"PAGES IN LIFE"
by Browne Greene
Many years ago, at the age of just 16, I had the great honor of becoming a Capitol Page in the U.S. House of Representatives. It was a momentous time – 1953-1954. Even today, decades later and in the midst of a scandal, I look back at that time and count my experience as a Capitol Page as one of the defining times in my life.
For me, becoming a Capitol Page was not simply part of a privileged childhood. In fact, I came from a very humble background in Washington, where I grew up. In 1953, I was attending McKinley Vocational High School, and certainly did not have lofty ambitions for college or beyond. Then I was given a remarkable opportunity, I received an appointment to the Capitol Page program from a Republican Representative, Cecil Harden of Indiana, following the Republican sweep in the Eisenhower election of 1952, and little did I know how this remarkable experience would change my life and enrich me beyond imagination.
A Page’s life at that time, as I’m sure it is now, was demanding on many levels. We attended school from 6 a.m. until 10:30 a.m., and then attended to our duties during the long working days in Congress, often working through all night sessions until Congress would adjourn. As a result of such demands, self discipline became the byword and the camaraderie was unparalleled. It was a matter of honor to ensure both our school work and the important work we did for Congress got done promptly and well – failure simply was not an option. We were continually reminded of the long and hallowed tradition that Capitol Pages have held in our Nation’s history, the first page was appointed in 1829 by U.S. Senator Daniel Webster, and from that time, Pages have been witnesses to the greatest acts of legislative history in the U.S. Senate and House of Representatives.
I can recall a certain freshman Congressman named Tip O’Neil from Massachusetts, a man who was on a first name basis with every member of Congress and always had a friendly word or chuckle for the Pages. One of the regular attendees in our cloakroom was John F. Kennedy, who had just been elected to the Senate but would regularly come back and visit his many friends in the Democratic caucus. I witnessed many moments that now, upon reflection, I know were history in the making. I was present during the McCarthy Hearings, when U.S. Senator Joseph McCarthy was censured by the U.S. Senate. I was present when the first act of terrorism in congressional history took place, as Puerto Rican demonstrators fired weapons in the House of Representatives, wounding several members of Congress. When I graduated from Capitol Page School in June 1954, the commencement speaker was the recently installed Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court, Earl Warren, and our diplomas were handed to us by the Vice President of the United States, Richard M. Nixon and each one signed by the President of the United States, Dwight D. Eisenhower. There was a White House reception in honor of the graduating class of thirteen, and I recall meeting our very gracious hostess, Mamie Eisenhower.
For me, being a page was the turning point in my young life. Upon graduation from the Page school, I did not continue on the path toward vocational school. Inspired by all that I had seen and heard, I attended George Washington University and thereafter, George Washington University Law School. I have pursued a life fighting for and protecting many of the very laws I saw enacted. I count my blessings that I was given that opportunity way back when – an opportunity that changed my life. I would hate to see that opportunity denied to future generations of promising young people.
To suggest now that the entire program should be disbanded because of the peccadilloes of Representative Foley would be incredibly destructive to our educational legal institution. The behavior of Representative Foley and the Republican leadership in failing to deal with his behavior in a timely fashion are reprehensible, but the focus should remain upon the adults who are at fault and not upon the Capitol Page program or the Pages themselves, who have served our Country well and continue to do so every day. A Capitol Page was considered then, as now, to be a high honor, bestowed on deserving young people to serve, to learn and to grow in the very seat of our Democracy. I know that I echo many other graduates of the Capitol Page program when I urge that it be continued and that its great worth be recognized, even as we condemn the conduct of anyone who would use his position as a Congressman to act inappropriately to any youth.

It is odd to think that it is 40 years ago that I was a US Capitol Page, appointed by Bob Dole and Gerry Ford. It is amusing to recall that shook hands on my first day of work on January 5 with Speaker taking a pee at the urinal in the members restroom. I don't know of proper training for shaking hands with the Speaker standing side-by-side at the urinal. I suppose that Speaker McCormick might reported for doing this today, though he was being polite to a weird kid from Kansas.
As a child psychologist today, I am amused by the puffed up "shocked" responses by political folks that pages might engage in less than desirable behavior from time to time. In times past, these were call juvenile antics. Some kids did get into trouble of course, and one page got sent home during my time for smoking marijuana. Some kids drank during our prom. Young people are far more capable than the talk news people give credit. For nearly a year, I lived in a rooming house, got myself to school at the crack of dawn, saved money for college, and learned a great deal as page at the age of 16.
At that time, living at 211 A Street NE (just behind the Supreme Court) was a rough area. Several of us lived at that rooming house, and our landlady was clearly a drunkard.
The experience was worth every minute, and I would support my son or daughter or grandchild applying, for sure. To tell the truth, my life at home with parents who had alcohol and mental illness problems made any tribulations (which were few) at Page School seem like Heaven.
I shall never forget the kindness of Bob Dole who lent me his 1964 Comet to take the prom. I had a car with Congressional Plates! Nor will I forget Gerry Ford's kindness to me. And, I hold former Representative Paul Findley near in my soul for inspiring me to be courageous in my use of intellect for political good of the people.
Anyone who would propose the end of this is daft.

It is said that a wise man learns from his mistakes. It is one of life’s great ironies that the wisest men may possibly be those who have screwed up the most. I am certainly a charter member of that club. But let me tell you about one page who learned an unforgettable lesson destined to earn him at the very least an honorary membership. His name was Andre and he was a page was from Detroit. He was a very bright, articulate and likable fellow.
Anyway, since we had some free time on our hands that morning we decided we would have a mock debate. Rodney Wilcox, a Republican page from Pennsylvania would be Richard Nixon, Will Burgess would be Hubert Humphrey and I would be George Wallace (but only because I had the accent down, not due to any ideological parallels). Andre would referee the debate from the Speaker’s Chair on the Rostrum and the other guys would sit in the members’ chairs and watch and judge us to see who did the best impression.
Rodney spoke first as Nixon. “I can achieve Peace in Vietnam. Peace with Honor. I will restore the personal, human element in government. Without this restoration, we cannot succeed.” He spoke of the need for law and order. Since he was a Republican page and rich kid, I assumed his sympathies, regardless of the degree of sophistication of those sympathies, were pretty damned close to Tricky Dick’s. The rest of the pages not working in their Congressman’s office were sitting in the Members’ Chairs, cheering on their candidates and jeering their foes.
Will had his Hubert Horatio Humphrey, Vice President of the United States of America, down pat, with the forceful delivery and populist appeal of the real thing. He was “pleased as punch” at this and that, with a barely discernible Mississippi accent that he was trying to disguise. He called Nixon “Furtive…he’s furtive, I tell you!” (He must have read the same article I did). I wondered then if Humphrey really would triumphantly weather the political and literal blood stains of that summer’s murders of Dr. King and Senator Kennedy, so indelibly lodged in the fabric of the Johnson Administration by sheer proximity, the Administration of which he was now the torchbearer by default.
I was the last one to speak. I looked back at Andre sitting in the Speaker’s chair at the Speaker’s desk. On the desk was the coin silver inkstand. It is the oldest surviving relic of the House. The origin of the inkstand is unclear, but it appears in portraits dating from 1821 and is stamped with the mark of J. Leonard, a Georgetown silversmith. The tray contains three crystal inkwells and is adorned on both sides by eagle medallions. The feet of the tray are fasces entwined by a serpent, a classical symbol of wisdom surrounding authority. Richard had told me about this when he gave me the tour.
I really couldn’t play the part of George Wallace with any real sense of empathy, unless I pretended to be my father. I had the natural southern drawl, so to stretch it to an Alabama length was easy for me. You just stretch one-syllable words into two-syllable ones. “Yes” becomes “Yay-ess”. And drop the ending “g”’s. Nothin’, everythin’, somethin’. I was “tired of the gova-mint pussyfooting around” this bunch of criminals, and “tired of the other candidates pussyfooting around” that issue or this, and so on and so on.
Only after I remembered that Andre was sitting right behind me, and that Andre was black, did I remember just in time not to make a fool of myself by getting too close to Wallace’s more racist rhetoric. “I will do away with excessive foreign aid and use the savin’s on domestic programs, such as highway buildin’. And I won’t bow to the know-it-alls that don’t know it all, those newspaper edituhs that continue to attack me and my followers.” I stuck to the demagoguery and steered clear of the idiocy, as best I understood such to be.
It wasn’t the speech I was faking that struck me as cool. It was the idea of where I was standing. I was standing where every President since that Chamber was built had delivered his State of the Union Address. Lincoln on the War Between the States. Teddy Roosevelt on the need to make Panama a country. Franklin Roosevelt and his “date that will live in infamy”. General Douglas MacArthur and his “Old Soldiers Never Die” speech. John Kennedy and his promises to reach for the stars. Lyndon Johnson and his Great Society.
These were great people and they had been standing right there, where I was making an ode to the freedom for which these and other great men and women gave their lives and livelihoods in war and in peace. And I did it not by championing the virtues of tolerance, liberty, charity and freedom, but by mocking the vanishing vestiges of Southern racism and the last pathetic candidate they could find to lead them on such an unworthy and lost cause.
I was just about finished with my senseless diatribe when I heard a little buzzer, kind of like a doorbell, go off behind me. I didn’t think that much about it at the time and kept on finishing up my pussyfooting accusations. All of a sudden, the doors to the galleries upstairs of the Chamber swung open as did the doors on the floor level, on both sides of the dais and well and from the cloakrooms, too. At least twenty policemen stormed in. And they were all armed with rifles or pistols, weapons drawn and ready. I even saw a machine gun! We were surrounded.
The first thing I noticed was the sound of Andre hitting the floor behind me, knocking the Speaker’s Chair back from the desk where it sat. Whether it was because he was from Detroit and had mastered those reactions in similar situations back there, I’ll never know. But he was unquestionably a good second ahead of the rest of us in hitting the floor.
After the Capitol Police had the Chamber “under control”, they finally figured out it was no terrorist attack from nationalist Puerto Ricans this time. Looked more like a bunch of pages hiding on the floor scared shitless. One of them went up to Andre. The Head Cop – his ID badge said Captain Howell - asked him who pushed the button.
“The what?” Andre tried to sound convincing.
“Who pushed the Sergeant of Arms button? That one right there,” Howell said, pointing to the button that was now about seven inches from Andre’s under-the-desk-hiding head.
“I thought that button would ring down there where the Parliamentarian sits. I was calling Nick,” Andre said, pointing to the lower ring of chairs at the bottom level of the dais and the seat Nick the page had just so recently vacated with haste. Unfortunately for Andre, it wasn’t exactly the right seat. Or the right button.
“That button is for the Sergeant-at-Arms, not the Parliamentarian. That button you pushed sends a red alert to every Police Officer on Capitol Hill of an emergency in the House Chamber. They put it in after the Puerto Rican shootings in 1952. You’d better hope Mr. Miller doesn’t get wind of this. In fact, if I were you, I’d find somewhere else to be right now. I know they send the best and brightest kids to work here, but some of you guys can really cause trouble. I’ll just say it shorted out. It happened once before.”
Captain Howell told his men to return to their posts and to consider this an “electronic malfunction”, if no one objected. No one did, though several had a hard time suppressing their giggles. He looked at Andre. “And you can get out from under there now.” We were all reaching the doors and heading out to the cloakroom when I stopped, looked back and saw Andre get out from under the desk, stand up, brush himself off, and thank Captain Howell for not shooting him.

“I was a Senate Democratic page during the fall of 1963. During that time the Senate ratified the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty, and Haile Selasse of Ethiopia visited the chamber. But the most indelible memory is of the day that President Kennedy was assassinated.
I was sitting on the steps of the Senate rostrum when a doorkeeper entered hurriedly and walked to Sen. Wayne Morse of Oregon, who was the Democratic floor manager. He told Morse, "The president has been shot."
Sen. Edward Kennedy was presiding, but he could not hear this conversation. Microphones and amplification would come to the chamber several years later. Sen. Morse immediately moved to recess subject to call of the chair, and someone went to the rostrum to tell Sen. Kennedy.
As I walked through the Senate lobby on a run to one of the office buildings, I observed Sen. Kennedy with his head bowed, a telephone to his ear. There ensued what seemed to be a long period of high anxiety as news filtered in from Dallas. One of the wire service tickers in the lobby reported that Kennedy was dead, while the other service only had him at Parkland Hospital.
Senators drifted to the chamber as it became known that the president was dead. There was no protocol as to where senators stood. I remember being near the back of the chamber when the Senate came out of recess. The chaplain, Frederick Brown Harris, delivered a moving prayer, ending it with a line borrowed from Lincoln's assassination, almost shouting: "God lives and the government at Washington stands."
A group of us had planed to go to New York City on the Eastern Air Lines shuttle that night. The landlady of our boarding house didn't think it was a good idea, but we went anyway. Manhattan was very quiet. There were pictures of Kennedy, framed with black, in department store windows.
On the following Sunday, a group of us stood at the edge of the parking lot as the caisson bearing Kennedy's casket came up the hill and his remains were taken into the Rotunda. As the family emerged in the sunlight, John, Jr., saluted. I remember seeing Richard Nixon wearing a Chesterfield coat step out of a Rolls Royce. Other eminent politicians and celebrities showed up. One of my Alabama pals came into the cloakroom to excitedly proclaim that he had just seen Billy Graham and George C. Wallace.
On the day that Kennedy's casket was removed from the Capitol, we pages walked at the back of the line of senators into the Rotunda, where we ringed the catafalque. In the chamber, Sen. Margaret Chase Smith of Maine placed a rose on the desk that Kennedy had used.
In the days that ensued, there was heightened security. While delivering tickets to President Johnson's joint session, one page lost a pair of tickets. A group of us went over his path many times, trying to find them.
That joint session was highly emotional. I stood on the ledge behind the railing of the Republican side of the House chamber. From my vantage point, I could observe Sen. Richard Russell, the leader of the Southern bloc. As Johnson called for action on a number of bills, including a Civil Rights Act, Russell look downward and did not applaud.”

Being Flag Page was still one of the best duties to have, and as Page #1 for the summer session, I spent a lot of time at the switch board on the Republican side of the House. We’d answer the phone “Pacaderm Page Service”. Friday’s were horrible because we’d lay out long tables in the cloak room, and collate all of the legislative material coming up the next week. Hundreds of bills and amendments that had to be put together, packaged, and delivered. We hated it. We got along great with the Dems, but at the time (Carter was in office) there were far more of them than there were of us. We would sit out on the steps of the Capitol many nights just talking, and I slept on the steps of Capitol building many times,

All in all, it was probably the greatest experience of my young life. Nothing I did in high school or college compared with the sense of duty and responsibility that I felt as a page, I was very honored to have been one of the few to make it. I still think of those days fondly.

“For any other page, we all know there are SOO many stories! But I’ll save your time and only tell one.
So a group of 24 of us planned to go to Georgetown or somewhere, so we signed out and headed to the metrostation. We take the metro we are suppose to take and we get off on time and and someone told us to take the elevator upstairs, so we did...Even though the stairs were right next to it. As other know, the elevators are glass and being kids we try and cram everybody in.
At 14 people still waiting outside, about five more get in, decided there was more room...and because there was only 4 more people out...we dragged them in. Going up was REALLY slow, we were unsure if we were going to make it...but it looked hopeful. About a foot from the normal stopping place we STOP. The girls panic and scream, buttons are being pressed trying to go back up.
People are STARING at us because we have 24 people in a SMALL elevator. People pressing the emergency button and you can hear it going off. As we see a policeman come around the corner the next thing we know the elevator goes down semi-fast...and the doors open and we all go running!
This may not be humorus to some, but for former pages, they understand the fight between human and elevator. The many times of “how many can we fit” and that normally ended up in a broken elevator!”

“I was sitting in my dormitory, finishing lunch, gazing out the window at the eloquent Washington Monument. Staring at the cherry blossoms swaying in the foreground, I noticed a clock. It was 12:55 in the afternoon and I had to be back at work by 1:00. Quickly, I grabbed my suit jacket and sprinted down Independence Avenue. As I galloped up the Capitol Steps, I heard the Speaker of the House of Representatives, Newt Gingrich, yell to me, “Hey page!”. Turning around, I realized that the leader of our nation’s legislative process, one of the most important people in the world, was calling for me! He read my nametag, gave me an envelope and said, “Jacob, run this to the Senate Clerk’s Office. I was in wide-eyed amazement; a 16-year-old boy was running an errand for our nation’s chief legislator. This is an average day as a U.S. House of Representatives page.
As a junior in high school, you may compete to serve as a page in the U.S. House of Representatives. Once selected to serve in this program, your entire life will be changed. During the summer before my sophomore year of high school, I was rethinking my life. I wanted to go away and seek adventure. I wanted to leave my small town for a sprawling metropolis or an exotic country. I wanted a unique high school experience equivalent to my sister’s experience as a Rotary Exchange student in Ecuador. Now, I wanted to go away.
After searching, I discovered a program that was a perfect match for my outgoing nature. This was the page program of the U.S. House of Representatives. This program would allow me to spend my junior year of high school, working, going to school, and living in the most dangerous city in our nation, Washington, D.C. I wrote a letter to my Congressman, the Honorable Christopher H. Smith, and requested an application. That application required letters of recommendation, essays, transcripts, a list of extracurricular activities, and many other items of information. My transcript was sound because I had attained the highest grade point average in my class. My extracurricular activities included service as Party Leader of my school’s Model Congress, election as a class officer, and participation as an active member and leader in most of my school’s clubs.
I wrote the appropriate essay emphasizing my love of governmental affairs and my constant quest for knowledge and learning. I expressed that I was a hard worker, for at the time I was a busboy at two different restaurants. My local Congressman’s staff reviewed my application and selected me from a field of eighty-four applicants as the nominee. Each of the 435 Members of Congress nominate a single page and only sixty-six of these nominees from across the country are confirmed by the Speaker of the House to serve as year-long pages. The day I received the telephone call that informed me that I was confirmed to serve as a United States House of Representatives page was one of the happiest days of my life.
I arrived in Washington D.C. in late August of 1997 as an idealistic young man, who thought I would change the world. I learned this was not possible at such an early stage. However, as a page my belief in advancing society grew stronger and more practical. I gained the knowledge and tools that I will one day use to reach a position of influence. In this position, I will strive to affect policy for the betterment of humanity.
The program, which truly transformed all my goals and gave me a desire to serve as a public official, was divided into three aspects: school, work, and residence hall living. The pages attend school in the U.S. House of Representatives Page School located in the Jefferson Building of the Library of Congress. The school operates under time constraints, with pages attending school from 6:30 a.m. until an hour before Congress goes into session. For example, if Congress went into session at 10:00 a.m., I would only attend school until 9:00 a.m. Despite limited class time, the educational aspect of the school enhances the page program, helping to make my experience full and rewarding. The school provides an exceptional education with a broad curriculum that effectively educates a very diverse student body -- the 1997-1998 page class included pages from over forty states.
I lived in the O’Neill House Office Building, only one block from the U.S. Capitol. The pages had the enlightening experience of living in a dormitory setting while just sixteen years of age. This freedom and liberty of living with my peers and without my parents allowed me to mature to be an independent young man. The pages, who share this residential area for almost a year, elect their own government. I campaigned and was elected to the student government, which organizes and executes activities and trips. As a representative on the Page Activity Council, I coordinated activities ranging from sports to dances. I initiated many events including excursions to Baltimore Orioles games and hiking trips. By planning events based on my constituents’ desires, I received another taste of what it is like to be a public servant.
The most enjoyable aspect of my one-year excursion was my employment in the House of Representatives chamber. In this program, my fellow pages and I assisted daily in our nation’es legislative process. From delivering information on pending legislation from committees to congressional offices, to serving as a courier between members of Congress, pages experience the operations of our government. Cloakroom pages inform Members of Congress on times of votes and the legislative schedule, while documentarian pages raise the flag on the Capitol and summon Members of Congress to roll call votes. Witnessing history in the making almost everyday by listening to some of the most controversial debates ever is a memory I will always cherish. In Congress, more than in any school, I truly received an education. From attending deliberations and committee hearings, I gained a comprehensive understanding of our society. Today, I use this knowledge to formulate my own ideas as to how to one day ameliorate the ills of our nation. I learned that a government must be especially sensitive to what it regulates and controls. A theory to improve a society in actuality may worsen it. Consequently, as I currently serve as President of my floor and as a representative to a Pennsylvania State University student government, I critically evaluate any governmental action to prevent any detrimental ramifications it may have.
From August of 1997 until June of 1998, I enjoyed the rare and distinct privilege of serving with a select group of American teenagers. The job required hard work and genuine responsibility, but offered me an unparalleled experience. Pages make friends and connections on Capitol Hill that will last their entire life. By living with my peers, I made very close friendships, and I still communicate and visit with many of my fellow former pages. By working in Congress, I made many professional relationships that will also last in perpetuity. For example, I recently assisted my Member of Congress, the Honorable Christopher H. Smith, in his political campaign and he has assisted me with letters of recommendation for scholarship and college applications.
My service in the federal government inspired me to become a diligent public servant at all levels of government. After returning from Washington, I was appointed by the Mayor of Burlington Township and approved by the Town Council to serve as the youngest Committeeman ever. I quickly earned the respect of my committee peers and was elected to vice-chair the Burlington Township Mayor’s Advisory Committee. I sincerely believe that mayoral and youth partnerships are integral in fostering prosperity and establishing profitable relationships - across generations and social barriers. Then, due to my strong desire to help the community, I was selected as a delegate to the American Legion Jersey Boys’ State. In actuality, I was able to represent my community for two consecutive years in this simulation of our state democratic process. Overall, the page program opened avenues for advancement and allowed me to flourish in our world of opportunity.
The United States House of Representatives page program, including school, work, and residence hall living provides a unique opportunity for young people to become a part of history in an institution with a long and honorable tradition. This program was the most profound experience of my young life.”