Of Time and the River . . . of Mail

The mail arrives, 100 pieces or more, bound in those plastic straps that pop when scissored.

Let’s see . . . Travel Agent magazine, Ukrainian Weekly, an invitation to a workshop from the American Solar Energy Society and Passive Solar Energy Council. A thoughtful letter from William Purves of San Diego with his views about gays in the military.

And here’s a postcard from John Reis, also of San Diego, with this blunt, commercially printed message: “Before you raise my taxes, cut spending first. I’ll be watching.”

This is a very small sample of the mail that arrives on the Cannon House Office Building doorstep of Rep. Lynn Schenk, a San Diego Democrat.

It arrives three times a day. Without fail.

“It’s like a tidal wave,” says Schenk. “Intellectually, you know it’s coming but there’s no way to really deal with it.”

Like many members of Congress, Schenk is swamped by a daily deluge of musings, alarms and supplications from friends and possible foes and would-be buddies. No issue is too small to be without consequences. If it can be imagined, someone or some group out there is righteously concerned about it.

And keeping one’s head above the flood of demands can be among the most frightful parts of a freshman’s indoctrination to Washington. It’s like a post-doctoral course in time-

management that proves tougher than anticipated.

“I had some grand ideas when I first came here that we would carve out a lot of hours to read, to study, to gather ideas and information. It hasn’t turned out that way,” Schenk says.

Although scheduling problems may seem to be an unavoidable administrative headache for members of Congress--old or new--there is a serious side effect to the jampacked 18-hour days.

“I was told I would be able to talk to the best minds in the country on any subject. They may be available in theory, but I don’t have the time,” Schenk says.

Where does the time go?

When Congress is in session, Mondays and Fridays are usually travel days to and from California, with plenty of work to do on board the plane. Weekends are often booked with visits to shopping centers and town meetings in the San Diego area.

Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays are filled with committee work and House business (legislators, remember?).

Schenk’s seat on the influential House Energy and Commerce Committee--a rarity for a freshman--requires plenty of preparation and study. Run by czar-like Rep. John D. Dingell (D-Mich.), the committee oversees a broad swath of social, business and industrial issues--from consumer protection to health care.

As a woman member of one of the largest and most diverse freshman classes since World War II, there are additional demands: the women’s caucus, the freshmen caucus, the California caucus, the border caucus. Often there are three simultaneous breakfast meetings.

And everyone, it seems, wants to drop by the office.

City council members, county supervisors, school board members, state senators, and officials from every level of local and state government want a few moments.

Beer wholesalers and flower growers in Washington for annual meetings ask for a quick chat.

Curious constituents, in town with the kids over spring break, might want a handshake if they can find the office.

Then there are the after-hours receptions and dinners, usually eight to 10 possibilities a night. Schenk tries to limit them to constituent-based gatherings, but admits that if Dingell or the White House calls, she succumbs.

It takes huge amounts of time just to review and sort the daily demands on her time. It’s divided into piles--by month, week and day--and the winnowing begins. A great deal can and must be quickly culled out as unworthy. Rantings from angry citizens outside the district are lateraled to the proper House office, and the tide of computer-generated form letters from lobbyists and such are not warmly received.

Although the notion that the customer is always right may have all but vanished from workaday America, constituents remain one of the most beloved groups on the planet.

Virtually every voter epistle will be politely answered, even Mr. Reis’ modest warning on taxes. Schenk has mapped out her views on a wide assortment of issues and has authored the original texts of most of the standard responses “so that it doesn’t sound like a computer wrote them.”

But the absence of time to reflect and cogitate saddens her.

“Here I am in this wonderful, wonderful city, with all its cultural richness. The Library of Congress is a block away. And I have never been inside it.”