Solemnity of a Rule-Bound Senate Deepens

The Senate chamber was swathed in extra layers of security. Slowly at first and then in a rush, 100 senators slipped into the jury box and settled in to hear the case for banishing the president of the United States. All involved--the lawmakers, their staffs, even spectators in the gallery--were on their best behavior as they watched history in the making.

The solemnity of impeachment finally hit home Thursday as senators for the first time in their own hallowed hall listened to the arguments against President Clinton. They did so with a sober, dignified demeanor that had consistently eluded the brawling, raucous House.

“I take this with great gravity,” said Sen. John McCain (R-Ariz.), who aspires to the White House himself. “I never thought I would encounter something like this.”

To be sure, there were many reminders of human frailty--inside the chamber and out--as the proceedings unfolded. Chief Justice William H. Rehnquist, who presides over the impeachment trial, had to stand up and take breaks periodically to relieve his bad back. At least two senators appeared to nod off as the dry legal presentations stretched into the late afternoon. Outside the Capitol, a woman from Marina del Rey wearing California’s idea of a winter coat passed out from hypothermia as she waited in line in a freezing rain to get a spectator’s seat.

And not everyone was impressed by the momentous case being presented by House Republicans. “They detailed the same things we have been reading about in the papers,” said Nikki Heidepriem, a Maryland woman who listened from the public gallery. “If people are looking for a Perry Mason moment, they won’t find it here.”

But as an institutional and political matter, the scene in the Senate chamber was a remarkable display. All 100 senators were in attendance for much of the afternoon, sitting at their desks in silence--an extraordinary restraint for a notoriously loquacious group.

The result: After months of trying to duck the issue, weeks of procedural shenanigans and days of logistical preparation, senators forced themselves to focus on the details of the charges that Clinton committed perjury and obstruction of justice in connection with his relationship with Monica S. Lewinsky.

In the hours before the trial began, a quickening sense of anticipation suffused the Capitol. The Senate chamber was aswarm with staffers, workmen and technicians making preparations for the extraordinary event. Special curved desks had been installed in the well of the Senate to accommodate the White House lawyers and the 13-member House prosecution team. The black laminated-top tables were in keeping with the decor of the chamber, but the tradition-bound Senate still had to approve a formal resolution authorizing the renovation.

Televisions were brought in to allow House prosecutors to make video presentations--the first time in history TV monitors have been allowed in the chamber.

Responding to complaints that the high-angle cameras that typically broadcast Senate proceedings show lawmakers at an unflattering angle (providing a good view of many a bald spot) a new camera was placed smack in the middle of the chamber. But that was too much for Sen. Robert C. Byrd (D-W.Va.), traditionalist par excellence, who complained that blocked closing the hall’s back door. Just hours before the trial began, the new camera disappeared.

Outside, tourists lined up for a turn in one of the 50 gallery seats set aside for the public--braving 30-degree, icy weather. It proved treacherous for Anne Martorano, a 26-year-old lawyer from Marina del Rey who collapsed waiting to get in.

“I’m such a wimp, I know,” she said shyly, heading with her father to the Senate cafeteria for some hot soup.

Inside the Capitol, access to the hallways around the Senate--usually free-flowing conduits for reporters, tourists and staff--was severely restricted. Outside every door to the spectators’ gallery, Capitol police deposited duffel bags filled with gas masks to use in case of a chemical attack.

Before the trial, Republicans and Democrats met separately to go over last-minute details--including a full page of “decorum guidelines” to control behavior in the chamber for this somber occasion. Senators were reminded to turn off their cell phones and beepers.

The proceedings began just a few minutes past the appointed hour of 10 a.m. PST. Senate Sergeant at Arms James Ziglar opened with a stern warning to senators and spectators: “Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye, all persons are commanded to keep silent, on pain of imprisonment, while the Senate of the United States is sitting for the trial of the articles of impeachment exhibited by the House of Representatives against William Jefferson Clinton, president of the United States.”

Rehnquist warned senators that his bad back would require him to stand and stretch on occasion, but did not want them to think they had to stand every time he did. “I have no intention that the proceedings should be in any way interrupted when I do so,” he said.

Then House Judiciary Chairman Henry J. Hyde (R-Ill.), lead prosecutor of the impeachment case, rose to the lectern in the middle of the well and held the undivided attention of all 100 senators--a privilege rarely enjoyed by senators themselves because the chamber is typically near empty during routine legislative debate.

Hyde began with an elaborate show of deference to the Senate, a supremely proud institution that took great umbrage at earlier efforts by the House managers to dictate the parameters of the Senate trial.

“We want you to know how much we respect you and this institution, and how grateful we are for your guidance and your cooperation,” Hyde said.

Mindful that senators were squeamish about the sexual aspects of the case, Hyde aimed high with his rhetoric, trying to make clear that an enduring principle--the sanctity of sworn oaths--was at stake in all those ugly details.

“Members of the Senate, what you do over the next few weeks will forever affect the meaning of those two words, ‘I do,’ ” Hyde said. “You are now stewards of the oath.”

He then proceeded to a lengthy introduction of his fellow prosecutors, describing their qualifications in great detail--as if senators needed to be persuaded of House members’ professional standing.

That part did not sit well with Heidepriem, the Maryland woman who watched from the gallery.

“They began by telling us all about themselves,” she said. “It’s not about them.”

As Hyde was followed by colleagues who laid out details of the case, the senators were remarkably attentive, and most remained in their seats.

Some members paged through the thick loose-leaf binders of trial information they had received from the House prosecutors. Some scribbled notes. Others--especially old-timers like Byrd--sat with clean desks, doing nothing but listening.

But there were the inevitable fidgets. Sen. Patrick J. Leahy (D-Vt.) was the first to get up and leave, less than an hour into the trial. Many tried to conduct other business discreetly on their laps, behind the desk top. Some seemed to doze, including freshman Sen. Blanche Lambert Lincoln (D-Ark.), who is the mother of 2 1/2-year-old twins, and Ted Stevens (R-Alaska), a 30-year Senate veteran who was suffering from a cold and on medication.

“It’s tougher than hell to stay awake,” Stevens said during one of the two breaks during the prosecutors’ presentation.

Stevens speculated that most of his colleagues probably did not get much out of the final hours of the long proceeding: “I told the chief justice what my grandmother used to say--the head can absorb only what the seat can endure.”

Times staff writers Geraldine Baum, Edwin Chen, Marc Lacey and Art Pine contributed to this story.