Niceley Returns to the Farm

On August 1st, state Senator Frank Niceley lost the Republican primary for District Eight to the young Jessie Seal after a multi-million dollar PAC campaign that painted Niceley as a “fake conservative” or “liberal”—a move that was so incredibly effective that some of Niceley’s old friends were calling him and asking questions about his sudden turn.

However, anyone who’s paid close attention to state politics would know that Niceley has been a paragon of classic conservative values: low taxes, Second Amendment rights, state autonomy, and small farms. Though for now he is out of politics, the man himself is a born and raised historian with a lot of wisdom to share. I spoke with him recently about his interest in history, politics, and what he’ll be doing with his newfound free time.

RAISED TO RESPECT OUR PAST

Niceley credits his parents for how he came to appreciate and understand American and Tennessee history. Both were a bit older when he was born—his father 47 and his mother 40—and they were East Tennesseeans through and through. His father was Swiss and German, his mother Welch and Irish, and he grew up in a coal mining town near where he lives now. “East Tennesseeans are quite a bit different from Middle and West Tennesseans,” half-jokes Niceley. “I don’t know what it is—it might be the water.”

Niceley grew up in an old brick house on a farm that had belonged to his great-grandfather. Not only did the building have a bit of Tennessee historical significance (it was used as a hospital during the Civil War), but Niceley’s father was a collector of antiques. He worked hard to impress upon his children the importance of understanding the past to make wise choices about the future. Often, the family would take road trips to visit museums around the country. 

“By the time I graduated high school, I’d been to 46 states in the back of a truck,” says Niceley. He also was “born in the shadow of the Great Depression”: his grandfather had lost everything, and his father explained the pitfalls of the Federal Reserve. “I think that instilled conservatism in me,” explains Niceley. “I spent a lot of time working to get the state on solid ground so we could withstand a depression.” His first introduction to the concept of inflation was given to him by a war veteran: a one-hundred million mark coin from Weimar Germany that was absolutely worthless.

His ancestry is closely tied with the settlement of Tennessee: his great-great-great-great grandfather William Stone originally traveled here with the state’s first settler, William Bean. Stone even married a Bean and built a mill that still stands only a mile from Niceley’s farm. He adds, “I've got eight ancestors that fought in the American Revolution, buried here in Tennessee—five right across the river.” He’s taken a keen interest in his family heritage, even taking a DNA test to learn more. Joking about his haplogroup, which is directly tied to Moses, Niceley comments on Aaron, who spoke for Moses in the Bible: “After all these years, here I am still talking.”

SPEAKING OF TALKING

In 1988, Niceley got his start in the House of Representatives, working there for twelve years before his steadfast conservative values got him beaten. He was promised that if he voted to make Governor McWorter's temporary sales tax permanent, he wouldn’t be fought for his reelection. He refused, and he was beaten. It wasn’t until 2004 that Niceley rejoined the Tennessee legislature as a state Senator. As a farmer himself, Niceley is well-versed in how subtle changes in policy can make or break a family farm, and how much agriculture is ingrained into the woodwork of Tennessee’s economy. 

“We have two agricultures in Tennessee,” he explains. “Big Ag and Small Ag. Small Ag feeds your neighbors, and Big Ag feeds the world. They don’t compete, and they both need protection—but people don’t care for Small Ag, which is why I did.” One problem he noticed while working to do just that is how much explaining he’d have to do—both to constituents and peers—just to promote understanding of his goals. “Every time, you have to give a history lesson,” says Niceley. “You have to keep it simple enough that these guys who didn’t pay attention in the third grade can know what you’re talking about.” He observed that one downfall among Republicans is the tendency to talk “over the heads” of their constituents, and always sought to avoid making his constituents feel dumb.

His strategy as a legislator was always to look at the long term ramifications of political policy through the lens of history, and finds that today, that strategy is becoming increasingly rare. With a supermajority in the legislature, Nicely notes that the two-party system has changed from Democrats and Republicans to Republicans and “Rhinos.” It can be hard to tell which is which when they talk, but he says that when it comes down to it, the Republican will hold and the Rhino will fold. “They say our founding fathers based their decisions on seven generations,” he remarks. “Today’s politicians base theirs on the next election cycle.”

CATCHING UP ON THE FARM

Despite wishing he could continue to work for Tennessee as a legislator, Niceley is not particularly bitter about losing this election, musing that “it’s an honor to think [he was] powerful enough that it took two million dollars from who knows where” to beat him. He’s taking this time to take care of things on his farm that he hasn’t been able to in a long time, getting hay up and patching machinery. Both he and his wife are feeling some degree of relief to be out of the dogfight and get back to what they love most: tending to the family and stewarding the land. “Nobody likes to get beat,” he concludes, “but it’s not all bad being out of politics. I get to farm with two hands instead of one.”