Once upon a time, many years ago, I had dinner with Craig Thomas (may he rest in peace) and his wife Susan. Normally that would be a big so-what - after this particular evening, I never talked to him again.
But this event has lingered in my memories all these years, because it was literally during his first couple of months in Washington, after he took over the House seat formerly held by Dick Cheney, who had resigned to take the SecDef position for George Bush the senior.
My father was the Washington representative for a major corporation. When Thomas won the special election in 1989 to fill Cheney's seat, all the lobbyists in town jostled to get to know him. I don't know the particulars that brought it about, but Dad and his wife hosted a dinner party for about 30 people to meet the new congressman and his wife. And Dad invited me and my husband (definitely not Washington types - we lived in the Shenandoah Valley) to attend.
The dinner party itself I really don't remember, except that it was in a private dining room at one of Washington's top hotels. Because Dad was the host, we were going to be the last to leave.
As the other guests departed, I had a chance to sit with the Thomases and talk about the move to Washington. They were very pleasant, and I liked them both very much.
Both of them hated it in Washington. Craig said he'd only agreed to run for the seat because the Wyoming GOP had begged him to, and he'd told them he would only do it as long as they understood he wouldn't stay - that when the regular election took place in a year, they should have another candidate lined up.
Susan had wanted to stay in Wyoming. They had four children, and she wanted to raise them there, not in D.C., but she felt the family should be together She missed the open spaces; he missed the skiing. He had never aspired to national office; she supported his decision. They both lamented the high cost of living, and the expense of keeping two homes.
I warned them that Washington is an insidious place. There's a disease peculiar to D.C. - I've always called it "Beltway disease" - that once you get inside the Beltway, you slowly lose any memory that life outside that damned perimeter is very different, and that Washington is like a black hole, actively warping one's perceptions into believing it is indeed the center of the universe.
My father chimed in to disagree, of course; this was a long-running topic of conversation between us. (I first diagnosed the Washington malady in him, which didn't always make for pleasant relations.) We had a cheerful, vigorous talk, all six of us - Dad and his wife, the Thomases, my husband and me - that lasted more than an hour after everyone else was gone.
When we finally said good night, Susan gave me their home address in Wyoming and said if we ever got out there, we should come see them. And she and her husband laughed off my warnings about the lure of power in Washington.
I never got in touch with them, since I returned to the valley and never had a reason to write or call, nor would I presume on such a brief interaction. But I was driving to work one day in 1993, listening to the radio, and heard that Thomas had announced he was going to run for the Senate. I shook my head and laughed ruefully, and thought about calling Susan - who had been so vehement - and asking what had changed her mind.
But of course, I felt I knew. The power, the deference offered to anyone in Congress, having a personal driver, people to run one's errands, rubbing elbows with famous people - all of their privileges over the previous four years had worn away their commitment to their lifelong home state.
I grieve for Susan and her kids, and I hope she finds comfort with her family and friends, whether here or in Cheyenne.