Poage of Agriculture.
Of course, the seniority system did not disappear entirely. 5 In 1986, North Carolina’s Jesse Helms won a seniority fight in the Senate. But the system in the House was dramatically altered by the 1974 upheavals. After that, no other power baron could dare to act as dictatorially as in the past. The spirit of ’74 flared again in 1985: Les Aspin, a Wisconsin Democrat, led a coalition of mostly younger members to overthrow Mel Price, the Armed Services Committee chairman. Then Aspin leaped over seven senior committee members to take the chairmanship himself. Aspin’s own power was challenged two years later. Although he managed to hang on, this challenge and counter challenge reminded all committee chairmen they could not afford to ignore rank-and-file members.
Even more significant for the long run, the House Democrats in 1974 had adopted “the subcommittee bill of rights” which decentralized power in the House, radically changing the way the power game would be played from then until now. In a stroke, it took power that had largely rested with the barons, the chairmen of the twenty-two House standing committees, and parceled out a healthy share of that power to 172 subcommittees. The number of subcommittees suddenly mushroomed in 1975, later to recede. But the more important change was the way things worked. In the old game, the power barons kept choice subcommittees for themselves and parceled out a few subcommittee chairs to allies, usually by seniority. Now, suddenly, junior Democrats, backbenchers, could seek reelection as subcommittee chairmen and then, as chairmen, they could hector the administration, bargain with high officials, push their pet ideas, or simply grab publicity. They could hire staff and run hearings. They had turf to protect and small subgovernments to manage. Many of them were aggressive and freewheeling, no longer under the thumb of full committee chairmen.
Even reformers such as Morris Udall, the veteran congressman from Arizona, sometimes groaned at what they had done. There were so many new subcommittee chairmen that Udall once joked to me that when he passed some junior Democrat whose name he’d forgotten, he would simply say, “Good morning, Mr. Chairman,” knowing that roughly half the time, he’d be right, because just about half of the House Democrats were chairs of committees or subcommittees. Power had sprawled that widely.
Less dramatically, but just as surely, the dispersal of power hit theSenate, too. “We have proliferated the number of committees and subcommittees, the number of staff, the number of floor amendments, the number of cloture votes, the number of roll call votes, the number of fiscal processes,” asserted Indiana Republican Senator Dan Quayle, summing up a Senate study in late 1984. Actually, the subcommittee surge had ebbed by then, and the numbers had declined from peak levels in the mid-seventies. But still Quayle, like many others, was dismayed. “We have trivialized the matters with which we are concerned,” Quayle charged. “We use our processes more and more to emphasize small issues rather than large ones, and that is turning the Senate away from its historic function as the focus of national debate.” 6
It was more a matter of changing political style than mere numbers. Individual senators had become more aggressive about pursuing their own agendas, disrupting their own leaders. In late 1985, Senator Tom Eagleton, a three-term Democrat from Missouri, protested in exasperation that the Senate was suffering from “unbridled chaos.” He objected strenuously to independent-minded members launching so many filibusters—more in the last seventeen years than in the previous 170—and frequently blocking votes on legislation with endless amendments. 7 Quayle objected that one defense-funding bill was subjected to 103 amendments, fewer than ten of which he found “substantive.” In his folksy way, Senator David Pryor of
Of course, the seniority system did not disappear entirely. 5 In 1986, North Carolina’s Jesse Helms won a seniority fight in the Senate. But the system in the House was dramatically altered by the 1974 upheavals. After that, no other power baron could dare to act as dictatorially as in the past. The spirit of ’74 flared again in 1985: Les Aspin, a Wisconsin Democrat, led a coalition of mostly younger members to overthrow Mel Price, the Armed Services Committee chairman. Then Aspin leaped over seven senior committee members to take the chairmanship himself. Aspin’s own power was challenged two years later. Although he managed to hang on, this challenge and counter challenge reminded all committee chairmen they could not afford to ignore rank-and-file members.
Even more significant for the long run, the House Democrats in 1974 had adopted “the subcommittee bill of rights” which decentralized power in the House, radically changing the way the power game would be played from then until now. In a stroke, it took power that had largely rested with the barons, the chairmen of the twenty-two House standing committees, and parceled out a healthy share of that power to 172 subcommittees. The number of subcommittees suddenly mushroomed in 1975, later to recede. But the more important change was the way things worked. In the old game, the power barons kept choice subcommittees for themselves and parceled out a few subcommittee chairs to allies, usually by seniority. Now, suddenly, junior Democrats, backbenchers, could seek reelection as subcommittee chairmen and then, as chairmen, they could hector the administration, bargain with high officials, push their pet ideas, or simply grab publicity. They could hire staff and run hearings. They had turf to protect and small subgovernments to manage. Many of them were aggressive and freewheeling, no longer under the thumb of full committee chairmen.
Even reformers such as Morris Udall, the veteran congressman from Arizona, sometimes groaned at what they had done. There were so many new subcommittee chairmen that Udall once joked to me that when he passed some junior Democrat whose name he’d forgotten, he would simply say, “Good morning, Mr. Chairman,” knowing that roughly half the time, he’d be right, because just about half of the House Democrats were chairs of committees or subcommittees. Power had sprawled that widely.
Less dramatically, but just as surely, the dispersal of power hit theSenate, too. “We have proliferated the number of committees and subcommittees, the number of staff, the number of floor amendments, the number of cloture votes, the number of roll call votes, the number of fiscal processes,” asserted Indiana Republican Senator Dan Quayle, summing up a Senate study in late 1984. Actually, the subcommittee surge had ebbed by then, and the numbers had declined from peak levels in the mid-seventies. But still Quayle, like many others, was dismayed. “We have trivialized the matters with which we are concerned,” Quayle charged. “We use our processes more and more to emphasize small issues rather than large ones, and that is turning the Senate away from its historic function as the focus of national debate.” 6
It was more a matter of changing political style than mere numbers. Individual senators had become more aggressive about pursuing their own agendas, disrupting their own leaders. In late 1985, Senator Tom Eagleton, a three-term Democrat from Missouri, protested in exasperation that the Senate was suffering from “unbridled chaos.” He objected strenuously to independent-minded members launching so many filibusters—more in the last seventeen years than in the previous 170—and frequently blocking votes on legislation with endless amendments. 7 Quayle objected that one defense-funding bill was subjected to 103 amendments, fewer than ten of which he found “substantive.” In his folksy way, Senator David Pryor of
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