MR. BARTLETT GOES TO WASHINGTON

Steve Bartlett is in a hurry.

On a crisp morning in early December, just a month after he was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives from the 3rd Congressional District, he’s striding across the U.S. Capitol parking lot toward his temporary headquarters in the Rayburn House Office Building.

It would be a fine day, a visitor thinks, to stroll around in Washington’s brilliant sunshine, take in the Smithsonian, maybe drive out to Jefferson Memorial.

But Bartlett doesn’t have time. Although he spent most of the month before his election and most of the month after it in Washington, he still hasn’t seen the sights. Asked if the Supreme Court is nearby, Bartlett shrugs. “Must be on some other street,” he says. A moment later, the Court looms up beyond the barren limbs of the Capitol trees. It’s so close that a passer-by can read the “Equal Justice Under Law” motto above its columns.

Steve Bartlett has been taking this walk across the Capitol grounds, past flocks of twittering tourists snapping up all that History, several times a day for more than a month, but he has had no time for awe. Holed up in the Hyatt Regency, Bartlett has just finished three days of the freshman orientation program for new Republican members of Congress -three days of seminars, meetings, panel discussions, dinners and receptions for the congressmen-elect.

Bartlett has been doing much more listening than talking during the orientation, hearing congressional “stars” such as Jack Kemp speak on “Developing Your Issues and Style of Presentation” or Trent Lott on “Coalitions, Networking and How to Push Your Legislation Through.” He was particularly impressed by sessions on “Managing Your Time” and “Potomac Fever.”

Potomac fever, Bartlett says over breakfast in the Hyatt coffee shop, afflicts most of Congress. He defines the malady as a creeping loss of touch with constituents back there in the “Real World.” Though a newcomer to Washington, Bartlett honed his anti-Big Government rhetoric to a fine point during his campaign. He comes to Washington with contempt for many of its works.

“This is not a real world,” Bartlett says. “This is Fan-tasyland on the Potomac. There’s no unemployment problem in Washington. Everybody here works for the government, the biggest growth industry in America.”

A hulking, white-haired man enters the coffee shop and peers around as if looking for someone. “That’s Tip O’Neill,” somebody stage-whispers. Bartlett glances at the man, who is a dead ringer for the Speaker of the House, and dismisses him as an imposter. “If it were O’Neill,” he says, “eight or 10 members of his entourage would be with him.”

According to Bartlett, the best antidote for Potomac fever is frequent contact with the folks back home -and remembering just where “home” is. He recalls watching former Sen. Frank Church of Idaho being interviewed when a panelist asked an apparently innocuous question: What did Church do when he went home? The senator began talking about the fun he and his family had at their Virginia residence. “I knew right then he was on the way out,” Bartlett says. “He’d been up here too long.” Church was defeated in 1980.

“Some senators and congressmen get up here and get to thinking that they’re big shots,” Bartlett says. “They start thinking that they’re working for the government instead of making the government work for their constituents.”

Bartlett’s constituents live in the 3rd Congressional District, a “tantamount district,” in which getting the nomination is the real task; the election is a formality because a Democrat has never won or even run very well in the 3rd. The opponents Bartlett had to contend with seriously were the other Republicans in the May primary. He and Kay Bailey Hutchison found themselves in a runoff election, which Bartlett won with 53 percent of the vote. With the November victory all but assured, he was free to spend the summer thinking like a congressman, not a candidate.

So Mr. Bartlett came to Washington. And almost immediately, he learned Lesson Number One in the education of a congressman: The ponderous gears of the bureaucracy do not spin faster upon the arrival of yet another young man with large hopes. The lame-duck session had delayed Bartlett’s move into his own office – a move that would have been slow enough in normal times. As with everything else in Congress, seniority determines when Bartlett can get an office. In the meantime, representative-elect Bart-lett has set up a temporary command post in a back room of Jim Collins’ office.

A new congressman may be short on office space, but he gets more than enough of a more vital commodity: advice- from veteran congressmen, staff members, reporters, lobbyists and pressure groups of all sorts. Bartlett is constantly seeking advice from congressmen and other Capitol Hill insiders on what many say is the make-or-break decision for a new member: the choosing of his staff.

Now, a month before his swearing-in, Bartlett is building a staff with knowledge of both the 3rd District and the inner workings of Congress. He could hire 22 staffers if he wanted, but he won’t. Reducing that bloated bureaucracy, after all, begins at home. He expects to end up with 15 staff members; and each will be asked to find a way to save taxpayers some percentage of his or her salary each year.

But such stringent requirements have not discouraged applicants from deluging Bartlett with more than 2,000 resumes that arrive at the rate of more than 100 a day. Before sequestering himself with a fistful of phone messages, Bartlett flips through a 2-foot high stack of rejects – the resumes of former stockbrokers, cooks, social workers and journalists who would love to come from North Platte or Denver or Weatherford to assist the Gentleman from Texas. Some of the cover letters are dated only days after the election. Some are dated before the election.

Judging from their letters, several of the applicants are only marginally literate. An alarming number of the letters are riddled with poor spelling and faulty grammar. “Enclosed herewith is my letters of rec-omendation [sic] and my resume,” beckons one. Others are almost parodies of wordy bureaucratese: “Congressman’s loss has occasioned reevaluation of where I can best contribute to the ongoing efforts at….” Strapped for credentials, one California hopeful cites “experience in replying to a variety of inquiries from congressional offices.”



IT’S FAR TOO early to predict Steve Bartlett’s impact on the 98th Congress, the economy or that bete noire of conservative Republicans, Big Government. In 14 years in Congress, Bartlett’s predecessor, Jim Collins, never saw one of his bills become law.

But if Bartlett’s first days on Capitol Hill are indicative of his future, that won’t happen to him. It’s December 7, and this congressman-elect is already involved in legislation. He would like to delete a portion of the Federal Highway Beautifica-tion Act of 1965, which made billboard control mandatory along federally funded highways. The glaring flaw in the act, according to Bartlett, is the clause calling for compensation to be paid by the cities when nonconforming signs are removed. The clause, he says, has led to very few signs being removed under the act.

So Bartlett is scurrying around the Capitol, through the labyrinthine halls of the House office buildings, past doors with inexplicable names like “Committee for General Oversight and Renegotiation,” hunting up allies and sponsors for an amendment to delete cash compensation from the act. Already, he’s playing coalition politics, lining up Dallas Democrat Martin Frost to sponsor the amendment. Later that day, however, Bartlett learns that his first legislative struggle has ended in failure: The votes are not there to pass the amendment. He will have bad news for the National Coalition to Preserve Scenic Beauty, the group he has promised to address on Wednesday.

The defeat stings Bartlett, but larger matters prey on his mind. Tonight the House will vote on the Addabbo Amendment, which aims to stop funding for the MX missile. A staunch hawk, Bartlett believes in the missile. Using a temporary floor pass, he has been on and off the House floor all day, listening to the debate and buttonholing members for their predictions. By Bartlett’s own informal count, the MX is in trouble. “It’s scary,” he says, leaving the Rayburn Building. The MX vote is only moments away. “The country really seems to have turned around on defense.”

Outside, the great dome of the Capitol fills the sky like the brooding head of History itself. Bartlett, not given to flights of poetic fancy, turns aside talk about the drama of the moment and quickens his pace to catch up with Rep. E. “Kika” de la Garza, a fellow Texan. “Congressman, I’m Steve Bartlett, a new member from Dallas,” Bartlett calls. De la Garza, climbing the Capitol steps, gives Bartlett a lesson in how rookie congressmen (especially conservative Republicans) are treated by veteran congressmen (especially liberal Democrats). As Bartlett pipes his introduction, the nine-term congressman from Mission does not turn around; he dips a burly shoulder back toward Bartlett and grunts something indecipherable.

So Bartlett tries again. “Congressman, I heard that you offer the best constituent service on Capitol Hill.”

“Well, we try,” says de la Garza without breaking stride.

If Bartlett is irritated by de la Garza’s snub, he never shows it. Once inside the Capitol, he makes for the minority leader’s office, where he hopes to find Rep. Tom Loeffler of Hunt, Texas. Bartlett is seeking some choice committee positions (among them, Armed Services and Budget), and Loeffler has been floating Bart-lett’s name to members of the Committee on Committees. Loeffler is not there, so Bartlett heads for the House floor, past the murals and plaques and statues reminding all that, amid the pettiness and egotism of small-time politicians, giants have walked these halls.

And giant-killers, too. In an elevator, Bartlett meets Rep. Peter Rodino of New Jersey, chairman of the House Judiciary Committee. It was Rodino who conducted the hearings that resulted in the vote to impeach Richard Nixon. As much as any one man, Rodino changed the history of a nation, but tonight he seems small and tired. He welcomes Bartlett to Congress, wishes him well, then slumps against the elevator wall in silence.

The circling halls of the Capitol bulge with people as the MX vote is called. Bartlett disappears to check on the tally, wondering what kind of message the House will send to Ronald Reagan tonight. Onlookers without floor passes crane their necks, trying to look into the House chambers, until the doorkeeper calls “Members down!” and the crowd parts. Two congressmen, their faces a study in discouragement, bolt for a nearby elevator marked “Members Only.” There is no waiting; the doors fly open, and the men are gone.

A moment later, the voting is over. Cheering and applause echo from the House floor -and not just from the Democratic side of the aisle: 50 Republicans have joined 195 Democrats to reject the proposed MX funding by a vote of 245-176.



ON THE SUBWAY back to the House office buildings, Bartlett consults his ever-present pocket schedule and finds that his appointments secretary has committed him to four receptions and an 8:30 dinner this evening. He knows the social obligations of a congressman, but he’s not looking forward to the party whirl. He will sip a glass of wine now and then, but nobody will mistake Bartlett for Rep. Charles (“Good Time Charlie”) Wilson of Lufkin, the playboy of the Texas delegation.

He glances at his watch, consults his schedule again and decides that he will have to pass on the Anheuser-Busch reception. Few of his constituents are likely to be there. The New Car Dealers of America (NCDA), however, are another story. “They’re some of my biggest supporters,” Bartlett says. “If I don’t go and someone there has been telling people all night that his friend Steve Bartlett is coming, he’s going to look pretty bad.”

At the NCDA hospitality suite in a near-by office building, Bartlett brings the bad tidings of the MX vote, then jokes: “They really tried to get ’em in line over here. I was lobbied on both sides, and I can’t even vote yet.”He will tell the story throughout the evening, always to general laughter. He asks if NCDA had taken a position on the president’s proposed 5-cent gasoline tax. “I’m not for new taxes, but I’m not for deteriorating highways, either,” Bartlett says, sounding for the first time like a recent candidate. At each party, Bartlett is asked his opinion of the 1982 freshman class; he is never shy about converting his impressions into confident generalizations. Nor is he overly humble.

“After you’ve been up here eight or nine terms,” he tells a group of men and women mostly his senior, “I think you lose your effectiveness. Some of these people have just been here too long.” His listeners nod their agreement.

Later, at the Electronic Data Systems reception, Bartlett climbs two flights of stairs to a luxurious suite, where he is disappointed to learn that only one other freshman congressman has dropped in. A uniformed chef is slicing from a huge roast, while in the next room two bar-tenders pour wine and mixed drinks. Be-low an ornate chandelier rests a buffet table loaded with seafood and salads. Bartlett, swarmed by well-wishers, holds forth on the MX and the problems of combating a largely Democratic House. He drinks nothing and never sees the food.

Next, a cross-town taxi ride to the May-flower Hotel brings Bartlett to the National Association of Manufacturers’ reception, the largest of the evening. It is getting late, but the bars are open and the praise for the congressman-elect reaches new heights. Bartlett never gets more than 3 feet from the door and refuses a half dozen offers for drinks. If Bartlett ever comes down with the dreaded Potomac fever, it may take hold when a wealthy executive-a powerful man in his own right – breaks off talking with an attractive woman to lunge across the room and grab his hand: “Congressman, so glad to meet you. I can’t tell you how much it means to us that you came tonight.”

But Bartlett seems determined to keep himself in perspective. In a cab to the Capitol Hill Club, the evening’s last stop, he recalls some advice from Rep. Carroll Campbell of South Carolina: “Son, here’s what you have to remember. You ain’t never as good as your staff says you are, and you ain’t never as bad as the media back home say you are.”



THE CAPITOL Hill Club is the high shrine of Republican social life in Washington. Mahogany elephants genuflect at each side of the foyer, and visitors are met by a huge picture of GOP demigod Robert A. Taft. Portraits of other Republican stalwarts line the walls -Ford, Reagan, Eisenhower, Bush -the full pantheon.

Tonight, Bartlett and other freshman Republicans have been invited to dinner with a tightly knit coalition of right-wing groups who make no secret of their desire to influence new congressmen. Speakers are present to defend the right to life, the right to work and family rights. The Moral Majority is here, represented by a smiling clergyman who says his job is to go around the country speaking after Rev. Jerry Fal-well. “He creates chaos, and I try to calm things down,” the man says.

No one castigates the United Nations or curses the fluoride in the water. This is not an evening for posturing, but for offering the information, researchers, phone banks and form letters that will guide the neophytes past the fever swamps of liberalism. One speaker even offers a kind of clearinghouse for new congressmen choosing their staffs. “Come to us if you’ve got somebody you think you’re interested in. We’ll tell you if they’re bad [i.e., liberal].”

Jerry Falwell’s man promises help, but strictly under the table. “We know you don’t want the baggage of the Moral Majority hanging around your neck,” he says. After a pitch from each group, the five congressmen introduce themselves and make brief remarks. Bartlett is largely noncommittal, but one new member from Utah promises to vote “the conservative position” on tax breaks for private schools.

Later, walking back to his hotel, Bart-lett seems irritated by his colleague’s glib statement. “I started to ask that guy what was the conservative position on private schools,” he says. Asked if he would submit his staff choices to the proposed screening committee, Bartlett laughs and shakes his head. “Some of those guys are just like any interest group,” he says, “and some are far-right kooks.” But, asked about the muscle of conservative PAC-men in recent elections, Bartlett quickly points out that labor unions have been bankrolling liberal candidates for decades. Tu quoque.



THE NEXT MORNING, Bartlett ar-rives early for a sparsely attended meeting of the Republican Conference. Most serious business, like the election of officers for the 98th Congress, has been completed earlier in the week, so many veteran members have decided to skip this one. But almost all the freshmen are present. They gather around the coffee urn to laugh and talk until a gavel, thunderously amplified, booms them to attention. “Let’s get serious,” says the half-serious chairman as the freshmen drift to their seats. With the room three-fourths empty, the atmosphere is loose and relaxed.

“Okay, you guys,” the speaker begins, “you know we only have these meetings so you can get the per diem, so if there’s no new business, do I hear a motion to adjourn?” He raises the gavel.

Suddenly Bartlett is on his feet. He does not miss chances for wit.

“The chair recognizes the gentleman from Texas, The chairman says.

“Mr. Chairman,” Bartlett begins in sonorous tones, “the freshman class caucused this morning and contemplated a resolution calling for us all to receive our top committee assignments.”

The room dissolves in laughter as the chairman feigns irritation. “The gentleman from Texas was not recognized for any such purpose,” he snaps, surpressing a smile. A motion to adjourn is heard and quickly seconded, and the meeting is gav-eled to a close less than 10 minutes after it began.



BARTLETT’S DAY is filled with endless discussions about the logistics of setting up his office. First question: Where? His administrative assistant has scouted the available offices and reports to Bartlett on their locations, sizes and special attributes. He is concerned primarily with location. A large, well-appointed office is available in the Cannon Building, the oldest of the three House office buildings, but Bartlett is not interested. “Cannon is a very pleasant building, but it’s out of the mainstream. I want an office where other members of Congress will walk by and see my office all the time, in the middle of the action.”

His work day ends at 8:45 p.m. As he and two staff members leave for dinner at Bullfeather’s, a popular Capitol Hill restaurant, the lights still blaze in most of the House offices. Bullfeather’s, a staffer tells Bartlett, is the place for movers and shakers on the Hill. During dinner, Bart-lett meets Rep. Arlan Stangeland of Minnesota, who has been dubbed “Mr. Squeaker” because of razor-thin victory margins in his last three elections.

The next day, Bartlett makes his first out-of-town speech as a congressman-elect, to the National Coalition to Preserve Scenic Beauty. The speech, at the DuPont Plaza Hotel, goes very well. The crowd is fidgety until the chairman announces that checkout time has been extended an hour to accommodate the luncheon. He then introduces Bartlett, who within minutes has the audience thorougfuy charmed. Playing the role of Texan to the hilt, he opens with a joke – he seems genuinely fond of his jokes, no matter how shopworn -about the time he was in LaGuardia Airport making a cross-town phone call. The operator told him the call would cost $1.55.

“Well, I was furious,” says Bartlett, his drawl deepening. “I drew myself up to my full Texas height. I mentally put on my Stetson. I said, ’Ma’am, in Texas we can call to hell and back for $1.55!’

“That operator didn’t miss a beat. ’Yes, sir,’ she said. ’In Texas, that’s a local call.’ “

The laughter is loud and prolonged. Most of the crowd hangs on every word as Bartlett labels the Beautification Act another example of Big Government’s oppressive reach. “The federal government is running every segment of our lives,” he says. “City and state governments will make mistakes, sure, but they’ll make far fewer mistakes with less far-reaching consequences than Congress.” Bartlett asks for another meeting with the group next year, when, he hopes, “the momentum has built to such a point that we’ll thank ourselves-and our children will thank us – for restoring scenic beauty to the highways.”



A MONTH LATER, on January 3, 1983, Steve Bartlett is sworn in as a member of the U.S. House of Representatives. Due to the peculiarities of House protocol, Bartlett actually casts his first vote as a representative before he is sworn-in, joining 154 other House Republicans in voting for Minority Leader Robert Michel for Speaker of the House. “Tip O’Neill Won’t Like Steve Bartlett” was one of Bartlett’s campaign slogans, and now Bartlett has his first chance to strike out at the Massachusetts Democrat.

But Bartlett knows the vote is a mere formality; Michel needs a large bloc of Democratic defectors to win, and he doesn’t get them. The final vote is 260-155, neatly split down party lines.

In a reception room in the Rayburn Building, some 75 Bartlett supporters, most of them from Dallas, munch cold cuts and sip wine while watching the proceedings on closed-circuit television. A 20-foot-long banner covers one wall: “Our prayers support you as you represent the risen Christ and His people,” the inscription reads.

Bartlett, the first Republican to vote, shouts “Michel!” when his name is called. His voice is clear to the reception audience, but somehow not to the reading clerk calling the roll. Bartlett’s vote is not recorded until the second roll call for late members. By that time, it’s clear that the new speaker will be the old speaker, Tip O’Neill. O’Neill then reads the oath to the House; all agree to its rather unspecific demands, and Steve Bartlett is a congressman.

As word spreads that Bartlett is leaving the House floor to come to the reception, the caterpillar brows of Fort Worth’s Jim Wright fill the screen, and a tipsy onlooker points at the majority leader. “I know who that SOB is,” he says. “He lives next door to me.”

Wright’s spiel is drowned out by whistles and cheers as Rep. Bartlett enters the room. Cameras click as he poses for pictures with his arms draped around his children. He is carrying a copy of the Constitution.

In a few days, Bartlett will have his new office in the Longworth Building, but right now he is finagling with all his might for good committee assignments. Last summer he had ranked Armed Services, Budget and Banking as his top three choices, with Energy and Commerce, Government Operations and Education and Labor as backup options.

But, as in all things congressional, seniority had reared its regal head. As the summer wore on, Texas Rep. Jack Fields of Humble lusted for a spot on Energy and Commerce. With more clout than Bartlett could muster, Fields began to lock up commitments. “He could out-trade me,” Bartlett says. “He could talk to people on the floor. He was a congressman, and I was still just a candidate.”

Bartlett knew that Texas was unlikely to place more than one Republican on Energy and Commerce. So, hearing the train coming, he stepped nimbly off the track. “I backed off and supported Fields,” Bart-lett says. “That was really magnanimous of me, since he was going to get it anyway. But this made everyone feel better. It made the Committee on Committees see that I was a team player, and it made Jack Fields see that I was supportive of a senior member. I’m not up here to be the star of the week. I’m planning for the long haul.”

By October 1982, Bartlett had begun talking to Tom Loeffler at least once a week while campaigning against token opposition in the general election. (He would win with 78 percent of the vote.) He had begun to write letters to each member of the Committee on Committees, justifying his committee requests and loudly deferring to Jack Fields on Energy and Commerce. By the time the lame-duck session had begun, he had visited with almost all of the members on the committee. Loef-fler, Bartleft’s guru, had advised against listing Education and Labor, even as a throwaway choice, since that committee is a lower level of hell for conservative Republicans, top-heavy with intransigent liberal Democrats. Bartlett had listed it anyway to show his willingness to serve in any capacity.

During the lame-duck session, Banking appeared to have one opening for a Republican. Budget had two. Armed Services, for a moment, had four slots open and looked good for Bartlett, but O’Neill and Company readjusted the committee’s ratios and cut the GOP allotment in half. One of the two seats had been promised to New York, and Bartlett’s hopes dimmed.



IT’S THE WEDNESDAY after the swearing-in ceremony, and Democrat Phil Gramm has been stripped of his Budget Committee seat in reprisal for siding too often with Ronald Reagan. Gramm announces that he will switch parties and run in a special election as a Republican. Later that day, Bartlett runs into Loeffler. They talk about the possibility of Gramm getting a Republican seat on Budget. Bartlett is enthusiastic.

“Gramm’s the best budget expert we’ve got,” he tells Loeffler. “He’s got to have a seat. And politically, we want him in the party. We ought to give him a seat.”

Loeffler stares at Bartlett. “Bartlett,” he says, “that’s your seat we’re talking about. I think I’ve got it for you.”

Bartlett swallows hard and decides once more to be the bridesmaid, not the bride. He withdraws in favor of Gramm. (The seat was held open pending the special election.) “Everyone liked that,” Bartlett says. “It was just like with Fields. It was going to happen anyway.”

So Bartlett’s choices melt away. Fields is given the seat on Energy and Commerce. In a meeting of the Committee on Committees, someone points out that Texans already have seats on Ways and Means, Appropriations and Banking. With Fields on Energy and Gramm likely for Budget, someone else dryly observes, “You Texans ain’t doin’ bad.” Then the last Armed Services seat is taken by Illinois.

The committee adjourns, and Loeffler calls Bartlett with the grim news: Armed Services and Budget are gone. Ron Paul, another Texas Republican, is already on Banking. With the rumblings about Texas hegemony, a frontal assault on that committee would be suicidal. So Bartlett drops his sights to his “second-tier” committees and aims at Public Works, the committee dealing with transportation and highway legislation.

The next day, a cadre from the Committee on Committees huddles in Bob Michel’s office “to cut some deals,” Bartlett says. He gets a call from Loeffler, who is almost whispering into the phone. Demand for Public Works is heavy; Bartlett can probably get on, but if he were willing to back off and go for Government Operations (Gov-Ops), a top-of-the-third-tier committee, Michel would be grateful. So grateful, in fact, that he would appoint Bartlett to the Joint Economic Committee (JEC) – a feather in the cap of a freshman.

After talking with his staff, Bartlett calls Loeffler to say that he will take Gov-Ops and the JEC. That will put him close to his first love, economics, and at the same time give him a standing committee to help him begin that glacially slow accretion of seniority that is still the key to real power on Capitol Hill.

So the Committee on Committees considers the new member from Texas. Someone reminds them that Bartlett did offer to take the martyr’s seat on Education and Labor. The Republican leaders agree, and all seems set. The committee is happy. Loeffler is happy. Bartlett is happy.

But the next day, it all comes unglued. The Republican Conference has been scheduled to rubber-stamp the committee’s choices, and that will be followed by another pro forma vote by the entire House. Bartlett rises early to seek out Bob Michel.

“I didn’t just get off the noon train,” Bartlett says. “I know I need to solidify that deal with a handshake from Michel himself.” At the Republican Conference, Bartlett tactfully asks the minority leader when might be a good time to announce his appointment to the JEC.

Michel replies that there has been “a little problem” on the appointment. He assures Bartlett that he will be on the JEC but asks him to hold off announcing until that afternoon. Bartlett is worried, but he has heard the magic words from Michel. The conference votes, and Bartlett is made a member of Government Operations and of Education and Labor.

Then, after the vote, all hell breaks loose in Michel’s office. A certain member from California, it seems, has slogged through four terms in the House on nothing but rotten committees. He is mad as hell, and he isn’t going to take it anymore. Neither are the rest of California’s 17 Republican members (compared to Texas’ six). And they have plenty of friends from other Western states.

California is in revolt; the delegation threatens awful repercussions if its man is not appointed to the last open seat on the Joint Economic Committee. Problem: Steve Bartlett has been promised that seat. All the other members have seniority and cannot be bumped off the committee.

So Michel calls Bartlett’s intermediary, Loeffler. Would Bartlett consider going back to the original deal for Public Works? But Loeffler trades tough. The esteemed minority leader has made a deal and must stick by it. Of course, Michel has the high hand. Only he can make the appointment; if he wishes, he can tell Messrs. Bartlett and Loeffler to take flying leaps and make the appointment that will mellow the Californians. But to do so would be a breach of etiquette, if not ethics, and a slap in the face to a new member who has shown himself willing to sacrifice for the party. Stalemate.

Bartlett’s choices are clear. He can be a good soldier -again -and voluntarily withdraw, or he can hang tough and force Michel into a messy and divisive choice. “I’m bleeding to death,” Michel says. “California’s got me stuck so many times, I’m a pincushion.”

And then, light. At 4 p.m., an hour before the full House is to vote on committee assignments, another deal is struck, this time with Tip O’Neill and Jim Wright. Michel gives up his right to appoint to another committee in exchange for the right to put Bartlett on Banking, Finance and Urban Affairs -one of Bartlett’s top choices from the start.

Bartlett, of course, agrees to the swap, letting Michel off the hook. The Committee on Committees is hustled back into executive session at 4:50. Again, the anti-Texas faction balks; four Republicans are in line for Banking ahead of Bartlett. But now Bartlett’s long months of planting ideas and cultivating friends bear fruit. Ed Schau of California, the freshman representative on the committee, speaks up for Bartlett. Senior members such as Louisiana’s Henson Moore come to his defense. Minority Whip Trent Lott, who spoke at a Bartlett fund-raiser during the campaign, now speaks for him again. Slowly, the opposition to Bartlett crumbles as allies remind opponents of Bart-lett’s earlier withdrawals, his deference, his willingness to play for the team.

So Steve Bartlett begins his House career holding a large IOU from his party leader and seats on two highly visible committees. Banking, Finance and Urban Affairs will be the clearinghouse for much economic recovery legislation during the next two years. And as a conservative gadfly on the left-leaning Education and Labor Committee, Bartlett is sure to be sought out for those point/counterpoint exchanges so dear to the national media.



IT’S MID-JANUARY, and Steve Bart-lett is making his first trip home as a congressman. He and his family now live in a modest Dutch colonial house in McLean, Virginia, just a lovely drive down the George Washington Parkway from the Capitol. But “home” is Dallas, and Bart-lett comes home in style -with Ronald Reagan aboard Air Force One. He brings an American flag that flew for several seconds above the Capitol. At the opening of the Marriott Quorum Hotel, he presents the flag to J.W. Marriott.

But pomp and ceremony do not animate Steve Bartlett. Work does. In Jim Collins’ old district office, Bartlett bears down on the casework that has accumulated since his election. In Washington, Bartlett will chop away at the federal Hydra; at home, he serves as his constituents’ ombudsman against the bureaucracy.

Looking through the stacks of letters, Bartlett discovers a bewildering array of requests. One citizen worries that Secretary Watt is giving away all the oil rights to the Arabs. An old friend wants Bartlett to see about a pardon for a doctor once convicted of tax fraud. One letter is from a woman in a nursing home who has been plagued by petty theft. Now her teeth have been stolen. She wants help.

“The only thing we can do is ask for an investigation of the nursing home,” says an aide.

“No,” Bartlett says. “Refer it and close it.”

A critically ill veteran wants to enter a Dallas Veteran’s Administration hospital. But the letter is not from the veteranhimself. Bartlett suggests talking to thesick man before taking any action. “Youdon’t want to do something for somebodyunless they want it done,” he tells the staff.

And so the day goes, with calls and letters from the irate and the desperate, thefed-up and the confused. Steve Bartlettjolts down an aspirin with a slug of blackcoffee. After three more phone calls, heneeds to meet with the editors of severalsuburban papers. Then a tour of a company. . .an American Airlines reception… more phone calls. It looks like anotherlong, long day.