for when my American Political Science Association congressional fellowship started in September. Because I was cramming for my upcoming preliminary exams, I was determined to complete the whole process, including the 1,700-mile drive and finding and renting the apartment, over the weekend and be back studying by Monday morning.
I’d done a lot of long-distance driving and I enjoyed it. I listened to the radio as I drove through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Maryland, stopping every now and then for food and gas and once to sleep for a few hours. When I finally hit Interstate 495, the Capital Beltway that surrounds Washington, I had to decide which way to go. So I turned right and continued south until I saw a sign that said “Annandale,” which I thought sounded pretty good, and I exited onto Little River Turnpike, a major thoroughfare that despite housing developmentsand apartment buildings hadn’t entirely lost its rural character. I turned into the driveway of an apartment complex—the Americana Fairfax—and found the rental office. Less than an hour later, I had signed a year’s lease on an unfurnished two-bedroom apartment for $130 a month.
Before heading back to Madison, I decided to see D.C., a city I knew was still reeling from the riots and fires following the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., only four months earlier. Twelve people had been killed, hundreds injured, and President Johnson had called in fourteen thousand federal troops to restore order. But as I crossed over the Potomac on the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge and caught my first glimpse of Washington, the turmoil I’d seen on the evening news dissolved into the background. Off to my right were the Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial, white and gleaming in the summer haze. They were an impressive sight, as was the White House, when I drove by it, and the Capitol, shining at the top of the hill. I did a slow loop around the Capitol building, trying to take it all in, then drove down Independence Avenue along the Mall and headed out of town. I was back in Madison for Sunday lunch.
LYNNE AND I BOTH passed our preliminary exams, putting us a step closer to our Ph.D.s, and by mid-September we were unpacking our books and papers, a few clothes, and Liz’s crib in the Annandale apartment. Not long after we arrived, I had a meeting scheduled on Capitol Hill. I put on the only suit I owned, an electric blue one that had caught my eye at Jon-N-Jax Men’s Shop in Laramie, kissed Lynne and Liz goodbye, and caught the bus on Little River Turnpike. Forty-five minutes later, I was downtown in front of the Old Post Office at Eleventh Street and Pennsylvania Avenue.
I was still a long way from the Capitol, but since I didn’t have the slightest idea how to do a bus transfer, I decided to walk. Within a few blocks, I realized that my suit, which had been fine for winters in Wyoming and Wisconsin, didn’t function so well on a sweltering September day in Washington, D.C. I was also wearing shoes made of Corfam, akind of synthetic leather, and they began to produce a swamp-like climate zone of their own.
Half an hour and an uphill mile or so later, completely drenched, I was in Wisconsin Congressman Bill Steiger’s office in the Longworth House Office Building. I was there to see his chief of staff, Maureen Drummy, whom I’d met when she worked at the National Center for Education in Politics. She was one of the few people I knew in Washington, and I’d come to seek her counsel about the congressional fellows program, which, from her vantage point in Steiger’s office, she had seen in operation. Kind and generous as always, she overlooked my disheveled state and gave me her best advice. During the ten-week orientation that began the program, I’d have a chance to participate in seminars and listen to speeches by congressmen and senators. The idea was not only to look for members I might like to work for and arrange interviews with
I’d done a lot of long-distance driving and I enjoyed it. I listened to the radio as I drove through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Maryland, stopping every now and then for food and gas and once to sleep for a few hours. When I finally hit Interstate 495, the Capital Beltway that surrounds Washington, I had to decide which way to go. So I turned right and continued south until I saw a sign that said “Annandale,” which I thought sounded pretty good, and I exited onto Little River Turnpike, a major thoroughfare that despite housing developmentsand apartment buildings hadn’t entirely lost its rural character. I turned into the driveway of an apartment complex—the Americana Fairfax—and found the rental office. Less than an hour later, I had signed a year’s lease on an unfurnished two-bedroom apartment for $130 a month.
Before heading back to Madison, I decided to see D.C., a city I knew was still reeling from the riots and fires following the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., only four months earlier. Twelve people had been killed, hundreds injured, and President Johnson had called in fourteen thousand federal troops to restore order. But as I crossed over the Potomac on the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge and caught my first glimpse of Washington, the turmoil I’d seen on the evening news dissolved into the background. Off to my right were the Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial, white and gleaming in the summer haze. They were an impressive sight, as was the White House, when I drove by it, and the Capitol, shining at the top of the hill. I did a slow loop around the Capitol building, trying to take it all in, then drove down Independence Avenue along the Mall and headed out of town. I was back in Madison for Sunday lunch.
LYNNE AND I BOTH passed our preliminary exams, putting us a step closer to our Ph.D.s, and by mid-September we were unpacking our books and papers, a few clothes, and Liz’s crib in the Annandale apartment. Not long after we arrived, I had a meeting scheduled on Capitol Hill. I put on the only suit I owned, an electric blue one that had caught my eye at Jon-N-Jax Men’s Shop in Laramie, kissed Lynne and Liz goodbye, and caught the bus on Little River Turnpike. Forty-five minutes later, I was downtown in front of the Old Post Office at Eleventh Street and Pennsylvania Avenue.
I was still a long way from the Capitol, but since I didn’t have the slightest idea how to do a bus transfer, I decided to walk. Within a few blocks, I realized that my suit, which had been fine for winters in Wyoming and Wisconsin, didn’t function so well on a sweltering September day in Washington, D.C. I was also wearing shoes made of Corfam, akind of synthetic leather, and they began to produce a swamp-like climate zone of their own.
Half an hour and an uphill mile or so later, completely drenched, I was in Wisconsin Congressman Bill Steiger’s office in the Longworth House Office Building. I was there to see his chief of staff, Maureen Drummy, whom I’d met when she worked at the National Center for Education in Politics. She was one of the few people I knew in Washington, and I’d come to seek her counsel about the congressional fellows program, which, from her vantage point in Steiger’s office, she had seen in operation. Kind and generous as always, she overlooked my disheveled state and gave me her best advice. During the ten-week orientation that began the program, I’d have a chance to participate in seminars and listen to speeches by congressmen and senators. The idea was not only to look for members I might like to work for and arrange interviews with
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