“I do not apologize for being the daughter of an immigrant. I do not apologize for being wealthy. I do not apologize for being a woman and I will never be apologetic about wanting to represent the people of Chicago in the United States Congress.” The applause was deafening. “If it is not my destiny to represent you, I shall support Mr. Brooks. If, on the other hand, I have the honor of being selected to be your candidate, you can be assured that I shall tackle the problems that Chicago faces with the same dedication and energy I put into making my company one of the most successful hotel groups in the world.”
Florentyna sat down to continuing applause and looked toward her husband, who was smiling. She relaxed for the first time and stared into the hall, where some people even stood to applaud although she was only too aware most of them were on her staff. She checked her watch: 8:28. She had timed it perfectly. That week’s “Laugh-In” was due on TV and the Chicago Black Hawks would be warming up on another channel. There would be a lot of changing of channels in the next few minutes. Judging by the frown on Ralph Brooks’s face, he was equally aware of the scheduling.
After questions—which brought no surprises—and the closing statements, Florentyna and Richard left the hall surrounded by well-wishers and returned to their room at the Baron. They waited nervously for a bellboy to deliver the first edition of the papers. The overall verdict was in favor of Florentyna. Even the Tribune said it had been a very close-run affair.
During the last three days of the campaign before the primary, Florentyna pounded pavement, pressed flesh and walked the entire length of Michigan Avenue. She collapsed into a hot bath every night. She was wakened by Richard each morning with a hot cup of coffee, after which she started the whole mad process over again.
“The great day has at last arrived,” said Richard.
“Not a moment too soon,” said Florentyna. “I’m not sure my legs can go through anything like this ever again.”
“Have no fear. All will be revealed tonight,” said Richard from behind a copy of Fortune.
Florentyna rose and dressed in a simple blue suit of a noncreasable fabric—although she would feel crumpled at the end of the day. She put on what Miss Tredgold would have called sensible shoes, having already worn out two pairs on the campaign trail. After breakfast, she and Richard walked down to the local school. She cast her vote for Florentyna Kane. It felt strange. Richard as a registered New York Republican remained outside.
In a heavier turnout than Edward had predicted, 49,132 other people voted for Florentyna that day, while 42,972 had voted for Ralph Brooks.
Florentyna Kane had won her first election.
The GOP candidate turned out to be Stewart Lyle, who was an easier opponent than Ralph Brooks. He was an old-fashioned Republican who was always charming and courteous and who did not believe in personal confrontation. Florentyna liked him from the day they met and had no doubt that, if elected, he would have represented the district with compassion, but after Nixon had resigned on August 9 and Ford had pardoned the ex-President, the Democrats looked set for a landslide win.
Florentyna was among those elected on the bandwagon. She captured the Ninth District of Illinois with a plurality of over 27,000 votes. Richard was the first to congratulate her.
“I’m so proud of you, my darling.” He smiled mischievously. “Mind you, I’m sure Mark Twain would have been as well.”
“Why Mark Twain?” asked Florentyna puzzled.
“Because it was he who said: ‘Suppose you were an idiot and suppose you were a member of Congress. But I repeat myself.’”
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
William and Annabel joined their father and mother for Christmas at the Kane family house on Cape Cod. Florentyna enjoyed having the children around her for the festivities and quickly they recharged all her human batteries.
William, nearly fifteen, was already talking about going to Harvard and spent every afternoon poring over math books that even Richard didn’t understand. Annabel spent most of her holiday on the phone talking long distance about boys to different school friends until Richard finally had to explain to her how the Bell Telephone Company made its money. Florentyna read James Michener’s Centennial and under pressure from her daughter listened to Roberta Flack singing “Killing Me Softly with His Song” loudly, again and again. Richard got so sick of the record he begged Annabel to turn the damn thing over. She did, and for the first time Richard listened to a popular record he knew he would enjoy for the rest of his life. Annabel was puzzled when she saw her mother smile at the lyrics her father seemed entranced by:
Jesse, come home, there’s a hole in the bed Where we slept.
Now it’s growing cold.
Hey, Jesse…All the blues…
When the Christmas vacation came to an end, Florentyna flew back to New York with Richard. It took her a week of going over reports on the Baron Group and being briefed by the heads of each department before she felt she had been brought up to date.
During the year the Group had completed hotels in Brisbane and Johannesburg and had begun refurbishing old Barons in Nashville and Cleveland. In Florentyna’s Richard had slowed the forward planning program down a little but had still managed to increase the profits to a record $31 million for the year. Florentyna was in no position to complain as Lester’s was on target to show a massive increase in the profit column that year.
Florentyna’s only anxiety was that Richard, for the first time in his life, was beginning to look his age: lines were appearing on his forehead and around his eyes which could have resulted only from continual and considerable stress. Even his cello practice seemed less frequent. When she taxed him with working uncivilized hours, he chided her that it was a hard road to toil when one wanted to be First Gentleman.
Congresswoman Kane flew into Washington in early January. She had sent Janet Brown on to the capital in December to head up her congressional staff, and when Florentyna joined her, everything seemed to be organized, down to the George Novak Suite at the Washington Baron. Janet had made herself indispensable during the last months and Florentyna was well prepared when the first session of the 94th Congress was ready to open. Janet had allocated the $227,-270 a year each House member was permitted for the staffing of an office. She chose carefully from the many applicants, keeping the emphasis on competence whatever a person’s age. She had appointed a personal secretary for Florentyna named Louise Drummond, a legislative assistant, a press secretary, four legislative correspondents to research issues as well as to handle mail, two secretaries and a receptionist. In addition, Florentyna had left three staff workers in her district office under a capable Polish field representative.
Florentyna had been assigned rooms on the seventh floor of the Longworth Building, the oldest and middle of the three House buildings. Janet told her that her office had been occupied in the past by Lyndon Johnson, John Lindsay and Pete McCloskey. “‘Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil,’” she commented. Florentyna’s office suite was only two hundred yards from the Capitol and she could always go directly to the chamber on the little subway if the weather was inclement or if she wished to avoid the ubiquitous herded groups of Washington sightseers.
Florentyna’s personal office was a modest-sized room already cluttered with massive brown congressional furniture, a wooden desk, a large brown leather sofa, several dark, uncomfortable chairs and two glass-fronted cabinets. From the way the office had been left, it was easy to believe that the previous occupant had been male.
Florentyna quickly filled the bookcases with her copies of the U.S. Code, the Rules of the House, the Hurd Annotated Illinois Revised Statutes and Carl Sandburg’s three-volume biography of Lincoln, one of her favorite works despite his party. She then hung some water colors of her own choice on the drab cream walls in an effort to cover the nail holes left by the previous tenant. On her desk she placed a family photograph taken outside her first store in San Francisco and when she discovered that eac
h member of Congress was entitled to plants from the Botanic Gardens, she instructed Janet to claim their maximum allotment as well as arranging for fresh flowers on her desk every Monday.
Florentyna disliked the way most of her colleagues filled their reception areas with self-laudatory memorabilia. She asked Janet to decorate the front office in a way that was both welcoming and dignified; under no circumstance were there to be any portraits of her on view. She reluctantly agreed to place the flag of Illinois and the United States flag behind her desk.
On the afternoon before Congress convened, Florentyna held a reception for her family and campaign workers. Richard and Kate flew down with the children and Edward accompanied Florentyna’s mother and Father O’Reilly from Chicago. Florentyna had sent out nearly one hundred invitations to friends and supporters all over the country and to her surprise more than seventy people turned up.
During the celebration she took Edward aside and invited him to join the board of the Baron Group; full of champagne, he accepted and then forgot about the offer until he received a letter from Richard confirming the appointment and adding that it would be valuable for Florentyna to have two boardroom views to consider while she concentrated on her political career.
When Richard and Florentyna climbed into yet another Baron king-size bed the night of the reception, he told her once again how proud he was of her achievement.
“I couldn’t have done it without your support, Mr. Kane.”
“There was no suggestion that I supported you, Jessie, though I reluctantly admit to gaining considerable pleasure from your victory. Now I must catch up with the Group’s European forecasts before I switch off the light on my side of the bed.”
“I do wish you would slow down a bit, Richard.”
“I can’t, my darling. Neither of us can. That’s why we’re so good for each other.”
“Am I good for you?” asked Florentyna.
“In a word, no. If I could have it all back, I would have married Maisie and saved the money on several pairs of gloves.”
“Good God, I wonder what Maisie is up to nowadays.”
“Still in Bloomingdale’s. Having given up any hope of catching me, she married a traveling salesman, so I suppose I’m stuck with you. Now can I get down to reading this report?”
She took the report out of his hand and dropped it on the floor.
“No, darling.”
When the first session of the 94th Congress opened, Speaker Carl Albert, dressed somberly in a dark suit, took his place on the podium and banged his gavel as he gazed down into the semicircle of members seated in their green leather chairs. Florentyna turned in her seat and smiled up at Richard and her family, who had been allocated places in the gallery above. When she looked around the chamber at her colleagues, she couldn’t help thinking that they were the worst-dressed group of people she had ever seen in her life. Her bright-red wool suit, in the latest midi fashion, made her conspicuous by exception.
The Speaker asked the House chaplain, the Reverend Edward Latch, to pronounce the benediction. This was followed by an opening speech by the leaders of both parties and an address by the Speaker. Mr. Albert reminded all the congressmen that they should keep their speeches brief and to refrain from making too much noise in the chamber while others were on the podium. He then adjourned the session and everyone broke to attend some of the dozens of receptions given on the opening day.
“Is that all you have to do, Mummy?” asked Annabel.
Florentyna laughed. “No, darling, that’s just the opening session. The real work starts tomorrow.”
Even Florentyna was surprised the next morning. Her mail contained one hundred and sixty-one items, including out-of-date Chicago papers, six “Dear Colleague” letters, from congressmen she had yet to meet, fourteen invitations to trade association receptions, seven letters from special-interest groups, several invitations to address meetings—some out of Chicago and Washington—three dozen letters from constituents, two requests to be placed on her mailing list, fifteen résumés from hopeful job-seekers and a note from Carl Albert to say that she had been placed on the Appropriations and Small Business committees.
The mail looked manageable compared with the ceaseless telephone demands for everything from Florentyna’s official photograph to press interviews. The Washington reporters from the Chicago papers called regularly and Florentyna was also contacted by the local Washington press, who were always intrigued by new female additions to Congress, especially those who did not resemble a heavyweight boxer. Florentyna quickly learned the names she should know, including Maxine Cheshire and Betty Beale, David Broder and Joe Alsop. Before the end of March she had been the subject of a front-page “Style” interview in the Post and had appeared in Washingtonian Magazine’s “New Stars on the Hill.” She turned down continual invitations to appear on “Panorama” and began to question where the proper balance lay between gaining visibility, which would be of use in influencing issues, and losing all her free time to the media.
During those first weeks, Florentyna seemed to do nothing except run very fast trying to remain on the same spot. She considered herself fortunate to be the Illinois delegation’s choice for a vacancy on the powerful Appropriations Committee, the first freshman in years to be so honored, but discovered nothing had been left to chance when she opened a scrawled note from Mayor Daley which simply read, “You owe me one.”
Florentyna found her new world fascinating, but it felt rather like being back at school as she searched the corridors for committee rooms, sprinted to the subway to the Capitol to record her vote, met with lobbyists, studied briefing books and signed dozens of letters. The idea of getting a signature machine grew increasingly appealing.
An elderly Democratic colleague from Chicago advised her on the wisdom of sending out a constituent newsletter to her 180,000 households every two months. “Remember, my dear,” he added, “it may appear as though you are doing nothing more than papering the Ninth District, but there are only three ways of assuring your re-election: the frank, the frank and the frank.”
He also advised Florentyna to assign two of her district staffers to clip every article from the local newspapers that referred to a constituent. Voters began receiving congratulations on their weddings, births, community achievements—and even basketball victories now that eighteen-year-olds had the vote. Florentyna always added a personal word or two in Polish where appropriate, thankful that her mother had not always obeyed her father’s every word.
With the help of Janet, who was always in the office before her and still there when she left, Florentyna slowly got on top of the paper work, and by the July 4 recess she was almost in control. She had not yet spoken on the floor and had said very little in any committee hearings. Sandra Read, a House colleague from New York, had advised her to spend the first six months listening, the second six months thinking and the third six months speaking occasionally.
“What about the fourth six months?” asked Florentyna.
“You’ll be campaigning for re-election,” came the reply.
On weekends she would regale Richard with stories of the bureaucratic waste of the taxpayers’ money and the lunatic way America’s democratic system was conducted.
“I thought you had been elected to change all that,” he said, looking down at his wife, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, clutching her knees.
“It will take twenty years to change anything. Are you aware that committees make decisions involving millions of dollars but half the members haven’t the slightest idea what they’re voting on and the other half don’t even attend but vote by proxy.”
“Then you will have to become chairman of a committee, and see to it that your members do their homework and attend hearings.”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?” asked Richard, finally folding his morning newspaper.
“You can only become the chairman of a committee by seniori
ty, so it’s irrelevant when you reach the peak of your mental prowess. If there is someone who has been on the committee longer than you, he automatically gets the job. At this moment, of twenty-two standing committees, there are three committee chairmen in their seventies, thirteen in their sixties, which leaves only six under sixty. I’ve worked out that I will become chairman of the Appropriations Committee on my sixty-eighth birthday, having served twenty-eight years in the House. That is if I win the thirteen elections in between, because if you lose one, you start over. It’s taken me only a few weeks to work out why so many southern states elect freshmen to Congress who are under thirty. If we ran the Baron Group the way Congress is run, we’d have been bankrupt long ago.”
Florentyna was slowly coming to accept the fact that it would take years to reach the top of the political tree, and the truth was that the climb consisted of a long, hard grind, known as “serving your time.” “Go along and get along,” was the way her committee chairman put it. She decided that if it was going to be any different for her, she would have to turn the disadvantage of being a freshman into the advantage of being a woman.
It happened in a way she could never have planned. She did not speak on the House floor for the first six months, although she had sat in her seat for hours watching how the debates were conducted and learning from those who used their limited speaking time with skill. When a distinguished Republican, Robert C. L. Buchanan, announced he would be proposing an anti-abortion amendment to the Defense Appropriations bill, Florentyna felt the time had come to deliver her maiden speech.
The Prodigal Daughter Page 30
