One Committee's Three Hours of Inquiry, in Surreal Time

"Fifteen minutes," Grosh estimated.

"Do you recall any business that was discussed . . .?"

"Off the top of my head, no."

The hapless Grosh said he received no more than $2,500 for his troubles, and tickets to a hockey game. "I got out of it when I found out it involved the federal government, Indian tribes and gambling," he said. "I knew that it was headed down the wrong way."

The honest lifeguard declined a lifeline from the chairman, who said he was clearly "used" by Scanlon and didn't do anything wrong himself. "I'm an adult," the lawyerless Grosh insisted. "He didn't use me."

There were weightier witnesses: the leaders of the Choctaw tribe who were Abramoff's alleged victims, the pair of former Abramoff associates who sheepishly took the Fifth, and the accountant and nonprofit leader who were portrayed as naive about Abramoff, or worse.

There were also the ghosts in the room: Republican activists Ralph Reed and Grover Norquist (who appeared often in Abramoff's correspondence but who weren't the focus of yesterday's inquiry) and House Majority Leader Tom DeLay (R-Tex.), a friend of Abramoff's referred to elliptically as an unnamed "member of Congress."

But Grosh, dressed in shirtsleeves and black jeans, was the star. When the hearing ended, reporters swarmed around him, asking why he did it. "It was wintertime in Rehoboth," he explained. "You need to make rent money."

Lately, Grosh has been occupied with calls from the FBI and reporters, and then the call to testify -- an experience he described as surreal.

"It's gonna get worse," cautioned one of his interviewers.

"Oh, great," he muttered.

"Speaking of that," a television producer called out, "want to come and talk to our cameras?"

Grosh warily agreed, blinking into the stage lights and telling his story again. Then he went downstairs and, finally alone, pulled off his necktie and stuffed it into his back pocket.