I WAS the only reporter who snuck into the Senate Spouses dinner in Washington last week, and nobody swore me to secrecy, so here goes . . .
Tuesday, May 11th, in the lofty, leafy glass arcade of the US Botanic Garden near the Capitol, tea-partier Scott Brown hobnobbed with prairie progressive Tom Harkin, affable Chuck Schumer put an arm around flinty Chuck Grassley, and cranky old Jim Bunning went around saying “Hi”, even to Democrats. The Udalls were there, Mark of Colorado, Tom of New Mexico, looking like Eagle Scouts. Here were obstructionist Republicans, gracious as small-town morticians, and their socialist death-panel colleagues being gracious right back: Dodd, Dorgan and Durbin.
Some members seemed less embraceable than others: Roland Burris, the Rod Blagojevich appointee, was not Mr Popularity, and one could detect a coolness toward Saxby Chambliss, whose 2002 campaign defeating Max Cleland was more like first-degree assault than civics. Otherwise, people mingled freely.
Out in America, the US Senate is regarded as a medieval fiefdom of pompous gasbags, but in the Senate, there is genuine affection among colleagues. And why not? They spend a lot of time together. Johnny Isakson of Georgia palled around with Al Franken. There was friendship on both sides for Bob and Joyce Bennett of Utah. Senator Bennett has served three terms and, at 76, was hoping for a fourth, but a few days beforehand his state Republican committee denied him the endorsement, a sign of the anti-incumbency wave, and his fellow incumbents kept slipping over to him and patting him on the shoulder.
I walked past a sitting Sen Carl Levin and got an aerial view of his incredible comb-over – you would not want to see this man in the shower room. Landra Reid, the wife of the majority leader, was there, her first public appearance since she got clobbered by a semi on the interstate in March and broke her neck. She looked exquisite, ethereal.
Senator LeMieux of Florida arrived with infant daughter in a carrier, and Vicki Kennedy knelt down to speak to her.
It is instructive to meet the wives of men you have thought ill of in the past. I sat between Kathy Gregg, who is charming and married to a stone-faced New Hampshire conservative, and Mrs Chambliss, who is chipper and chatty and the spouse of You Know Who. And then there was Barbara Grassley, who is as warm and funny as her husband is not. Which is a spouse’s job, especially in an election year – to stand beside the gore-smeared warrior and bear mute witness to his humanity: “He and I have shared many pleasant meals together, and I have even had sex with this raspy-voiced, gimlet-eyed old weasel, and I plan to do that again in the near future.”
And now the reader interrupts to inquire: “And in what capacity were you there, sir? As a busboy?”
No, dear reader, I was the pre-dinner speaker, which seems like an honour but turns out to be a sacrificial role. You get a Mighty Wurlitzer introduction by Leader Reid that makes it seem as if you died recently while rescuing small children from an onrushing train, and you rise to tepid applause from men who've heard nothing but yak yak yak since early morn, and you realise that 95 per cent of those present hope you will speak for three minutes or less. That's why they've put you on the programme beforedinner.
You’ve come armed with 20 minutes of wit and wisdom about Our Nation and Our People – like a man with an armload of zucchini, but your audience has been eating just that all week and never wants to see another one.
And so you cut to the chase. Standing before moon-faced Mitch McConnell and his lovely wife Elaine and the shining head of Mr Bennett and the exquisite Landra, you say three funny things and press the ejector button and parachute gently to Earth. One funny thing I said was: “The interesting thing about sitting next to a senator’s wife at dinner is to realise that you’ve found someone who’s been even angrier at him than you have.”
Even Senator Bunning threw back his head and laughed at that. So it must be true. – (Tribune Media Service)