His name was James J. Florio. I actually knew the guy and, full disclosure, worked on one of his first campaigns for public office. Once, by the way, was enough. Anyway, in 1990, Florio decided that New Jersey government needed another $2.8 billion.
So he went looking for it. And looking. And looking.
Eventually, he found it in places New Jerseyans never imagined government would go—including into their most private parts and, disposable paper products like . . . wait for it . . . TOILET PAPER!
And New Jersey went nuts because Florio decided the state would tax toilet paper. It was sort of like taxing the right to take a crap. And it triggered a massive tax revolt. An anti-tax organization, Hands Across New Jersey, actually adopted toilet paper as its emblem making toilet paper became the symbol of the whole sorry business.
People waved rolls of toilet paper at protests. They put rolls on their car antennas. Anti-tax protesters turned bathroom tissue into a political weapon, streaming it from buildings, trees and utility poles.
The revolution had a roll!
Florio, of course, insisted the tax increases were necessary. Governors have budgets to balance and bills to pay, after all, he argued.
But there was one little problem. The people paying the bills were not amused.
Three years later, Florio ran for reelection. The voters ran him out of office. Republican Christie Whitman beat him by only about 26,000 votes, but the message was considerably larger: Don't mess with us! Especially not our toilet paper.
There was even a happy ending. Sort of. In 1991, the state backed off the tax on household paper products and exempted toilet tissue. Toilet paper was liberated!
Alas, New Jersey taxpayers were not. And therein lies the real joke. The state apparently learned one lesson: Don't tax toilet paper. But it did not learn the other lesson: Don't keep taxing the people who buy it.
Because New Jersey continued doing what New Jersey does so disgustingly well -- finding new taxes, new fees, new surcharges and new reasons why taxpayers should hand over more of what they earn.
We learned that the hard way. Again. And again. And again. To the point where New Jersey is now the highest taxed state on the union.
Still, Florio did accomplish something few politicians ever have. He united New Jersey. Republicans hated him. Democrats came to hate what he did. And independents hated paying for it.
What's more everybody—everybody—could get behind one simple proposition: Nobody wants government sticking its hand where it doesn't belong.
But New Jersey's bloated appetite for taxes? Still going strong.
Which proves that while politicians can sometimes learn from history, they don't necessarily learn the lesson taxpayers wanted them to learn.
They learned not to tax the toilet paper.
They never learned to stop giving the shaft to the taxpayer.
