Timing was critical as a filibuster was already in progres on the Senate floor in an attempt to squash a vote for the union bill. It was up to us to convince the Senators to allow the filibuster to continue; by so doing they wouldn’t be on the Congressional Record  pro or con, thereby not antagonizing their union constituents by having to vote against it. Confusing? Definitely! Once we knew which way each Senator leaned we were to call Peabody’s office where the tally was being kept whether we were winning or losing.

   For the first time I learned that our government is not run as II had envisioned it to be! Senators had from twenty to seventy aides; the number determined by the size of their state population-wise, by the number of Committees they are a member of, and by his seniority and ranking among the Senate’s leaders. To my horror I founf that Senators don’t read the thousands of bills that will, in a single session, cross their desks unless they have a special interest in one. I could understand that it’s an impossiblee task for one person to digest that many. Instead , the aides read the legislation, suggest what position should be taken by their boss and, unless the Senator cares to get further involved – that is the position that he will automatically vote for or against when it reaches the floor.

   Who are these young men and women that actually controlled our country’s destiny? Generally they weren’t weathered politicians nor were they experienced in our economic workings, and they knew little of their state’s history or of their industries. They were recent graduates from elite Ivy League schools or Stanford, and totally lacking in business or social welfare experience.. Certainly they came well qualified in schoolbook theory -bright and clever I had no doubt.

   Breaking for lunch we boldly seated ourselves in the private U.S. Senate Restaurant  surrounded by Senators at adjoining tables. I recognized Scoop Jackson at the next table. Only then did it dawn on me that we were in the midst of power – indescribable intoxicating power permeated this dining room, it glazed the dome of the Capital just outside the windows, and it coated the Congressional office buildings, an aura that had an infectious influence on us – if only for this day. I could feel it! It wasn’t alludedto in any articlles I’d read but now I understand what made many elected officials believe that they are above all man-made authority, above the laws like mythological Greek gods. Nixon as an example; while a rare few asumed this mantle of power and reacted instead with a Lincoln humility. It was certainly a potent brew.

   By late afternoon Peabody’s office advised that we had garnered enough support to keep the filibuster going. Our job was done!

   Much has been debated that lobbyists are evil and should be eliminated – that they buy votes and destroy the democratic process.Yet, if we hadn’t gone to Washington as lobbyists Union influence would have prvailed with poorly conceived legislation. The scary part was that this was only one of thousands of laws passed on congressmen’s watch mostly unread, perused only by neophytes. If honest and sincere lobbyists did not exist – I emphasize the word “honest” - who else would alert Congress to all sides of a particular issue? Perhaps partially by their aides. I must comment that the media, and even politicians running for office refer to “special interests” as being a curse, a threat. Isn’t every bill considered by Congressional legislation dealing with some “special interest” of a group of citizens? Therefore every bill is for a special interest. What if Congress paid every registered lobbyist their sole salary? Would go a long way to keep them, the corporations  and citizen groups they represent honest. Too expensive you say? Nope. Congress would actually be spending less. Wasting less on ill-conceived bills. With that said, I know that little will be done to rectify this problem. Laws will continue to be spewed out with little concern of their consequences and we’ll call it the ‘American way”.

   I couldn’t help but think back at my conversation with Monsignor Sheen on the Meaning of God. I wondered if most of the people present in this immense Cathedral could explain the essence of their Catholicism. The pomp, pageantry and symbolism were certainly sufficient to satisfy their religious senses and the confessional would satisfy their straying from moral and ethical teachings. If Jesus is indeed the Messiah and as omnipresent as God, would he strike down the statues and curse the false idols carved in his name? But why restrict this artifice to Catholics? The hierarchy in the Protestant denominations, as well a the wealthier Jewish congregations, had substituted inanimate objects into forms of architecturally splendid churches and temples, crosses and scrolls, as train rides for the supplicants to take between their souls and God. The Quakers – there are others – do not even permit a Cross to distract the worshippers from their quest for God. Would such Spartan means be sufficient for the spiritual needs of the masses? Give us our duties, show us our idols, let us memorize our rituals, tell us what days to fast, guarantee us eternal life in heaven, but don’t force us to make our own personal contact with God because each person will have to search, not knowing where or how – and they will be damned looking, but hand them salvation on a silver platter and they will be satisfied.

   I was jolted from my musings by the tinkle of the bell signaling Christ’s Ascension to heaven and my bodily return to reality. I left the Cathedral disquieted.

There were few people on the sidewalks and fewer cars in the streets – probably home wrapping presents or trimming their trees. Here was a multi-million dollar spectacle put on just for me! Crossing Fifth I went down the Rockefeller Center alley lined with poinsettias and twinkling colored lights to the hundred-foot decorated Norweegian pine standing in all its glory behind the skating rink. The city was so quiet that I could hear the “crunch-crunch” of steel blades cutting the ice as a solitary pair of skaters danced figurer eights.

I turned quickly to retain the wonderful Technicolor image in my mind’s eye. The doors of St. Patrick’s Cathedral were wide open, the light poured down the white snow covered stairs nto the street. Above the sea of parishioners’ heads I could see the distant altar radiant with objects of silver and alabaster that rose out of sight above my vision.

Walking back up Fifth Avenue, my eyes straight ahead — I didn’t understand why would all these beautiful sights disturb me? Disturbed because I was alone and had no one to share my feelings or the sights that I had seen or was it my old riddle with new words? If God is really love and beauty interwoven in one fabric, and I have been walking tonight amidst many of its manifestations, then am I not also touched by God? But if all of this is crass commercialism, man-made beauty motivated solely by greed to attract consumers, then why is my soul stirred? Does the spirit of good will and selflessness permeate man’s mind the entire year, only for these few days, or not at all? Is this love — unmistakable at Christmas time, merely a facade because one’s peers expect it, and like Scrooge – be ostracized if one believed it was all Humbug; or did it serve some purpose of God to remind his believers that His hand can be touched? Plunged in a labyrinth of thought for which I had no answers, I boarded the next bus for home.