Governing under the influence; Washington alcoholics: their aides protect them, the media shields them

Washington Monthly, Jan, 1988 by Steven Waldman

It's always difficult to confront an alcoholic about his or her drinking. Add to that the personality traits of many Capitol Hill aides--"there are a lot of sycophants," former Rep. Bauman notes--and the chances of such confrontations are even less likely.

The same principle operates in other branches of the government. In the executive branch, senior civil servants are all too happy to step in and assume the responsibilities of political appointees with drinking problems. The intervention increases the civil servants' power and keeps the appointee from looking bad with the boss. But it also decreases the likelihood that the superior will confront his alcohol abuse. "I have seen some folks at the assistant secretary level in major departments who were clearly incompetent or impaired," says Don Phillips, president of Cope, Inc., a private firm that runs treatment programs for federal employees. "Then a significant person under him assumed a majority of the responsibilities."

Colleagues and close friends are no likelier to confront a legislator. "Other politicos in the state who have a vested interest in the senator, good friends for years who still have an interest, staff, press, they all [will be reluctant to say anything]," says a former administrative assistant to a senator. Even family members may be hesitant for fear that a confrontation might go public and lose the legislator the seat. In at least one case in 1971, legislators not only tolerated a colleague's drunkenness but counted on it. Richard Bolling recalls that part of the strategy for expanding the House Rules Committee assumed a particular congressman would stay so drunk he wouldn't show up for a key vote. "I'm not proud of it, but it happened," he says.

Special privileges have held true even in the Senate dining room, where serving alcohol has been forbidden for many years. Thirsty senators have been able to get around the rules with a system of codes, says Robert Parker. He says, for example, one senator would order tomato juice, which to Parker meant Bloody Mays. Former Senate doorkeeper Hurst, wrote in his book, The Sweetest Little Club in the World that Senator Carl Hayden would enter the Senate dining room in the morning "after a toot the night before" and ask for buttermilk. "This was the signal for a certain waiter to go get something from the private stock--a double shot of bourbon, which was served to the senator in an iced-tea glass of buttermilk."

This band of protection often enables public officials to keep drinking even when most people would have been caught. In part, that's because most problem drinkers have bosses. And an increasing number of companies have employee assistance programs in which supervisors can help, often force, employees to get treatment early. Congress has required all federal agencies to set up these programs too. But Congress exempted itself.

Even the police contribute to the problem, often showing reluctance to arrest congressmen for drunk driving or other crimes. After Carl Albert was stopped after his suspicious car accident, when Congress was still setting the salaries for D.C. police, he told officers on the scene, "You can't arrest me. I got you your raise." Often they either don't want to rock the boat or believe that these incidents fall under the immunity provision of the Constitution, which protects a congressman from being arrested during the performance of duties like driving home from the Capitol.