The Presidency

By Hugh Sidey

Twenty-six men -- no women -- gathered in the White House Cabinet Room last week under the austere eyes of George Washington. All were wary. They were budget summiteers from Congress and the Administration, charged with making Uncle Sam solvent. They had to put extra chairs around the mahogany table, which is designed for a load of 15 or so. Several of the White House's 93 servants hustled coffee and cookies. Something unreal here. Twenty-six men trying to figure out how to scrimp, save, cut, deny and maybe tax -- though the word was never spoken directly in an hour and 40 minutes. There were no specifics, just much hot air about good intentions. Thomas Jefferson looked skeptical from the west wall.

George Bush told why he had summoned them. The economy was really good, he said, but not as good as it should be. His budget man, Richard Darman, supplied the figures: the $100 billion estimated deficit next year could really be $200 billion. Attendees shifted their polished shoes. The President looked unusually stern, not like a man who just two hours earlier had released his net-worth statement showing his assets totaling $2,352,500. But Bush was only one of about half a dozen millionaires who had come that day to rescue the republic from debt.

Interesting group to be talking about economic hardship. Fifteen were lawyers, one an engineer, two academics, a preacher, a couple of bankers, an economist, two career pols and a former businessman who is the President. He is one of the few in that fraternity who actually met a payroll, and that was 24 years ago. Mississippi's Jamie Whitten, 80, chairman of the House Appropriations Committee, has been in Congress since 1941. The average conferee has been cashing those beige federal paychecks like clockwork for better than 20 years: no worries about Chapter 11 bankruptcies, layoffs, plant closings, Social Security taxes, insurance costs.

Howard Baker, the former Senator and a lawyer himself, often deplored the professionalization of Congress, which has insulated it from the marketplace. If legislators were steel fabricators or computer salesmen and only part-time politicians, they would be far more careful with the public's money. A member of Congress may not get wealthy on a salary of $96,600 (House) or $98,400 (Senate), but it's enough to relieve anxiety. Pensions are fat and perks numerous. Then there are the unspent campaign kitties: Dan Rostenkowski, chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee, the man who shapes the tax laws, has a political slush fund of $1 million, which he can legally keep if he retires. Risky times are dim memories for these men.

They mugged for the cameras after the opening meeting, most of them in dark tailored suits and some suspected of sporting golf-course tans. Big black limousines waited with motors purring. Five Lincolns, two Chryslers, an estimated $200,000 on the rubber, not including drivers -- all courtesy of the beleaguered budget. Massachusetts' Silvio Conte settled behind the wheel of his own flame red Pontiac GTO convertible, top down, and roared back up Pennsylvania Avenue. The logo on the back fender read THE JUDGE. Message there. These arguments over the people's money are destined to be long and bitter, but there is every evidence that no matter which side wins this case, the taxpayers will pay.