EVE FAIRBANKS THE NEW REPUBLIC
Giving up their power
December 15, 2006
On Friday, Dec. 8, the last working day of the 12-year Republican majority, the legendarily tough and doughy-faced Ways and Means Committee chairman, Bill Thomas of Bakersfield, uses the time allotted him on the House floor for defending his huge tax-extension bill to say goodbye. Thomas, who is retiring after nearly three decades in Congress, is not having a great week.
In the middle of negotiations over his bill, he lost his office: Departing members had to be out of their Hill offices before the lame-duck session even began; after that, they were given a single cubicle and phone in a dank basement room to finish their legislative work, leading Thomas to freak out in a committee chairs' meeting.
On the floor, Thomas succumbs fully to the Republican mood of anguished drama, noting darkly that some Republicans “have left willingly, some unwillingly†and weirdly suggesting that Maryland's Ben Cardin, leaving the House for the Senate, might be humming “free at last.†At the end of his speech, he bursts into tears and proclaimed, “Mister Speaker, I relinquish my time, forever!†However, he is up talking again within minutes.
There are two ways to leave Washington after an electoral rout: graciously, with emphasis on your accomplishments; or mournfully and in great confusion, as Virgil describes the ruling elites abandoning Troy, wailing angrily and clutching at the doors of their lost palace. This generation of Republicans came here in 1994 claiming they would never be seduced by power; but, after 12 years in Washington, the wailing-and-clutching mood is the prevailing one.
New York Rep. John Sweeney, who watched his safe seat implode in the weeks leading to Nov. 7, has not even been able to show up for votes. According to a friend, Rep. Pete Sessions, he is in shock and has become physically ill from the experience of losing. It's hard not to get the impression that what the Republicans need as they leave the Hill is not fresh leadership or new ideas but a big, long hug.
Across Independence Avenue from the Capitol, at the Rayburn House Office Building, movers buzz around the 181 House offices that have to be switched before Christmas. The desks and lamps stacked haphazardly along the walls make the building's coveted halls resemble a discount furniture warehouse. In the basement, the office for defeated Republicans turns out to be located across from the Rayburn deli's kitchen, whose doors, in a final humiliation, are flung open, wafting nauseating frying-oil smells into the hall.
Around the corner from the office, I run into a wan-looking older man standing alone by the elevator, wearing a white Oxford shirt and a dark blazer, no tie. He looks familiar. “Are you (slaughtered Pennsylvania Rep.) Curt Weldon?†I ask. “I am!†he says, and then, “How did you know?†– which is now a very reasonable question in Weldon-land. He shakes my hand, then gives my shoulder an affectionate little squeeze. We chat about Ukraine, where he plans to travel on a foundation trip in January to help “sort out the mess between Yanukovych and Yushchenko.â€
As he boards his elevator, Weldon turns back and says, “Really nice to meet you!†with one of the sincerest smiles I've ever seen. But we won't have the chance to take a steak at Charlie Palmer together. Weldon will leave Washington in a few hours.
A walk through Rayburn's main levels reveals evidence everywhere of the stages of grief. There is denial: Many defeated members haven't fully cleared out their offices a week after their move-out date.
On Rayburn's plush fourth floor, Kentucky Rep. Ed Whitfield has occupied drilling-in-national-parks enthusiast Richard Pombo's office anyway, and Pombo's stuff, including beautiful 5-foot-wide panoramic photographs of his San Joaquin Valley district, is piled up outside the door, as though a peeved girlfriend had put him out on the curb. Someone could just throw a few garbage bags over the photos and make off with them. (Looting is OK here: When word went out that fancy books memorializing Ronald Reagan had been left outside departing Florida Rep. Clay Shaw's office, Republican aides rushed there to snag one.)
There is bargaining: Staffers on cell phones dot the halls, whispering about their applications for the same few jobs everybody else wants; the popular phrase to describe the sorry state of things seems to be “the situation.†And anger: On the first floor of Rayburn, someone has torn the Capitol office directory down from the wall and ripped it into pieces. Viciously scribbled arrows point toward former Florida Rep. Mark Foley's name.
There is, however, one Republican in Washington who appears unperturbed. Denny Hastert delivered his farewell speech in the House chamber at around 7 p.m.; placidly cheerful to the end, he reminds his colleagues that he never really wanted this job and matter-of-factly praises the diligence of the Capitol Police, who, actually, have recently made the news for their staggering incompetence.
Half the Democratic side of the chamber is empty, and some of those present are doodling on papers underneath their desks. When Hastert finishes, Nancy Pelosi runs up and gives him – perhaps the one guy who doesn't need it – a sweet embrace. Then she gestures toward where she came from, as though she wants the dour-faced men sitting with her to get up and mob Hastert, or maybe for him to try out her seat, for giggles. But Hastert just remains behind his podium, his arms held slightly away from his body, penguin-like, as the polite applause in the chamber slowly dies away.
»Next Story»
Find this article at:
http://www.signonsandiego.com/uniontrib/20061215/news_lz1e15fairban.html
