A pair of PA public pests keeps on pestering

ERIC EPSTEIN and Gene Stilp fight the powers that be. Have for decades.

They're loathed and cursed by those who thrive in Pennsylvania's political culture, reason enough to value their efforts.

But they also share a commitment to citizen action in a world increasingly disconnected.

These days, as elected leaders sit on their hands on any number of issues, such commitment is worth noting.

"If you look at the Legislature like an ocean liner," says Stilp, "Eric and I are like tugboats trying to push the bow in the right direction."

A thankless, hopeless job - but often entertaining.

Stilp's known for pigs: 10-foot inflatable for indoor use; 20-footer for outdoors; old school bus painted pink, complete with ears and a corkscrew tail.

They've visited Wall Street, Washington, Philly, the state Capitol, etc.

"When the pigs roll into town, politicians shake," says Stilp.

The 63-year-old Wilkes-Barre native has a George Mason law degree, does some family law in Virginia, but lives near Harrisburg and doesn't practice in Pennsylvania.

What he does here is challenge the system.

He just filed suit to stop lawmakers' use of tax dollars to send new constituents (because of redistricting) birthday cards and newsletters. He just asked the Ethics Commission to investigate Philly Dems caught in a sting.

And this is nothing new.

He fought a 1995 raise and automatic annual cost-of-living increase for lawmakers signed by Gov. Tom Ridge, and the 2005 late-night pay grab signed by Gov. Ed Rendell.

And it was that '05 raise that moved Epstein, 54, to form the activist group Rock the Capital. Its motto, from Plato: "The price of apathy is to be ruled by evil men."

Epstein and Stilp were activists in college, Stilp at Kings in Wilkes-Barre; Epstein at the University of Oregon. Both worked nuclear-power issues, especially related to the 1979 Three Mile Island accident.

Harrisburg native Epstein has a Penn State master's in humanities, taught for 18 years and runs a radiation-monitoring/emergency-preparedness business.

Both have run for office.

Stilp ran for lieutenant governor in 2006 to trash the '05 raise and argue that the post of lieutenant governor wastes tax dollars. He finished last in the Democratic primary. He ran for the state House in 2010, losing by just 313 votes. And he ran for Congress in 2012, losing to incumbent Republican Lou Barletta.

He's back this year, challenging again for that Dauphin County state House seat.

Epstein ran for state Senate in 2004 against a longtime incumbent. Asked at the time if he thought he could win, Epstein said, "Only if [the incumbent] had a stroke." Didn't happen. Epstein lost big.

But he's currently an elected Central Dauphin School Board member in suburban Harrisburg, and he says he's not interested in seeking another office.

Both are doing what they do.

"We always expose what we believe is excess in government," says Epstein. "But it's a marathon. Government doesn't change quickly."

Says Stilp: "We just don't give up. We keep at it."

Stilp recently asked the state Inspector General to investigate a "waste of taxpayer funds," a decision to hold a March 18 special election for an open Senate seat (at an estimated cost of $200,000) despite a scheduled May primary election.

Epstein recently used one of his Top 10 lists mocking waste or society's priorities to compare salaries of college football coaches to that of governors in their states.

PSU coach James Franklin, $4 million-plus, 25 times more than Gov. Corbett's; Alabama coach Nick Saban, $5.5 million (before signing an extension in December pushing it to $7 million), 46 times Gov. Robert Bentley's.

I'd note Corbett hasn't taken raises since getting elected in 2010. And, even better, Bentley, also elected in 2010, promised not to take any salary until his state reached a 5.2 percent unemployment rate.

He hasn't yet been paid but I sure like his idea.

I also like the idea of gadflies, those who publicly point to things that don't work or don't add up or just seem flat out wrong.

They can be annoying. They can be pests. But in Pennsylvania, there can't be enough of them.