I spent the rest of the week learning how bills got introduced and passed in the real world, and not how they teach you during Orientation. It was too late to make a name for myself with the Gore Bill. Al had introduced it to the Senate on January 24 as S.272, and George Brown had introduced the related H.656 to the House four days later. George Brown was the head of the House Science, Space, and Technology Committee, thus the bill was pretty much a done deal. The best I could manage was being a co-sponsor, which I would just have to be happy with.
I talked to Sherwood ‘Sherry’ Boehlert over lunch that week about the bill. That was pretty interesting, since he had been my Congressman back when I had lived in New York on my first trip round. He was a decidedly moderate Republican, much like myself, and by the Nineties was constantly being hammered by the religious right about being pro-choice. He finally gave it up in 2006, deciding not to put up with the increasingly hard right tone of the party and got out while the getting was good. He was a fellow member of the SST Committee and was already listed as a co-sponsor. I would have a chance to get on as a cosponsor in April.
He also warned me that this was considered a ‘Democratic’ bill. He was the only Republican sponsor, and warned me that co-sponsoring it would bring me to the attention of the party leadership, and not in a positive fashion! He could get away with it because he had a reputation as a moderate, and had been in Congress for eight years already; I was a newbie with no reputation. I don’t think he gave a damn about what Gingrich thought, and was only four years junior to him anyway. Gingrich was only the Minority Whip, but he was very, very ambitious and Boehlert figured he was trying to maneuver into the Minority Leader’s seat, and hopefully become Speaker of the House. That was one of the subtexts of everything involving the legislation, this or any other. Newt was pushing to reverse the Democratic domination of the House, and if he managed it, he would oust Michel. I needed to watch my ass. My counter was three simple letters — P — H — D! I could flaunt my interest in computers and my years of experience in the business, and otherwise pass myself off as simply naïve in the workings of Congress. I told him to count me in.
I had a lot of respect for Boehlert. If nothing else, when Parker had made Eagle Scout, our Congressman, Sherry Boehlert, had issued a very impressive Congressional Proclamation for the occasion. I would have to make sure that Babs and Cheryl knew about that sort of stuff. It costs nothing, wins votes, and impresses the hell out of people.
Marty called me the middle of the week to confirm his coming to the house on Friday, and again Friday morning. I hadn’t told him our mode of travel yet, deciding to keep that a surprise. He showed up at my office with a two-suiter on a strap around four in the afternoon. “We’ll take my car. It’ll be easier that way,” I told him.
“Fine by me. Did you have to remind Marilyn who I was?”
I laughed. “Yeah, she remembered the big guy who used to check out her tits!”
“Great! Some help you are!”
I laughed even more at that. I called for my driver and we headed down. I just needed to bring my briefcase. We threw everything into the back of the limo and climbed in the back. Marty commented, “You know, you really live a tough life.”
I smiled. “It’s a dirty job, but somebody has to do it.”
That earned a derisive snort from him. Then he noticed what direction we were heading in. “Hey, I thought you lived in Maryland. That’s out of the city, not into it.”
I smiled. “Trust me. I know a shortcut.”
He gave me a curious look, and looked at the signs along the highway. “Your shortcut goes through National Airport?!”
I grinned as we pulled off the approach road towards the charter base. When the car stopped and we climbed out I pointed towards a white helicopter without any logos or artwork on it. “There’s my shortcut,” I said.
“We’re flying to your house?” he asked, staring at me incredulously.
“Not quite, but close though. Come on, grab your bag.” I waited for Marty to retrieve his bag. The driver, one of my security people, would wait until the LongRanger lifted off before heading out.
Meanwhile, Tyrell Washington, a large black guy in a heavy jacket and slacks came out and waved at us. I waved back and the three of us converged on the helicopter. “Afternoon, Tyrell. All the parts put back together after the last crash?” I asked.
Marty’s eyes opened wide at that, which Tyrell noticed. “Yes, sir, pretty much. They found some extra pieces, though. We’ve got them in a box back at the hanger. We won’t need them until the next safety inspection, though,” he replied, deadpan.
“I sure hope you two are joking,” said Marty.
“Only one way to find out!” Tyrell opened the rear door on the right side and tossed in my briefcase and Marty’s bag. Marty was told to get in the right hand seat and buckle up. Tyrell handed him a pair of headphones. Then I went around to the front left, and got into the co-pilot’s seat, while Tyrell got into the right side pilot’s position. I have no idea why they have to do things differently than everybody else. Chopper pilots are a little different, is my explanation.
Once inside, Tyrell settled a pair of headphones on his head, and I did the same. Marty was somewhat bewildered, but when he saw me do this, he did the same, although he got them on backwards. The engine was already starting to wind up, so I yelled for him to turn them around, and demonstrated with mine. That got the mike in the proper spot, and I said, “Can you hear me?”
“You commute to work in a helicopter?!”
Tyrell laughed at that. I answered, “It’s a two hour drive otherwise. I can cut it in half, or less this way.”
The engine had spooled up loudly now, and Tyrell broke in on our chatter. “Quiet, please, while I talk to the tower.” I nodded and Tyrell flipped a switch and started chattering with the control tower. A few minutes later we lifted off and started flying.
The biggest problem with National is that it is right downtown, in a very congested area by flight standards. Washington is chock full of secure airspace that you’re not allowed to fly in (no buzzing the White House) and National is a relatively old and small airport without any room for expansion. For general aviation purposes College Park, just northeast of D.C. would be better, but probably twice as far from either the Capitol or the house on 30th Street and couldn’t handle the G-IV. Dulles, the newest major airport, is at least a half hour west of the city.
After a bit, we were out of the city and climbing up to about 5,000 feet, and Tyrell’s voice came up through the headphones. “Okay, that’s out of the way. Welcome to Buckman Air. We’ll try not to crash, or double your money back.”
“Anybody ever tell you that nobody likes funny pilots?” said Marty.
“Well, we don’t have the room for any stewardesses, and Mrs. Buckman probably wouldn’t approve of them anyway,” was the reply.
I twisted around in my seat some, so I could look over my shoulder at Marty. “Sure beats driving for two hours, doesn’t it?”
“You do this every day? This must cost a fortune!” he protested.
“Marty, I know you’re a lawyer now, and have lost your math skills along with your morals, but think back to the days we were at college together. Remember the difference between million and billion. Start doing the numbers. It’s scary at times.”
I saw Tyrell glance at me out of the corner of his eye, and then he gave me a wry shrug. You don’t get to be a chopper pilot by being stupid, and he could do the numbers too. I made more in interest each day than I could spend in a month.