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Senator!

Walking, talking, screaming, galloping, jostling, rude cliches roam Capital Hill.
They're called journalists, and, after a dash to the elevators and virtual shouting match, I'm fully initiated into the MO.

I went on a stake out not too long ago, but forget that image of two plain-clothes cops hunkered down in an unmarked car, stale doughnouts on the dash and coffee stains on their shirts.
For one thing, I was joined by about 30 or 40 other journalists -- all gabbing loudly and milling around. We were staking out members of Congress in a hallway outside the Senate near the Ohio Clock.
The Ohio Clock is a big grandfather clock that's such a landmark that members of Congress reference it in their press releases, as in: Senator Blabbity Blah will participate in a stakeout by the Ohio Clock.
This time, Texas Sen. John Cornyn had announced he was going to participate, so I had made the long journey by Metro and foot to be there. I needed to ask him a question for a story I was working on, and inside sources -- i.e. his esteemed press secretary, Mr. John Drogin -- had told me that could be a good time to catch him.
Luckily, Cornyn isn't one of those members who blends in with the crowd. A sharp dresser, he's also got a head full of silvery hair surrounding -- naturally -- a youthful face. So I figured I'd be able to spot him and zero in for my questions.
I joined the crowd of journalists in the hallway outside the Senate and noticed a velvet rope in front of us. Apparently, we were supposed to stay behind this rope.
Some policemen were glaring at the crowd of unruly journalists, sometimes stepping forward to shoo an unintimidated reporter back behind the rope. I kinda felt sorry for them. It must have been like herding cats.
I managed to position myself in the front so I could spot Cornyn when he strode by. Otherwise all those darn tall people would block my view. It's not easy being a short reporter in Washington. It's a heightist world.
A woman I'd never seen before told me she was looking for a certain member and to let her know if I saw him. She was brand new and wasn't sure what he looked like.
I told her I was brand new, too, and had no idea what her guy looked like, either. Also, turned out she had no idea what Cornyn looked like.
But we still made a pact to alert each other should we see our objectives pacing congressionally down the corridor.
I drifted to the back to talk to someone. When I looked up, my prime position was taken by some other reporter, and I couldn't see anything. Suddenly, Margaret Thatcher swept by with Texas Sen. Kay Bailey Hutchison.
At least, that's what the very tall man standing by me said. All I saw were heads turning and the flash of several cameras. I didn't even get to see the top of the former British PM's hairdo.
I elbowed my way to the front to wait and got scared when a knot of reporters, about five deep, suddenly formed. It was impossible to tell who they were interviewing in the middle of the crowd. I asked the other newbie if she knew. We established that neither of us did.
I clung to the velvet rope, feeling a little sick to my stomach that they might be getting all sorts of fantastic information from Cornyn while I stood by.
However, he didn't appear for quite a while. Cameras were setting up nearby for a press conference where the Republicans were going to claim Democrats didn't give a fig for national security, etc.
By the time I figured this out, another gaggle of reporters had gathered over there. Cornyn seemed to suddenly appear with some other Repubs. They griped about the Dems for awhile. Cornyn said a piece, and in the few minutes he was speaking, about 15 reporters appeared beside him. As soon as he finished, the shouting started: Senator! Senator! Senator!
It was a sort of surround-sound effect not unlike the movies about earthquakes I saw when I was kid, the ones that had those special sound effects to make you feel like you were in the earthquake, too.
I didn't see any point in trying to ask him something right then.
After answering some questions, he turned to head for the elevators, and I leapt. I dashed after him. The playing field had narrowed to about four reporters by then, including me. I figured I could get something.
Clutching my tape recorder in my hand, I stayed right on his heels until he stopped and turned at the elevator. He answered rapid-fire questions about national issues while I stood there, thinking that I had come all this way for nada.
That's when I fired up my reporter determination. He was still finishing up answering a reporter's question, but I walked over his answer and yelled my question in his face, fueled by a powerful mix of adrenaline and desperation.
Apparently, the question made some sense because he gave me an answer while I stuck my recorder up in his face. I'm not sure if I've ever felt more rude, even when appearing on doorsteps of recent crime victims.
At least then I could speak softly and calmly and say, "Well, thank you, anyway" if they didn't want to talk.
This was different. It was reporter war. I had to take that hill or at least this one spot on Capitol Hill.
I got my answer. It was maybe two sentences, and it only took me about two and a half hours to obtain my objective, including travel time.
But I've realized that if I didn't speak up on Capitol Hill -- run, yell, do what it takes -- for the readers of the four newspapers in Wichita Falls, San Angelo, Corpus Christi and Abilene who decided to send me to Washington, then there's a chance nobody will.
Plus, I like having a job.
After my extremely rude interruption of his answer, Cornyn turned to the reporter I'd stolen him from for a few seconds, "Linda, do you have any other questions?"
Someday, I hope to be the Linda in that situation.
Until then, I guess I'll just have to be rude.

Posted by Trish Choate at 12:24 PM | Permalink