RUDIMENTS 150.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 150

Making Cars

In about 1994, I went to

Washington DC, to meet

with Senators and others,

for purposes of motorcycle

legislation and helmet law

hearings and testimony and

all that. It was to be a bunch

of crap, and I knew that, but,

with a few other people (in a

large van I rented) we left at

4:30am and gleefully rode with

the moon all the down to DC.

No huge trip, mind you; I make

it out to be something here for

effect. It was a cool way of scraping

the dust of home off our feet.

Once we arrived there, other

people were waiting for us, etc.

There's something down there, for

lobbying purposes, etc, called the

MRF (Motorcycle Riders Foundation),

and they keep (or kept anyway) on

office on a very low-number street, 3rd

street, to Massachusetts Ave; I can't

remember. Back then, there was a

guy running the MRF, named Wayne 

Curtin, and he'd just recently become 

a little notorious because of some

things he'd said in Congressional 

testimony about helmets. Some

gory stuff, considered insensitive,

and which hadn't gone over too

well. You know how all that goes,

I guess; Curtin gets half a big head

over himself from it, (he'd even

been written up with a little blurb

in Time Magazine), and starts acting

more like a bigshot than he should 

have. People like that wear me down 

immediately; they always want to dine,

meet for breakfast, talk big, look

impressive, and eventually they just 

end up undermining their cause. That

was somewhat the case here too. But he

had a nice suite of offices, and a nice

office staff   -   the last kind of people

on staff that you'd ever think about in

the context (then) of motorcycles, but

that's how it went. Stepping outside,

(we had three or four hours to kill),

the street was really nice, like almost

Lincolnesque, and everything was but

a near walk away  -  the Federal

Reserve Building, Union Station,

and the Capitol Building too. It was

to the Capitol Building that we walked,

when the time came, to get started. 

Along the way, I kept having problems,

in my head, as if I continually was entering

another time and place  - Civil War era

buildings, the lamplights, the little fronts.

Everything right along there, then, was

still almost all 1880 legislative. Small

and simple, Federal style architecture,

with Georgian touches. I had a real

difficult time stating within the time and

place ethos and references of those with

with whom I was walking. It became

a real problem, and I was leaving the

space. Instead, I found myself entering

hospital encampments, pitched and

rickety barracks filled with men

screaming out in pain, pails of bloods,

doctors with saws and limbs, a small

pile, in fact, of lower legs, and arms.

Pale light, flickering flames, tired

nurses in badly-stained long white

dresses. There were occasional corpses,

seen, clopping horses, slowly pacing

by, someone yelling out, nightfall

descending. Man, it was the true

experience of a lifetime, and here I was 

130 years later somehow, supposing 

to be testifying and visiting with Senators 

and Congressmen. To make it all worse,

the people I was with were modern-day

numbskulls, going all on about their

concerns and stuff. I was having a freaking

out-of-body experience of my own, and 

they're yapping about steak-lunches at

Hogarty's, and the last movie they saw.

-

Everywhere I turned, besides the

lamplights and old doorways and such, 

there were weird little mementos of war,

and various quaint historical markers.

Names of the sort I'd read about. It

was momentous. (If I could have escaped

away, I would have and not come back).

We made it to the Capitol Building, and

had to wait outside a bit for some staff-aides

for Senator Bradley (NJ, Bill Bradley, the

basketball superstar guy who was then

NJ Senator). But as it worked out, we

had to start instead with the lower guys,

honestly, now I forget, Representative 

This and Representative That. Frank

Pallone, and other guys. They each had

really nice, traditional Capitol Building

offices - it was really impressive. Each

of the offices have these lights in them,

visible at the desk, and the large room.

They light up and click off  -  whenever 

there's a vote happening, like HR549L

(the bill number), 30 minutes to voting

time, and then  another set of lights 

come on, and it says 20 minutes; etc.

So the Representative or Senator, visting

with constituents, watches and knows 

when to leave, interrupts conversation,

throws you to a staff aide, and all. We

were fortunate with one of those guys,

Representative Bob Franks, a NJ guy.

He let us go with him  -  there's a House

subway, and these little underground 

cars you ride in, to get to the House

floor, or the Senate floor, and there's 

a visitors galley and a spectator galley.

The votes are oral, after reading out, AND

there's a tally board that lights up, all

of that after no one else wishes to speak

or testify, etc. Very formal rules and

procedure, and each bill has a long trail

of hearings first, readouts, testimonies,

speeches, etc. Nothing is quick, or easy.

Lobbyists and others who've pitched

this or that, they're also in the gallery,

sometimes cheering for their bill, or

applauding a result. It's kind of crazy.

-

I pretty much just sat there mesmerized.

Everyone else was hungry, wanted to get

to that 'lunch place', etc., or thirsty, wanting

a beer, blah, blah. Fools and interlopers.

Sitting in the Senate chamber, looking

around (it was mostly empty, visitors and

some tourists milling), all I could visualize,

and again it was freaky, was how some 

Senator, in the latte 1850's, Schuyler or

somebody, got beat to death or near to

death, by the cane or walking stick of

another Senator  -  who'd attacked him,

right there, on the Senate floor, over

some speech or something on the Slavery

issue. Man, it was a different world then, 

and emotions ran high and men were 

brutes. And, in that chamber, another

weird thing was how these Senators,

mostly for the folks back home, and

for re-election purposes, they come in

and, on camera, but on them only, they

give these big, fancy speeches to an 

empty chamber, on whatever the issue 

is  -  to the empty house, but it is the

Senate chambers, so the constituents 

back home get to see Senator Scruncho's

speech on the Senate floor, for their

interest no less! All the while thinking

the's speaking to a packed house.

What a guy! He gets my vote!

-

When we finally got to Bill Bradley's

office (he'd never really wished to see

us, a lame group of Bikers meaning 

very little to him as 'votes,' after all)

he wasn't there; so they claimed. Blaming

a mix-up, the office people said 'Sorry,'

etc. We knew he was in there somewhere, 

so, (sneaky) in the corridor we went in

another direction, around to where his

offices 'rear' doors were. Yep, and we

caught him, 'sneaking out' on us as it 

were. He laughed it off, was unabashed, 

and gave us ten minutes, in a stairwell.

I will say this for him, he stood his

ground, didn't promise us anything,

said he wasn't exactly in favor of our

bill, gave us reasons for his opinion,

let us talk, and then said, 'Well, gotta'

go,' and he took our reference papers,

etc., and promised he'd study them

and carefully consider his vote. 

Nothing ever came of it, and that's 

the way things go. At least he didn't

beat us with a cane.