Edited by Jared Greenleaf
Tom Lukshaitis doesn’t strike you as a guy with an intimidating presence. Clocking in at barely five feet, he seems an unlikely candidate for mayor. With an olive green, striped polo standing in for a suit and tie, shorts instead of slacks, a pair of yellow-tinted sunglasses on his nose, he gives the impression of a gentle uncle or an old family friend.
“People think I wear these to be cool,” he says, acknowledging the odd-colored frames. “Truth is, I’m about as dyslexic as they come. These are supposed to slow my eyeballs down.”
He’s personable, stocky, a little too loud and a little, as
he says, “too Polish.” There are times he laughs himself hoarse at his own jokes, and when I inform him that he’s an image of respect in the town of Sandusky, Mich.,
where he’s been mayor since 2005, he kindly thanks me, but his sarcasm gives way to embarrassment.
Perhaps this pride is the reason he didn’t have a citywide campaign, didn’t knock on any doors, or didn’t even expect his candidacy until two days before the election.
“I was a write-in candidate,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting a thing.” The victory made for a pleasant surprise? “Oh yeah. Not only did I beat the two other write-ins, but I also beat the 34 misspellings of my last name.”
His position as mayor may not have been planned, but Lukshaitis is quick to point out it wasn’t exactly an accident either. “When I heard there was no one running, I knew I wanted to try,” he says, then pauses and adds, “if only for the bragging rights.”
The first thing I pick up on when talking to Lukshaitis is his smart-as-a-whip sensibility. His self-professed no bullshit attitude is no doubt what’s made him a topic of praise and controversy in Sandusky, the county seat of Sanilac County.
Sandusky, a
conservative, Republican city (the Republican Michigander shows a majority of Republican victories for Sanilac County in congressional and local elections over the past eight years) seems an odd conquest for Lukshaitis, who doesn’t name his political affiliation, but speaks highly of Barack Obama .
“Do I believe he’ll do the things he says he will? Lukshaitis asks of the president. “Absolutely.”
He isn’t exactly demure about his views on a few of the current political corruption either, making note of last week’s impeachment of Rod Blagojevich, the senator from Illinois who was accused of attempting to sell Obama’s open senate seat.
“That man should be horse-whipped,” says Lukshaitis shamelessly. “He should be publically humiliated and locked away. Capitalism is a corrupt system. It sickens me to watch these rich men on their high horses say ‘to hell with you, America.’”
Lukshaitis admits to appreciating the sense of power that comes from being a politician, likening the feeling to winning the lottery, but doesn’t see it as an excuse.
“I’ve got none of the credentials that Blagojevich has, but it’s not about that in this case. I know better. I was raised better,” he said.
Lukshaitis grew up in Hamtramck, a small city right in the middle of Detroit.
“I always tell people I grew up in the inner city, but in a small town,” he says with a laugh. His Polish mother and Lithuanian father insisted on public school, as opposed to Catholic, to broaden their son’s horizons. He graduated in 1967, the summer of the Detroit riots, with a GPA of 2.7.
“Listen, I wasn’t book-smart,” he explains. “I couldn’t make out words. I was the kid in the front of the class trying to pay attention.”
Despite his difficulty with school, his dyslexia remaining an underlying factor in his struggles, Lukshaitis was accepted to Central Michigan University, where he worked on a bachelor’s degree in education.
After graduating in 1971, he waited a year, remained jobless, and went back for a master’s in recreation and park administration.
“My goal was to have a job teaching during the school year, and then do recreational jobs come summer,” he says.
In his second round of graduate school, this time for school administration, he met Virginia Maher, whom he married in 1974, and with whom he now has two children: Gregory, 27, and Margie, 21. The couple moved to Vassar, an even drive between Kingston, where she worked as a teacher, and the Genesee County Department of Social Services, where he worked full-time.
“Talk about a depressing job,” he says. “It wasn’t what I wanted to be doing. Not at all.”
By chance, then-superintendent Larry Wilson offered Lukshaitis an open position at Sandusky
“Do I believe he’ll do the things he says he will? Lukshaitis asks of the president. “Absolutely.”
He isn’t exactly demure about his views on a few of the current political corruption either, making note of last week’s impeachment of Rod Blagojevich, the senator from Illinois who was accused of attempting to sell Obama’s open senate seat.
“That man should be horse-whipped,” says Lukshaitis shamelessly. “He should be publically humiliated and locked away. Capitalism is a corrupt system. It sickens me to watch these rich men on their high horses say ‘to hell with you, America.’”
Lukshaitis admits to appreciating the sense of power that comes from being a politician, likening the feeling to winning the lottery, but doesn’t see it as an excuse.
“I’ve got none of the credentials that Blagojevich has, but it’s not about that in this case. I know better. I was raised better,” he said.
Lukshaitis grew up in Hamtramck, a small city right in the middle of Detroit.
“I always tell people I grew up in the inner city, but in a small town,” he says with a laugh. His Polish mother and Lithuanian father insisted on public school, as opposed to Catholic, to broaden their son’s horizons. He graduated in 1967, the summer of the Detroit riots, with a GPA of 2.7.
“Listen, I wasn’t book-smart,” he explains. “I couldn’t make out words. I was the kid in the front of the class trying to pay attention.”
Despite his difficulty with school, his dyslexia remaining an underlying factor in his struggles, Lukshaitis was accepted to Central Michigan University, where he worked on a bachelor’s degree in education.
After graduating in 1971, he waited a year, remained jobless, and went back for a master’s in recreation and park administration.
“My goal was to have a job teaching during the school year, and then do recreational jobs come summer,” he says.
In his second round of graduate school, this time for school administration, he met Virginia Maher, whom he married in 1974, and with whom he now has two children: Gregory, 27, and Margie, 21. The couple moved to Vassar, an even drive between Kingston, where she worked as a teacher, and the Genesee County Department of Social Services, where he worked full-time.
“Talk about a depressing job,” he says. “It wasn’t what I wanted to be doing. Not at all.”
By chance, then-superintendent Larry Wilson offered Lukshaitis an open position at Sandusky
High School.
He taught night classes at first, but became a high school teaching-aid after eight years. In his run, he avoided many of the school’s budget issues, surviving a cut of one-third of the staff. After his eighth year, he was offered the position of middle school principal.
“It was great. I was climbing up the ladder, thinking I’m big stuff. I thought I was God’s gift to Sandusky,” Lukshaitis said. “And then my wife got sick.”
Virginia Lukshaitis, or “Ginger,” as she was known to friends, died from multiple sclerosis in 2001 after nearly 20 years of battling the disease. Her passing took an emotional toll on Lukshaitis, who found her body in the kitchen of their house after coming home from work.
“Suddenly here I was, a single parent, my son in college, my daughter getting ready for college,” he recalls. “I didn’t know what to do.”
After Virginia’s diagnosis in 1979, Lukshaitis stepped down from his position as principal and took an elementary math position at Maple Valley Elementary.
“I couldn’t go from absolute chaos at work to absolute chaos at home, so I had to make some sacrifices.”
At Maple Valley, he formed a friendship with secretary Ginny Bisset. It was Bisset who encouraged him, four years after his wife’s death, to register for a write-in mayor position.
“The ballots were just blank,” recalls Bisset of the 2005 election. “Jim Nolan, the mayor at that time, had just retired. No one wanted to fill his shoes. But I thought ‘if one guy should do this, it’s Tom.’”
“I needed a new page in my life,” Lukshaitis said. “I had some familiarity with politics. I used to attend city council meetings back in Hamtramck when I was a kid, and I was elected president of the teacher’s union when I’d first gotten into education.”
But it wasn’t just a political flair that attracted him.
“I knew this town by now,” he said. “I knew the schools, I knew the families, I knew the people.”
After winning the election, he was met with an influx of excitement and happiness.
“All seemed well,” he recalls.
His daughter was off at Western Michigan University, his son teaching in Wyoming. The city of Sandusky was in a good place. He was mayor of the town he’d grown to love and spokesperson for the people he had come to admire.
Lukshaitis’ first challenge as a mayor was dealing with the pull out of Swedish factory tycoon Trelleborg, who threatened to shut down their plant in Sandusky. Trelleborg, whose plant employs more residents of Sandusky than any other institution, was the bubbling vessel of hope in the looming economic crisis. Though the company ended up keeping the plant open, it refused to build another, despite showing previous interest.
“The only reason they didn’t shut down the other plant was because Sandusky is their most profitable plant in the Americas. And do you want to know why?” Lukshaitis asks. “Work ethic. Our guys show up to work, they make their money, they do their jobs.”
It was the loss of the potential Trelleborg plant that aided in Sandusky’s current state of dissolve. According to the U.S. Census Bureau’s predictions, Sandusky’s population was 2,645 in 2007, a 3.64 percent decrease from 2000. The loss of students from the public schools has triggered new budget issues. Several teachers are on strike, and all face unemployment as the school continues to lay off positions.
Lukshaitis isn’t quiet about the ordeals with the school and city population, a fact the people close to him are quick to point out.
“My dad is good about separating home from work,” says Margie Lukshaitis, daughter of the mayor, “but if there’s one thing I’ve picked up on, it’s that he wants so desperately for people to have jobs. He watches people moving away, sees the schools losing students. I know it kills him.”
His solution?
“I think we should build a huge casino,” he said. “The people on the city council think I’m crazy for that.”
“He’s not quiet about wanting to try new things,” says Bisset, who also serves as councilwoman on the city council with Lukshaitis twice a month. “It gets him into a little bit of trouble.”
“I’m not the mayor walking around at the parades, shaking the kids’ hands,” Lukshaitis professes. “I’m the guy rallying on the sidelines for what I think is right. And it scares people sometimes. It should. But I won’t admit defeat.
So what does Lukshaitis do to get away from politics?
Ice fishing, it turns out, is the perfect remedy for mayoral blues.
“I don’t care if I catch anything,” he said. “There’s something about being out there. All of my worries sink into the water.”
He’s sitting in his living room, catching up on the Blagojevich case on his television. “I watch the History Channel a lot, I watch some CNN. But I don’t do network television,” he explains. “But this… I’m interested in this.”
Despite his harsh stance on the fate of the former Illinois senator in a previous interview, he’s more relaxed about him now. Perhaps it’s the ice fishing endorphins pumping through his body, but there’s less hostility in his manner of speaking. When he starts talking about some of his past hobbies, like coaching his son’s baseball team or walking with his wife to the public library, he grows quieter. But when I ask about some of the disadvantages of being mayor, his voice ignites again.
“I get the 11 o’clock phone calls from the town drunks telling me how to improve the city,” he says with a sigh. “Or the couples asking me to marry them on the courthouse lawn.
“But really,” he says, his sarcasm fading, “the worst thing is being second-guessed. I’m bombarded with the sense of trying to do my best in such a lousy time. Our town is dying. I drive through the streets and see empty houses, bad roads. I hate raising water rates, but I have to raise water rates. People hate that, and people hate me for doing that, but it’s what has to be done.”
“My dad’s just trying to do the best he can for that town,” says Margie. “He has high hopes, but he’s practical. He takes into account what the people around him are saying. He isn’t cheating anyone. He’s smarter than most people I know, and what’s more, he has common sense.”
“What’s helped me remain successful and self-confident is that I’ve always showed up,” Lukshaitis says, the strength of his voice flaring. “Just like those workers at Trelleborg show up.
And I’m honest. I’ve been interviewed enough to know that that blunt honesty isn’t what people always want to hear. It’s the worst, and best, of me.”
So while Blagojevich professes his innocence to CNN or the women of “The View,” Lukshaitis stays optimistic that he won’t have any major political faults of his own to worry about. And despite certain personality criticisms, he retained the throne of Sandusky in the 2007 mayoral re-election.
“That either means I’m doing something right,” he says, “or it shows you how much people really care.”
-----------------------------------------------------------
The Virginia Lukshaitis Memorial Collection
In memory of Virginia Lukshaitis, wife of Mayor Thomas and mother of Greg and Margie, the Sandusky District Library has set up a memorial for their esteemed patron. Virginia was an avid book reader and valued member of the community of Sandusky. Paying homage to her former-teacher status, the Young Adult section of the library is named in her honor.
Friends and family of Virginia have already made generous contributions, with the collection reaching 200 books in 2008.
For more information on how you can donate to the library in Virginia’s name, visit the Sandusky District Library’s website: www.sandusky.lib.mi.us
He taught night classes at first, but became a high school teaching-aid after eight years. In his run, he avoided many of the school’s budget issues, surviving a cut of one-third of the staff. After his eighth year, he was offered the position of middle school principal.
“It was great. I was climbing up the ladder, thinking I’m big stuff. I thought I was God’s gift to Sandusky,” Lukshaitis said. “And then my wife got sick.”
Virginia Lukshaitis, or “Ginger,” as she was known to friends, died from multiple sclerosis in 2001 after nearly 20 years of battling the disease. Her passing took an emotional toll on Lukshaitis, who found her body in the kitchen of their house after coming home from work.
“Suddenly here I was, a single parent, my son in college, my daughter getting ready for college,” he recalls. “I didn’t know what to do.”
After Virginia’s diagnosis in 1979, Lukshaitis stepped down from his position as principal and took an elementary math position at Maple Valley Elementary.
“I couldn’t go from absolute chaos at work to absolute chaos at home, so I had to make some sacrifices.”
At Maple Valley, he formed a friendship with secretary Ginny Bisset. It was Bisset who encouraged him, four years after his wife’s death, to register for a write-in mayor position.“The ballots were just blank,” recalls Bisset of the 2005 election. “Jim Nolan, the mayor at that time, had just retired. No one wanted to fill his shoes. But I thought ‘if one guy should do this, it’s Tom.’”
“I needed a new page in my life,” Lukshaitis said. “I had some familiarity with politics. I used to attend city council meetings back in Hamtramck when I was a kid, and I was elected president of the teacher’s union when I’d first gotten into education.”
But it wasn’t just a political flair that attracted him.
“I knew this town by now,” he said. “I knew the schools, I knew the families, I knew the people.”
After winning the election, he was met with an influx of excitement and happiness.
“All seemed well,” he recalls.
His daughter was off at Western Michigan University, his son teaching in Wyoming. The city of Sandusky was in a good place. He was mayor of the town he’d grown to love and spokesperson for the people he had come to admire.
Lukshaitis’ first challenge as a mayor was dealing with the pull out of Swedish factory tycoon Trelleborg, who threatened to shut down their plant in Sandusky. Trelleborg, whose plant employs more residents of Sandusky than any other institution, was the bubbling vessel of hope in the looming economic crisis. Though the company ended up keeping the plant open, it refused to build another, despite showing previous interest.
“The only reason they didn’t shut down the other plant was because Sandusky is their most profitable plant in the Americas. And do you want to know why?” Lukshaitis asks. “Work ethic. Our guys show up to work, they make their money, they do their jobs.”
It was the loss of the potential Trelleborg plant that aided in Sandusky’s current state of dissolve. According to the U.S. Census Bureau’s predictions, Sandusky’s population was 2,645 in 2007, a 3.64 percent decrease from 2000. The loss of students from the public schools has triggered new budget issues. Several teachers are on strike, and all face unemployment as the school continues to lay off positions.
Lukshaitis isn’t quiet about the ordeals with the school and city population, a fact the people close to him are quick to point out.
“My dad is good about separating home from work,” says Margie Lukshaitis, daughter of the mayor, “but if there’s one thing I’ve picked up on, it’s that he wants so desperately for people to have jobs. He watches people moving away, sees the schools losing students. I know it kills him.”
His solution?
“I think we should build a huge casino,” he said. “The people on the city council think I’m crazy for that.”
“He’s not quiet about wanting to try new things,” says Bisset, who also serves as councilwoman on the city council with Lukshaitis twice a month. “It gets him into a little bit of trouble.”
“I’m not the mayor walking around at the parades, shaking the kids’ hands,” Lukshaitis professes. “I’m the guy rallying on the sidelines for what I think is right. And it scares people sometimes. It should. But I won’t admit defeat.
So what does Lukshaitis do to get away from politics?
Ice fishing, it turns out, is the perfect remedy for mayoral blues.
“I don’t care if I catch anything,” he said. “There’s something about being out there. All of my worries sink into the water.”
He’s sitting in his living room, catching up on the Blagojevich case on his television. “I watch the History Channel a lot, I watch some CNN. But I don’t do network television,” he explains. “But this… I’m interested in this.”
Despite his harsh stance on the fate of the former Illinois senator in a previous interview, he’s more relaxed about him now. Perhaps it’s the ice fishing endorphins pumping through his body, but there’s less hostility in his manner of speaking. When he starts talking about some of his past hobbies, like coaching his son’s baseball team or walking with his wife to the public library, he grows quieter. But when I ask about some of the disadvantages of being mayor, his voice ignites again.
“I get the 11 o’clock phone calls from the town drunks telling me how to improve the city,” he says with a sigh. “Or the couples asking me to marry them on the courthouse lawn.
“But really,” he says, his sarcasm fading, “the worst thing is being second-guessed. I’m bombarded with the sense of trying to do my best in such a lousy time. Our town is dying. I drive through the streets and see empty houses, bad roads. I hate raising water rates, but I have to raise water rates. People hate that, and people hate me for doing that, but it’s what has to be done.”
“My dad’s just trying to do the best he can for that town,” says Margie. “He has high hopes, but he’s practical. He takes into account what the people around him are saying. He isn’t cheating anyone. He’s smarter than most people I know, and what’s more, he has common sense.”
“What’s helped me remain successful and self-confident is that I’ve always showed up,” Lukshaitis says, the strength of his voice flaring. “Just like those workers at Trelleborg show up.
And I’m honest. I’ve been interviewed enough to know that that blunt honesty isn’t what people always want to hear. It’s the worst, and best, of me.”
So while Blagojevich professes his innocence to CNN or the women of “The View,” Lukshaitis stays optimistic that he won’t have any major political faults of his own to worry about. And despite certain personality criticisms, he retained the throne of Sandusky in the 2007 mayoral re-election.
“That either means I’m doing something right,” he says, “or it shows you how much people really care.”
-----------------------------------------------------------
The Virginia Lukshaitis Memorial Collection
In memory of Virginia Lukshaitis, wife of Mayor Thomas and mother of Greg and Margie, the Sandusky District Library has set up a memorial for their esteemed patron. Virginia was an avid book reader and valued member of the community of Sandusky. Paying homage to her former-teacher status, the Young Adult section of the library is named in her honor.
Friends and family of Virginia have already made generous contributions, with the collection reaching 200 books in 2008.
For more information on how you can donate to the library in Virginia’s name, visit the Sandusky District Library’s website: www.sandusky.lib.mi.us
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