Local Lit

The room started to fill with reporters and lobbyists, the usual players, and tourists who just happened to be on the Hill for the day. The opposition arrived with large lapel buttons that said, “Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.” After about a dozen button people arrived, Dan went in search of better company. He left his newspaper and umbrella on a seat in the front row to save his place a place and went into the Democratic caucus room to do some last-minute lobbying.

Staffers were huddled around an enormous box of pastries and doughnuts and two large coffee makers, the fuel that lawmakers ate before making decisions of major importance. Remembering that he hadn’t eaten breakfast, Dan skipped the sugar and went to the cafeteria in search of a bagel. Waiting in line to pay for it, he ran into one of his favorite staffers, Brian Walker. They greeted each other fondly. “Ready for the big day?” Brian asked. “Have the Bible thumpers arrived yet?”

"Just starting to. I thought I’d take a little refuge down here until more of my people arrive.”

Brian laughed, “They won’t hurt you; they’ll just try to convert you. Show you the error of your ways and all that.”

“Then I’ll have to give them a lecture about population control and how the breeders of the world are damaging the environment. It wouldn’t be pretty.”

They walked up the hall, skipping the elevator in favor of the stairs. “What do you think will happen?” Dan asked.

“Just what you think will happen. Everyone will vote against it except for Bartlett and Perry,” Brian replied.

“But do you think they’ll vote for it or walk?” Dan persisted.

“Dunno,” Brian said.

They parted in the big room. Dan joined some other lobbyists from his side who were milling around and sharing intelligence. The button people sat on the left-hand side of the room near the Republicans, and the gay rights’ lobbyists sat on the right side. Representatives from various religious organizations arrived, some liberal, some not, each taking a seat in whichever section their beliefs lay.

The members started arriving, carrying cups of coffee with eager staff trailing behind, desperately trying to brief them.

Weymouth entered the room and walked to the middle seat in the highest row. He sat down regally and banged the gavel. “This meeting will come to order.” The room quieted. There were several items on the agenda, and as Dan expected, Weymouth took up the minor ones first. Dan figured he had at least an hour to do last-minute lobbying. He left the committee room and took up a post in the Democratic caucus room, next to the donuts, knowing that was his best chance of catching members and staff at the last minute. Parker was in his office, adjacent to the caucus room, wearing his most dapper suit, Dan suspected, in anticipation of post-vote television appearances. Reynolds walked in, joking with the receptionist about something he had read in the paper. He greeted Dan and motioned him to a corner of the room.

He lowered his voice conspiratorially and said, “I spoke with Bartlett and Perry and asked them to take a walk.”

Dan looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.

“They wouldn’t commit either way.” Reynolds shrugged. “I wish I had better news.”

Dan wasn’t surprised, but he was disappointed. “I appreciate the effort, sir. Thank you very much.”

Reynolds grabbed a jelly donut. “Would you like one?” he asked Dan.

Dan declined. Twenty-three years since his days as a fat kid, but the memories still haunted him.
“
You’ve got will power, my boy. That’s good. Wish I did.” Reynolds took a large bite, and a glob of bright red jelly oozed out. “Messy thing. He took another bite, managing to avoid having the jelly fall on either the floor or his shirt, members of Congress become adept at the art of eating while standing up, and strode into the committee room.

With no one left to lobby in the anteroom, Dan headed toward the door that led to the hall and back into the room. He could use the door that led directly to the committee room, but did not want to attract attention to himself. As he was leaving, Parker called after him.

Mustering all the politeness he could, Dan stood outside his doorway, “What’s up?”

“Come in and sit down,” Parker said like a lion inviting prey into his den. “Close the door.

Dan reluctantly sat on the edge of a hard chair.

“They’re not going to walk,” Parker said smugly. “They’ll lose their seats. I’m sure you understand. We can’t lose any more seats to the Republicans.” Parker smiled victoriously.

Dan suspected that Parker had gone behind his boss’s back, but decided not to press the issue. He’d figure out a way to get even. Smiling pleasantly, though he was seething inside, Dan said, “Thanks for the information,” and quickly left the room before saying something he’d later regret.

He returned to the committee room, which by now was packed with button people of all stripes. On his side of the room, PFLAG members wore buttons that said: “My child is gay and I’m proud.” A gaggle of ministers and priests sat on both sides of the room. One priest wearing a black shirt and starched white collar had a button that said, “Catholics for Free Choice.” Dan smiled, pleased to see his church making some progress on the issue. The guy’s probably gay, Dan thought.

He returned to his front-row seat, nodding at a number of staffers he knew standing next to their bosses or sitting at a table in the front of the room taking notes. He sat down and felt a searing pain in his lower back, an old football injury that tended to act up at the most inopportune times. He leaned over, trying to stretch out the muscles in his back and shoulders. He moved his head from side to side, stretching out his neck. When those tricks failed to give him any relief, he got up and stood in the back of the room, leaning against the wall.

Weymouth finished with the last of the non-controversial bills and then called up SOFA. “This bill has been previously marked up in subcommittee. Are there any additional amendments?”

“I have an amendment at the table,” said a right-wing Republican from Nebraska who introduced bills every year to allow posting the Ten Commandments in the hearing room.

“God only knows what he’s up to,” Dan said to the priest next to him, then felt sacrilegious for invoking God’s name.

“A funding measure,” the priest said. “He wants to cut off all federal funding to states that allow gay people to marry or adopt.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dan said. “He’s outdone himself.”

The chairman called on the sponsor of the amendment, who began: “This country was founded as a Christian nation. Our founding fathers respected the teachings of Christ, and they would never have permitted the blasphemy of having members of the same sex marry. The family is the basic unit of our society, and if that basic building block is corrupted, the whole structure will be undermined.” He paused, pulled out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed his forehead. “I don’t have anything against gay people. I want to help them. I helped found Safe Souls, an organization that helps homosexuals find peace through Jesus Christ.”

Dan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Some times when he sat in this room listening to this kind of nonsense he wanted to stand up and scream like they did in the British House of Commons on Questioning Day. He wanted to denounce the member as a bigot, but knew that that would only fuel the opposition to brand him as hysterical.

“Will the gentleman from Nebraska yield?” Reynolds asked.

“I’ll yield to my friend from Georgia.”

“Thank you,” Reynolds said.

Reynolds started out in his deep Southern preacher voice, “I have no doubt that my good friend has the best of intentions, but I urge all of you to vote against this amendment. Our founding fathers, and mothers,” he added with a little laugh, pleased with himself for being so politically correct, “understood the importance of separating the church from the state, which is why they would be horrified by this amendment. They believed that everyone had the right to choose their own religion, and that government funding should not be connected with a person’s religious beliefs.” Dan watched the audience, which had gotten quiet under Reynolds’ spell. “Not only do I plan to vote against this amendment, but I am introducing an amendment to call for an investigation of Safe Souls to ensure that as a non-profit tax-exempt organization it is not involved with funding candidates for office.”
Cries of protest were heard from the audience, as well as bursts of laughter.

“Order,” Weymouth said, banging his gavel three times, “The committee will come to order.”

“May I have a minute?” the sponsor asked the chairman, who nodded gruffly. Parker and his chief Republican counterpart gathered in a huddle.

“Making a deal, no doubt,” Dan said to the priest. The Republican staffer walked up to Weymouth and whispered something in his ear. Weymouth nodded and announced, “We’ll stand in recess for 10 minutes.”

Other staff gathered around the chief counsels, trying to get their pictures on C-Span. Parker entered the committee room and took charge of the conversation. Dan ducked outside to take some ibuprofen and walked up and down the great hallway, stretching out his back. One thing about this job, it was never boring.

Weymouth called the committee back to order. “Does the gentleman from Nebraska wish to continue?”
“During the break my good friend and I came to an agreement, and with the chair’s permission I will withdraw my amendment on the condition that the gentleman from Georgia will not introduce his.”
Weymouth turned to Reynolds, “Is that your understanding?” Reynolds nodded. Dan smiled, his faith in the Democratic Party temporarily restored.

“If there are no other amendments, we will proceed to debate on the bill.”

Clark did not open, even though he was the primary sponsor of the bill. The Republicans had wisely chosen their token woman committee member to open the debate. Morales, an attractive Latina woman from California who had inherited her seat after her husband died in a skiing accident, spoke in a sweet voice, “This is a bill about state’s rights. We believe every state should have the right to decide whether or not gay people should be allowed to marry or adopt children. No state should force its agenda on another state. A few liberal judges from Massachusetts should not have the power to force another state to accept that radical view.”

Dan rolled his eyes and leaned over to the lobbyist next to him. “I can’t believe they had the token woman start the debate.”

“Will the gentlewoman yield?” Another member of the California delegation piped up, a feisty woman from Northern California. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to disagree with my good friend and colleague. This is a bill about discrimination, plain and simple. Gay people are being discriminated against and we need to end it. We should be passing laws to promote tolerance, not bigotry.” A small group in the audience burst into applause. “Quiet in the chamber,” Weymouth thundered, slamming down his gavel, a little too angrily, Dan thought. The applause stopped immediately.

“Will the gentle lady yield?” interrupted Pierce, a tall bookish Republican, one of the two who were voting against the measure. “I’ll gladly yield,” she answered coquettishly, “to my friend on the other side of the aisle.”

“I thank the gentle lady,” Pierce said. “We are focusing on the wrong issue.” Pierce looked directly into the camera. “This is an issue about federalism. As a conservative, I support limited government. That means if it is not a power specifically enumerated under our Constitution to the federal government, then the power is reserved to the states. I am not aware of any references in our founding document to marriage. Please, correct me if I’m wrong,” Pierce paused. He waited for someone to speak, and after an uncomfortably long pause he said, “I rest my case.”

The debate proceeded for nearly an hour, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous. Dan had written the statements for many of the members who were opposing the bill, and felt quite pleased to hear them become part of the Congressional Record.

After an hour, Weymouth pronounced, “The time has expired.” Dan thought he looked uncomfortable. The clerk called the roll, and after each name the member announced aye or nay. The clerk called Bartlett’s name and there was no response. She called it again – still no response. Dan looked up and realized Bartlett had left the room. That meant that if the other undecided Democrat didn’t vote it would be a tie, and would not pass out of Committee.

The clerk called Weymouth’s name. There was a long pause. Dan held his breath; he was one of the few people in the room that knew Weymouth’s plan. “Pass,” Weymouth said. An audible gasp came from the audience. “I’ll be darned,” the priest said. “Did you know about that?” Dan nodded. The priest looked admiringly at Dan whose heart was dancing with glee.

“Perry,” the clerk called the name of the other undecided Democrat. He paused, and then mumbled, “Aye.”
“Damn,” Dan muttered. He’d been silently praying for a miracle.

“The clerk will report the vote,” Weymouth said. There was a long, silent pause while everyone waited for the clerk to announce.

“There are 18 ayes and 17 nays.”

“Are there any members wishing to change their vote?” Weymouth asked. All eyes turned to Perry. No one said anything, and then a voice piped up. “I’d like to change my vote,” said a very young Republican from Pennsylvania, Derek Smuckers. “I’d like to pass, sir.”

Dan couldn’t believe the miracle he was witnessing. The measure that had been a shoe-in for passage was going down in committee, and the Republicans were killing it. “Does any other member wish to change their vote?” Weymouth asked. Dan was sweating profusely. He desperately wanted Weymouth to close the vote before someone changed their vote in favor of the bill. His heart was pounding loudly when Weymouth slammed down his gavel. “The measure fails.”

Parker looked astounded. Dan suppressed his urge to give a victory yell. The only thing worse than a bad loser was an arrogant winner. He was so happy he didn’t even get upset when the fundamentalists responded by bowing their heads and praying.