Robin Riggs: Lawyer, Lobbyist, Instant Father

By Greg Jarrard

        He grew up near mechanics and hung around in a garage. From his earliest years, he learned to use tools and worked with his hands. And he wasn’t afraid to get them dirty. His role models wore greasy overalls and taught him more than just auto mechanics. It wasn’t until he was nearly through law school that he earned a paycheck wearing a coat and a tie. Maybe that’s why Robin Riggs is so comfortable around all kinds of people — and why everybody who knows the big, burly lawyer and confidant of governors and policy wonks counts him a personal friend.

        Today, Robin Riggs, attorney at law, is vice president and general counsel for the Salt Lake Chamber. If you looked up that title in the dictionary, it would have his picture there. But, as just described, he wasn’t born into power. It sort of found him.

        Ironically, power often gravitates to those who don’t really seek it. Riggs is one of those people. While a law student at BYU many years ago, the part-time grease monkey and son of a used-car salesman was approached by a professor who suggested Riggs take a state government job and register concurrently in the school’s new masters of public administration program while in law school. Basically, it would mean he would take four years instead of three years to get his law degree. But, when he was finished, he would also have an MPA attached to his name — along with the J.D. Unlike many of his peers, he wasn’t married, so why not, he thought. For Robin Riggs, it would be the proverbial road less traveled (Getting married, however, would be a longer, more circuitous journey).

        One of his college mentors was BYU Prof. Karl Snow who also happened to be a state senator. So, because of his year-long, part-time internship working in state government and his acquaintance with Snow, Riggs found himself with an edge over other graduates upon commencement and was offered a permanent position in the Office of Legislative Research and General Counsel. His love of politics was joined at the hip with his law training and work in government.

        Riggs was suddenly neck deep in the tax code. He ate and slept taxes. Taxes were his best friend and his worst enemy. Before he would complete his ten years with the legislature, he would have the Utah Tax Code integrated into his DNA. Each legislative session, when legislators would scratch their heads over some tax issue, the conference room would grow quiet and all heads would turn to Riggs. He also learned firsthand (in what would have been smoke-filled rooms if it hadn’t been Utah) just how political deals are made. Yes, Robin Riggs, can attest, making law IS akin to making sausage; he was working right in the thick of it with wieners all around him!

        As it happened before, it happened again: Another political heavy hitter discovered Riggs and his unique skills. It was Governor-elect Mike Leavitt. The stars had aligned that November of 1992 for Riggs as well as for Leavitt. The voters had just approved a constitutional amendment allowing the governor to hire his own counsel (previously, that post was automatically the attorney general’s). Riggs would be the first to fill the new position.

        That year, 1992, would be one filled with highs and lows, however. That other inevitability of life — death — would have an impact. Riggs and his family were stunned early in ’92 when Robin’s brother died in his sleep from a brain aneurism, leaving a wife and several small children to cope without their husband and father; Robin would fill in a surrogate role for some time.

        Then, Riggs had his own brush with the Grim Reaper. Right after the election, he suffered severe abdominal pain and checked into the hospital. He was warned that one of the risks of the surgery was blood clots, particularly a pulmonary embolism — but he shouldn’t worry, the doctor said. The odds were on his side.

        Yes and no. He did suffer an extremely painful clot and remained in the hospital. Late one night, the nurse awoke him and said he had visitor: the new governor-elect. Riggs was later told (he can laugh about it now!) that Leavitt told the other members of the staff he didn’t think Riggs would make it. He did.

        A week or so later, Riggs joined Charlie Johnson, Vicki Varela, LaVarr Webb and a host of other newcomers and the fun began.

        Riggs recalls his first conversation with his new boss, Chief of Staff Charlie Johnson, as they were all unpacking and setting up shop:

        “I asked him what I was to do, what tasks were waiting for me and he simply said ‘create it as you go — nobody’s ever done this before. You’re our guy with legislature — make sure we all stay out of trouble. Be here when you need to be. We don’t punch a clock around here. Just do your job the best you can,” Riggs recalls. “I was given a very long leash and lots of trust. It was a great ride!”

        Some job description!  He created the mold and filled it himself.

        One of his chief roles was that of state government stag, the official rogue bachelor of the Leavitt administration, the odd man out for whom everybody tried to play matchmaker, including Mike and Jackie Leavitt.

        “The Leavitts tried lining me up — particularly Jackie — but it never stuck. Before too long, they gave up,” Riggs recalls with a smile. He would be the constant subject of wisecracks regarding his marital status. He even got into it himself.

        “The governor was particularly fond of his innovations and efforts to reach out to people. He had a weekly call-in show called “Speak to the Governor.” We would make fun of it in the office trying to outdo each other by calling out, ‘let me speak to the governor… no, let me! No, let ME speak to the governor. One day I called in and trying to disguise my voice asked seriously, ‘I understand one of your chief goals is getting your general counsel married off. Is that true?’ He laughed and replied with something like ‘there are some things even the governor can’t do.’”

 His marital status — or rather lack of one — drew the attention of others outside of the inner circle, including the late James E. Faust of the LDS Church’s First Presidency. And Leavitt and the others in the inner circle knew about Pres. Faust’s interest.

        “I met Pres. Faust years before when we were working the Constitutional Revision Committee together; he, of course, was trained as a lawyer and was, at one time, a member of the legislature. When he was apprised of my notorious bachelorhood, he got into it as well, advising me to keep looking and set a goal to be married by such and such a date and even offering to perform the ceremony once I found the right person. Over the years, we stayed in touch and each time we talked he asked if I was married, and of course, I wasn’t.” Riggs unwisely told Leavitt and Co. of his conversation with Pres. Faust.

        “It was late one night at the end of the legislature and we were waiting to sign bills. Then, Alayne (Alayne Peterson — the governor’s executive assistant) walked in and said, ‘Governor, there’s a phone call for you — it’s Pres. Faust. Contrary to what the public may think, the First Presidency does not call the governor; Mike replied that he would take it in the back, and he walks back into his private office. We couldn’t hear the conversation, but in a minute the governor returns and said, ‘You won’t believe this, but Pres. Faust wanted to know if Robin was married yet. And I replied, ‘oh, come on, right! Then Charlie [Johnson] started chuckling; soon it was out that Pres. Faust hadn’t called at all.”  It was another bachelor joke at Riggs’ expense. But, it wasn’t over.

        About an hour and a half later, Alayne came in again, Riggs explained, and she said there was another phone call.

        “She said this time it really was Pres. Faust and he wanted to talk to me,” Riggs  said, adding, “Do I really look that stupid? This time Leavitt knew what was up and said, ‘Well, let’s see who it is — put him on the speakerphone. The voice came on and said, ‘is my good friend Robin Riggs in the room? This time it WAS Pres. Faust who said ‘I just wanted to know how you were doing and I just wanted to know how you were doing on that little goal we set some years ago.’ Well, it turned out that Olene (Olene Walker, the Lieutenant Governor) was close friends with Pres. Faust and after the first, phony call slipped away and had called Pres. Faust and asked him to join in on the fun. The next day, Pres. Faust called and apologized and offered his services to get back at the governor [and Olene]. But I never took him up on it.” Riggs understand the dangers of getting into a duel of practical jokes with Mike Leavitt. He had seen the master of the dark arts at work.

        After more than four years working for the governor, Riggs joined forces with an old friend, Rob Jolley, and went over to the Dark Side — he became a lobbyist and left the congenial and familial surroundings of his close confidants of the Leavitt Administration.

        One of his clients was US West, offspring of Ma Bell. After two years living the independent life of an influence peddler, his client offered him a job he couldn’t refuse; he became the director of government relations for US West, and two years was named president of the successor company, Qwest of Utah, after a series of mergers and acquisitions. Now he found himself in an entirely different atmosphere than what he experienced working in the Leavitt administration.

        Now, he was on a very tight leash; he went from working on a long leash and within a warm, congenial setting to hard core, cutthroat naked capitalism at a time when the telecom industry was in an uproar. It was quite a change.

        “We had four conference calls every week reporting on every detail, sometimes the same thing week after week,” Riggs said. “I accepted a position with one company but a couple of years later, ownership changed and so did my deal — and my stock options. The people who originally hired me had left, so when I got a call from Lane Beattie (at the Salt Lake Chamber), the time was right.”

        Nevertheless, his four years in the telecom industry was quite an education. He also describes it as a very tough, very competitive business, but great training and experience.

        Riggs still goes to the legislature and meets with lawmakers. He still enjoys relationships with dozens of people in both parties. But one thing has now changed:

        “I used hang out at the legislature and wait and take a lawmaker out to dinner.  Now I have balance. Work isn’t my entire life.”

        That’s because just over two years ago, the one-time Official State Stag finally took his friend James E. Faust’s advice: He took a wife. And nine months ago, at the age of 54, Riggs joined the ranks of fatherhood when his wife, Patricia Paulsen Riggs, delivered twins, Annie and Ruby. With her four children from a previous marriage, the general counsel is now general diaper changer and bottle washer as well as instant father of six.

        Not exactly a newlywed, Riggs is still a little ga-ga over his new role as husband and father. His nickname for his spouse is LOML (Love of my life). 

        At the chamber, he still goes by the title of vice president and general counsel. But, he also wears a number of hats: occasionally spokesman, at other times, champion of free enterprise and often proponent of economic development. His ten years at the legislature, his work in the governor’s office and as a lobbyist and his experience in telephony now come to bear as he represents the interests of Utah business at Capitol Hill and to the public. So, how’s it going?

        “We’re becoming a legitimate policy voice for business. We’re working on attracting new jobs to the states, helping the university attract more brainiacs and research programs, reform health care and work on hot issues like immigration reform and taxation,” Riggs said.

        He began his workaday life fixing things, and then he applied his skills to keep the machinery of government working. He spent several years keeping people talking and connected. Now, Robin Riggs does it all at the same time.

        All while walking the floors at night with a baby in each arm.

        That’s balance. And, the general counsel has never had more fun.

Greg Jarrard is a veteran ad man, writer and publisher best known for running paid ad campaigns for Republican candidates. He is now in the publishing business, running a small-press publisher serving the natural foods industry. His recent book, "A Jack Mormon's Travel Guide," is available at Deseret Book. He resides in South Jordan where he digs weeds and claims it is a garden.