It was like any other morning for M. Randall Collins Jr. Off to the state Capitol in a suit and a tie to work for his father, Marshall Collins, who owns a lobbying firm in Glastonbury, and maybe to see his sister Meghan, who lobbies for local colleges.
But it wasn’t like any other morning for M. Randall Collins Jr. Because on the way to work that day, in June 2001, Collins stopped on Pearl Street to sign up for the Marines.
“I said I want the Marines. I want the reserve infantry company. I want to go to boot camp as soon as possible. And they said ‘Alright, sign here,’” Collins said.
Part of a politically connected family that helped him score a college internship with then Lt. Gov. M. Jodi Rell, Collins had no reason to wander into the recruiting station in Hartford that day, other than an interest in supporting his country. The terrorist attacks in New York and Washington that galvanized others to join the service were still months from happening.
“I just wanted to give something back…I just felt I had been given so many good opportunities at different times of my life,” he says.
But after serving two stints in the Middle East, Collins, a Salem native who lives in West Hartford, came back and considered what other returning soldiers gave: an arm, a leg, or a part of the skull or jaw.
So he is doing what he knows best for them: lobbying.
Now 31 and finishing his ninth session at the Capitol, Collins is shaking hands overtime to push the state to set aside a portion of state contracts for disabled veterans.
“It’s something that’s close to my heart,” he said of his work for the bill, which he squeezes in around the issues for more than a dozen of his firm’s clients.
The Day
After signing up for the Marines, Collins completed basic training and headed home for a 10-day leave on Sept. 7, 2001.
Think about that date for a moment.
“I got out on a Friday and then Tuesday morning I woke up and turned the TV on,” he said of Sept. 11.
“I knew that I was going to war. I didn’t know when and I didn’t know where, but I knew it was coming. And that was the commitment that I made. I didn’t expect it four days out of boot camp.”
His first deployment was for almost all of 2003, doing security aboard ships in the Persian Gulf.
In late 2005 he was deployed to Iraq. As a reserve Marine sergeant, Collins spent most of last year navigating the city of Fallujah in search of weapon hoards, racing Humvees through gunfire and hoping every member of his team made it safely back to base at the end of the day.
No doubt battling violent insurgents was more dangerous, but returning to the lobbying world wasn’t easy.
The Marines require one to stay in line and follow instructions. Not so under the golden dome.
“Everything [in the Marines] is so very structured. Everyone is moving in the same general direction. And up here [at the Capitol] it’s a little bit crazier,” Collins said.
Shortly after returning in October, Collins took a new job, at M.P. Guinan and Assoc., of Hartford, ending a professional partnership with his father of about six years.
“He went out of his way to teach more than a lot of other people would,” Collins said, but it came time to move out from under his father’s shadow.
“For so long you can work and it’s ‘Oh this is Marshall and his son Randy.’”
Though he’d become well-versed on issues for local Chambers of Commerce, such as workers compensation, he had agendas to learn for a slate of new clients, including solar power companies and retired teachers.
He also has been busy planning a wedding, scheduled for July, to Valerie Stolfi, who lobbies and provides client management for TCORS Capitol Group, in Hartford.
Pro Bono Service
But the opportunity to help wounded or disabled soldiers find work, despite offering no pay, was an easy one to take, Collins said.
He has friends who have sustained injuries that destroy their future work plans. One in his mid-30s was trained in underwater welding work, but was shot in the face. A shattered jawbone and sinus damage prevent him from diving.
“All of a sudden now, he needs to learn some other skill. This [bill] can help him set up his own business and help him get work,” Collins said.
It does that by requiring state agencies that give more than $10,000 in state contracts annually to set aside 3 percent of contracts for bidding exclusively by disabled veterans. A similar existing rule sets aside about 6 percent of contracts for minority contractors.
Since the bill would mean a $50,000 budget hit — to pay the salary of a new Department of Administrative Services staffer — it may be a long shot.
Collins will continue to push for it, but he is unlikely to get rattled if it doesn’t pass right away. Daily irritations don’t bother him so much anymore.
“It makes it easier to see what’s really important in life,” he said.
He’s also better at his job since coming home. Double and triple checking equipment before a mission meant a closer attention to details of proposed legislation. The experience of barging into suspicious buildings made confronting legislators much easier to bear.
“It’s very easy to say hey, do you mind if I talk to you for a second? If they say no, it’s no big deal,” he said.
And long nights at the Legislative Office Building during the end of the session don’t seem so brutal after working 18- and 20-hour days in full equipment and 120 degree heat.
“You hear people say, ‘Oh, it’s tiring, it’s late,’” he said.
“No, it’s not.”
