James Gill photo / Screenshots courtesy PBS Wisconsin
A photo collage of Bill Dixon from WeekEnd.
Much has been written about Madison attorney Bill Dixon since his passing in January. Deservedly so. Dixon had a Forrest Gump knack for appearing in key American moments. Legal counsel in the prosecution of Nixon in the Watergate proceedings. Director of the 1980 Democratic National Convention in Miami. Hunter S. Thompson’s divorce attorney. These items just scratch the surface.
But I’ll remember him most as the quick witted, at times acerbic political analyst on a weekly news program I produced at PBS Wisconsin in the 1990s and early 2000s. The one-hour WeekEnd show was broadcast statewide, live. Each episode concluded with a 15-minute long political panel discussion. Dixon was a regular along with a cast that included Republicans Steve King (a former state GOP party chair), Bill Kraus (Gov. Lee Dreyfus’ press secretary and eventual campaign finance reform warrior), and state Rep. Margaret Lewis. Ed Garvey (attorney for the NFL Players Union and 1986 Democratic candidate for governor) was the other go-to Dem on the panel.
As politically credentialed as these folks were, on the air they didn’t automatically carry water for their party’s candidates or for elected officials who shared their party affiliation. Nor did they always take the party line on topics. Dixon was, for example, quick to defend many votes taken by then-U.S. Rep. Steve Gunderson of La Crosse, the first openly gay Republican member of the House, for what they were: acts of courage and moderation at a time when House Speaker Newt Gingrich was driving conservatives further and further to the right.
Life isn’t black and white. And certainly politics are not. Dixon understood this in ways current political commentators either do not or choose to ignore. Take one 1991 discussion on welfare, in which Dixon the Democrat argues that pieces of Republican Gov. Tommy Thompson’s plans to dismantle the state’s welfare programs are on the right track; he also suggests that politicizing an issue is a good thing because it can call attention to a complex problem that demands deep consideration.
When it comes to people like Dixon who make big things happen, arrogance and confidence are often confused with one another. I mixed those things up when talking with Dixon in our regular prep for the panel. His voice was nasal, smoke charred, piercing, and it could push you around. Especially when you remembered you were talking with a guy who once ran a presidential campaign and was a U.S. ambassador. But I was the producer, and together with WeekEnd co-creator and anchor Dave Iverson, we knew what we wanted. “You don’t want that, Andy,” Dixon would say. As if agreeing with me on the choice of a political topic was like putting words into his mouth. He always had a better idea and no one could put words in Bill Dixon’s mouth. Yet I knew he would fall in line. It was part of Bill’s respect for the format and what we were doing. Looking back I see that his understated confidence and possession of the facts stand in stark contrast to the soulless arrogance and lobbed bombs tossed by today’s commentators.
Sunday morning network political discussions are now a reflection of the politics on the table: performative. Which isn’t to say Dixon wasn’t a performer. “Bill Dixon was made for television,” says Iverson, who now lives in Oakland. “He was always camera ready with opinions he’d deliver with a sly wit and that great gravelly voice.”
Dixon’s opinions were what were on his mind. Not a performance franchise for the political moment. You watch commentators now and you can put words into their mouths. It’s like seeing a movie for the third time. Talking heads. Machines. Bill’s vulnerability, shared willingly on camera, was one of his greatest powers. He may be wrong, he testified before teeing up a whopper of an argument, which immediately paved the way for him to be right.
In real life Dixon was the most outgoing private person I’ve ever known. Part of his persuasive power on camera was his private-ness. His tenderness and vulnerability often showed. How could it not? He had a passion for justice that transcended the arc of politics. And when he allowed that passion to show on camera it only enhanced the position he was taking. Showing real passion now is a sign of weakness, not a position of strength.
In a classic Dixon move, Bill left the panel several years before the series ended. The panel was never the same without him. But he knew when to say when. So off he went, leaving statewide viewers a legacy of insight, charm and authenticity. “Bill Dixon represented what is best about Wisconsin,” says Iverson. “Common decency, good humor and a delight about living in the Badger state. The world needs more Bills.”
As do today’s talk shows. RIP, Bill. And tell Dr. Thompson I say hey.
Andy Moore is a retired television news producer who has been writing stories and performing music in Madison for over 30 years.
