An Exploration of Senator Butch Gillespie SD9
- Bill Lussenheide
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Senator Butch Gillespie, the pride of Montana’s SD9, once again donned his maverick hat, galloping into the sunset with the so-called "Nasty Nine" to save Medicaid expansion he just recently stated online. Oh, Butch, you rogue Republican, you’ve traded your spurs for a stethoscope and a dubious halo, haven’t you? In a recent statement, Gillespie waxed poetic about the plight of rural hospitals, claiming Medicaid expansion was their lifeline, keeping small-town clinics solvent and doctors from fleeing to greener pastures. “Hospitals must take walk-ins even when they can’t pay,” he crooned, painting a picture of crumbling rural economies and ghost-town clinics without his heroic intervention. But let’s peel back the curtain on this melodrama and examine the script with a bit of sardonic wit.
Gillespie proudly boasts that had he and his fellow fake Republican renegades not broken ranks, Medicaid expansion would’ve met its maker. True enough, substantiated by the legislative record, where the expansion clung to life by a thread. But what Butch conveniently omits is the fine print: this expansion isn’t just about hospital bills. It’s a Trojan horse smuggling in expanded abortion access and transition surgeries, slipped in like a bad plot twist. Not a peep from Butch about that. Perhaps he’s too busy polishing his “savior of small towns” badge to notice.
Then there’s the claim that rural hospitals are teetering on the brink. “Our small hospitals go broke first,” Gillespie wails, warning of a domino effect—losing doctors, nurses, and entire economies. It’s a compelling sob story, but where is the evidence and proof? For years, these hospitals have cried wolf about economic hardship, yet none have opened their books for a proper audit. Color me skeptical. The Montana Hospital Association, which has funneled a cool $25 million into candidate campaigns like Gillespie, who sang the Medicaid hymn, could’ve just poured that cash directly into those struggling clinics. But no, better to bankroll political campaigns than fix the problem, right? It’s almost as if the goal is dependency, not solvency.
And then, oh dear reader, we come to Butch’s pièce de résistance: his breathtaking ignorance about big business. “Have you checked the stats on big business? For all the doom and gloom scenarios, they are getting by quite well it would appear,” he declared, with the confidence of a man who’s never glanced at a balance sheet. Allow me, Bill Lussenheide, President of Lussenheide Capital Management Inc. for 25 years, and a Series 65 Licensed Registered Investment Advisor, to school the senator. Butch, 60% of the Russell 3000—representing the 3,000 largest companies on the stock exchange—have negative earnings, per a recent GMO report. This isn’t a one-off; it’s been true for years. The S&P 500? Companies cling to it for a mere 18 years on average before tumbling off. Profit margins? Razor-thin. Walmart scrapes by at 2.85%, and even Amazon, the golden child, manages just 10%.
And who owns these companies, Butch? Not some Scrooge McDuck swimming in gold coins, but everyday folks—teachers, cops, firefighters and workers of all stripes—through 401(k)s , IRAs and pension plans. Your flippant dismissal of their struggles is a masterclass in cluelessness. Gillespie’s disloyalty to Republican principles isn’t just a betrayal; it’s a comedy of errors. He’s the cowboy who shot his own horse, then wondered why he’s walking. His Medicaid crusade, draped in small-town sympathy, ignores the hidden costs and unverified claims, while his economic “hot takes” reveal a man blissfully untethered from reality. So here’s to you, Senator Gillespie, member of the Nasty Nine—may your next adventure be as entertaining as this one, but preferably with a fact-checker in tow.
