With Seconds Left, Rogan Has His Say the Way He Wrote It

Rules are rules.

And they nearly left Rep. James E. Rogan (R-Glendale) speechless.

Shortly before Thursday’s session began, Republicans and Democrats met separately to review, among other things, a full page of “decorum guidelines” governing behavior in the Senate chamber.

The guidelines were developed by Sen. Susan Collins (R-Maine), among the most polite lawmakers. No newspapers, no beepers, no talking, no playing hooky, no whispering with aides.

Rogan, a House prosecutor, spent the day making last-minute revisions on the text of his remarks on a laptop computer that his staff says is older than dirt. But he had technical problems, forcing him to head into the historic moment empty-handed while his staff struggled to make a printout.

With 20 minutes until show time, Jeff Solsby, Rogan’s press secretary, hitched a ride to the Capitol, bolted up the Senate steps and got to the door of the chamber minutes before Rogan was to take the floor for the most defining moment of his congressional career.

“You need to fill out this card,” the sergeant of arms told Solsby sternly, asking him to complete a form before allowing him to pass the documents to someone on the Senate floor.

“But I’m Mr. Rogan’s press secretary and this is his speech and I have to give it to him,” Solsby pleaded.

“You need to fill out this card,” the sergeant of arms said sternly.

Solsby did, then caught the eye of a sympathetic comrade on the Senate floor who relayed the 100-page speech to his boss literally seconds before he went to the well.

Rogan has been taking every precaution to ensure that things went right for his “15 minutes,” including resurrecting what he calls the Brown Beast.

It is the brown thing on the floor of his office closet where he keeps his stash of See’s candies and jelly beans--a broken-down, duct-taped briefcase he used when he was going after gang members and shady funeral home directors as a prosecutor in Los Angeles. In fact, it was his good luck charm, retired from active service in 1996 when he came to Washington.

Fortunately for Rogan, there are no rules governing tattered accessories in the chamber.

*

There are anniversaries and there are anniversaries. And then there is the one-year mark of the scandal that has consumed Washington.

A year ago this weekend, the nation’s capital began rocking with rumors of the president’s mischief with a 24-year-old intern and over the next 12 months no one in Washington could talk or think about anything else.

But outside the capital, the affair recalls a fable often told by felonious financier Michael Milken:

What if a guy worth $10 million was stranded on a desert island for a year, Milken used to wonder. And what if in that time the stock market tanked but then came back in full force. In his absence, what would have happened?

Nothing.

That pretty much seems to sum up what the public thinks about the “process of impeachment” a year after the story broke.

On Jan. 20, 1998, the day before the first press reports of Clinton’s affair, “Titanic” was fast becoming the all-time top-grossing film while “Wag The Dog” a satire about a presidential sex scandal, was apparently too far-fetched to break records. “Cold Mountain,” a Civil War drama, was the best-selling novel in Southern California. The pope was on his way to Cuba for a historic visit. Five female college students from Maryland were raped while traveling through remote Guatemala. And a new hair-growing drug, Propecia, went on the market to the delight of the balding.

And Bill Clinton?

The week before his life imploded in scandal, Bill Clinton’s favorability rating was 67%.

This week, it’s 67%.

But what’s really different--besides the changes in popular hits and the fact that a lot of men are still bald, including Michael Jordan--is the economy, stupid.

On Jan. 20, 1998, the Dow Jones industrial average opened at 7772.48. Thursday, the Dow opened at 9349.56, and every one with a sign-on is trading stocks on the Internet. Indeed, we are a nation obsessed with prosperity--our own prosperity, that is.

*

If the Senate trial continues after sundown tonight and through Saturday, which is likely, Sen. Joseph I. Lieberman will face a dilemma.

The Democrat from Connecticut is the Senate’s only Orthodox Jew, who observes the rules of the Saturday Sabbath, which may or may not allow for serving as a juror in a Senate impeachment trial.

The Sabbath prohibitions--against working, turning on lights and driving in cars, among other things--all stem from the time of King Solomon and the work done during the construction of the First Temple. One could argue that spending a Saturday sitting on your duff listening to parsing of hyper-legalistic arguments sure sounds like it’s in the spirit of the Talmud.

But since King Solomon was never impeached, it’s unclear whether Lieberman has a problem.

However, he has experience with such dilemmas. On a Saturday in 1991, because American lives were at stake, he voted to send American troops to the Persian Gulf. And he has decided to attend the Senate trial this Sabbath.

“It’s obviously not going to be the kind of Sabbath I normally like to spend,” he told reporters this week. “But I think we can, you know, work it out, and we will. So I think in this case the continuing pursuit of justice takes precedence and, therefore, without any hesitation, I’ll be there.”

But what if a rabbi complains?

The senator could try to get permission to have one of his non-Jewish aides sit in for him in the Senate chamber. Is there such a thing as a Senate goy? (A Sabbath goy is a non-Jew who performs forbidden tasks on the Sabbath.)

If Lieberman feels sudden pangs of conscience, he could organize an afternoon prayer group, a minyan, which calls for a minimum of 10 Jews. In fact, there are 11 Jewish senators. But, of course, it wouldn’t be exactly kosher because two of the Jewish senators, Californians Barbara Boxer and Dianne Feinstein, are women. (Women are not permitted at a minyan.)

Apparently Lieberman’s staff has made arrangements for him to stay at a hotel near the Senate so he can walk to the trial. But if rain continues here, he would not be permitted to use an umbrella.

Ultimately, Lieberman’s quandary might be quintessentially Jewish--with more questions than answers and then without end.

*

Scene: At 8 a.m. at the Capitol Hill Hyatt, in a nook behind the cold buffet, Rep. Henry J. Hyde of Illinois, Clinton’s chief accuser in the Senate trial, was having a quiet breakfast with a bodyguard and a friend. As he prepared to leave, he came across three businessmen who greeted him warmly.

“I want you know I’m praying for the president,” one of them told him. “That’s all right, that’s all right,” Hyde said gently. “Pray for us all.”

Times staff writer Faye Fiore contributed to this story.