduates that when young, Muskie had been advised that “if you are going to be in this life, be a part of it.” Muskie regarded public service as “a calling, not a job,” grew uniquely as he aged, asked Americans “to trust each other,” believed “the art of politics” was “to attract people by the quality of ideas” not by money, regarded the environment as a “public resource” and was an environmentalist because it was “right” not “expedient,” and believed “government has an activist, affirmative role in the lives of our citizens.” Muskie, Leon said, would counsel, “Commit yourself to principles and fight for them. And leave this life with your integrity intact.” Muskie had done so, Leon said, and “was a giant for our times.”
In recounting Muskie’s values, Leon revealed his own, and Leon’s descriptions of Muskie captured some of his own qualities and accomplishments. Leon, too, was a great public servant and democratic citizen, as well as a wonderful, big-hearted and generous guy. It’s our challenge to, as he said of Muskie, “live to his standard and to maintain his stewardship.” TEF