On the Outside Looking In...

The bells resound—two bells, loud and sharp—signaling that a vote has begun on the Floor of the United States House of Representatives. I am only vaguely aware of them. After 22 years in Congress, the ringing of the bells (two bells for a recorded vote, three bells for a quorum call, etc.) has become as much a part of life as breathing. Members respond to them naturally, effortlessly, almost unthinkingly, like Pavlov’s dogs.

It takes a good five minutes, often longer, to reach the House Floor from one of the three House Office buildings. One of the good things about being Minority Leader is having an office in the Capitol. The proximity to the Floor enables me to read and sign a few more letters and return a few more telephone calls before having to leave to vote.

My secretary sticks her head inside my office to inform me that there are two minutes remaining. I sign one more letter and slip out the rear door.

The trip from my office to the Floor is a quick one—between 45 seconds to a minute, depending on my pace.

I slip through a pair of large doors and onto the House Floor. The vote is on an amendment that I have decided to oppose. From my wallet I extract my voting card. It is roughly the size of a credit card. It bears my photograph and several punched holes, which is my personalized code. I insert the card into one of many electronic voting terminals affixed to the back of the seats and depress the button labeled “nay.” A red light appears next to my name on the huge tote board above the press gallery.

I am about to leave the Floor when I notice a Republican Member striding earnestly towards me.

“Hello John,” he greets me. “Do you have a minute?” We find a couple of unoccupied seats and sit down. “This may come as a shock, John, but I’ve decided to retire,” he says.

It is a shock. Since I had been in his district the week before, I had naturally assumed that he was going all-out for reelection.

“You mean you’re not going to run?” I ask incredulously.

“Right,” he answers. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to quit Congress at the end of the month.”

My initial surprise is compounded. There is always a list of incumbents who decide not to seek reelection. But it is very rare for a Member to step down before his term has expired.

Thinking that he may be in some political trouble back home, I ask, “Is everything all right?”

He assures me that everything is fine. “I’ve just had it,” he explains. “I got tired, tired of being in the minority. We have to work twice as hard to be heard as those guys (he gestures towards the majority side) and I can’t see things changing. I’ve simply had enough.”

“You know what I mean, John,” he adds, stating a point rather than asking a question.

I express my regret that he is leaving Congress. I wish him well and start back towards my office. Along the way, I think . . . about my friend and his decision, and the heavy pressures faced by many of my other Republican colleagues.

Being in a congressional minority for a long period of time is depressing. To be sure, there is some solace to be derived from working to improve the program of the majority. Sometimes during a vote on a key amendment or an attempted veto override, the minority can band together to influence the outcome of events. But such cases are rare. For the most part, Members of the minority grow tired of being constantly against proposed bills and of never being able to enact anything of their own.

I fully understand the futility that comes from being locked into the minority. During my 22 years in Congress, all but two of these years—my freshman term—have been spent in the minority. Twenty years of having to be against things.

We have remained in Congress because the country needs a responsible minority as much as it needs a responsible and effective majority. It is our duty to do what we can to improve the legislative program put forth by the majority. When we are successful, we perform a useful service to the country.

There is a second responsibility of the minority. It is to try to become the nucleus of a new majority. There is always the hope that our political fortunes will improve in time, and it is this hope which gives us our real motivation.

Congress has changed greatly during my career. It has changed physically. When I arrived in 1953, there were two House office buildings. Today, there are 3 with a fourth being planned. In 1953, the Senators were all crowded into one office building. They now have two and are building a third.

Most everything in those days was done on a smaller scale. The staffs were smaller. The workload was smaller. The pressures were lighter.

In the early days, I received an average of ten to twelve constituent letters a day. Now it is a rare day that I do not receive at least 150 letters from home. A typical session usually lasted until July or maybe early August. When the time arrived for Congress to adjourn, my administrative assistant would pack up office supplies and files and we would all move back to Arizona for the remainder of the year. It was unusual for a Congressman to be able to afford a permanent district office in those days, so I would set up a makeshift office in some downtown Phoenix office building or anyplace where I could hold office hours. Today I have two permanent and fully staffed offices in my congressional district. Some Members have as many as four.

These are some of the physical changes. Congress has changed atmospherically as well.

A certain club atmosphere has long pervaded both Houses of Congress. This feeling of camaraderie among most of the Members comes from being engaged in a common task and having to face common pressures. It has—this spirit—always been an integral part of congressional life and has traditionally transcended party lines. In fact, some of the rules of Congress are specifically aimed at ensuring that Members treat each other with both courtesy and respect. While speaking on the Floor, for example, a Member is strictly prohibited by the rules from referring to another Member by name. He must refer instead to “the gentleman from Arizona” or “the distinguished gentleman.” If one Member speaks ill of another Member on the Floor, the rules provide that a motion can be made for his remarks to be “stricken” from the Record. Outside of censure, having one’s words stricken is the greatest rebuke a Member of Congress can receive.

When I was a young Congressman, I learned very quickly that one should never regard a political disagreement with another Member as a personal confrontation. Things just didn’t work that way. I also learned that a good Member of Congress never, NEVER, loses his temper on the Floor. In the privacy of one’s office or home, it is perfectly normal to rant and rave about the S.O.B. who did you in that day. But when you run into him the next day in a corridor or in the cloakroom, you treat him as though he is one of your best friends.

This spirit of congeniality and goodwill has helped the system work for the benefit of the people. In years past, Members went out of their way to help a colleague in need, even if the colleague belonged to the other party. When I was a member of the Appropriations Committee, it was not at all unusual for a Member to request my assistance in obtaining financing for a project in his district. If the project had merit, I usually did whatever I could to accommodate him. And if for some reason I couldn’t help him, he almost always understood.

Members of Congress still strive to help one another, but not nearly to the extent that they once did. And Members still treat each other with civility, but not anywhere near the civility of earlier days. Congress has changed. Of this there can be no question.

The atmosphere in and around Congress today is far more acrid than at any time during my career. The Members are louder, more uptight, hostile and devious. The average Congressman has always been partisan, but never so partisan as he is today. Today’s Members—particularly many of the newer Members—have failed to master the art of disagreeing without being disagreeable.

It is certainly not my intention to hand down a blanket indictment of the entire membership of Congress. After all, there are 535 individual Members, many of whom are conscientious, hard working, intelligent and unselfish. I am speaking only in terms of broad trends and averages, with the hope that things may yet change for the better.

The average Congressman of yesteryear was congenial, polite and willing to work with his colleagues whenever possible. Most important, his main concern was attending to his congressional duties. Today, a large number of Congressmen are cynical, abrasive, frequently uncommunicative and ambitious to an inordinate degree. In their eagerness to draw attention to themselves—and advance politically—they frustrate the legislative process.

What can be done to ensure that Congress is made up of individuals whose principal interest is legislation and not reaching some other office? Closer scrutiny by the voters is one obvious answer. When evaluating a candidate for the House or Senate, the voters should demand to know his or her opinions regarding issues that Congress can affect. They should also demand that he possess a working knowledge of the legislative process. It is surprising how many Members really do not understand even the basics of the system. I had a freshman Member, a bright young rising star, come up to me on the Floor during one of the opening days of a recent session and ask, “Just how many Members are there in this body?”

It is such basic ignorance that leads me to conclude that many Members run for Congress not because they have any great interest in legislation, but because of the opportunities for future advancement that service in Congress presents. They are here because they enjoy the publicity that comes from being a Member and because there is always the possibility of a higher office opening up for them. As far as the day-to day business of being a legislator is concerned, too many of them couldn’t care less.