At Roll Call, an Uneasy Silence
Sen. Tim Johnson's Illness Has Raised Personal and Political Concerns on the Hill

By David Montgomery
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, January 28, 2007

The desk is heavy and wooden, well-used, not ornate. Lying flat on the uncluttered glass top is a big calendar. Diagonal blue lines cross out the days as they pass. The felt-tip pen is here, ready to continue marking time's march. But the last day that has been dismissed with a blue slash is Tuesday, Dec. 12.

For Sen. Tim Johnson, the Democrat from South Dakota, time is in suspension now.

Everything in his Hart Building office is exactly how he left it last Dec. 13: The morning when words deserted him, and they rushed him, speechless, to the hospital.

By the calendar is the Dec. 13 edition of the Hill, a Capitol Hill newspaper. Behind his chair on the thick blue carpet is his briefcase, a scuffed black leather satchel, worn gray in places.

Johnson remains in George Washington University Hospital, undergoing speech and physical therapy after surgery to repair a brain hemorrhage. The initial horror and cold calculations of those first days -- when it seemed possible he and the Democrats' one-vote majority in the Senate might not survive -- have subsided. Now the questions are about absence: How long will it last? What does it mean to the state, the nation, the institution, when one senator is missing?

Next to the computer is a pad of paper with the U.S. Senate letterhead. Johnson had scribbled some notes and figures on the pad, federal dollars he was trying to get for projects back home. He was discussing the items on this pad when the bleeding in his brain stopped him, midsentence.

His staff has left everything virtually untouched as a sign of respect, a sign of love, a sign of not knowing what else to do. It is an appeal to presence in the void of absence.

The news from the hospital has been good, so far.

"In talking to his physicians, we really feel optimistic and confident that he is going to make a full recovery," says Brendan Johnson, 31, one of the senator's three children and a lawyer in Sioux Falls, S.D. "It is something that takes time. Unfortunately we don't have any type of exact timetable. What we do know from the therapists and physicians working with him at GW is that he is making much faster progress than anyone anticipated."

Johnson speaks only a few words at a time. "He's not conversational, in terms of long conversation," Brendan Johnson says. "He's clearly registering when we discuss topics. I think he loves to hear about how his [three] grandkids are doing. I also keep him updated on what certain baseball teams are doing."

Johnson has three hours of therapy every day, working with parallel bars and practicing naming objects, according to statements by his doctors released by his office. An MRI showed that the speech center of his brain is undamaged. And an angiogram showed that the surgery successfully repaired the original problem, called an arteriovenous malformation.

An AVM is a tangle of arteries and veins usually present since birth. Most of the estimated 300,000 Americans who have it never know and live symptom-free. In Johnson's case, two weeks shy of his 60th birthday, bleeding caused by the AVM suddenly disrupted his ability to speak and made him weak on his right side.

Johnson's family and staff members say they hope he will recover enough to do some work within "several months." But in the statements released by the office, predictions of his recovery time have never been attributed to his doctors.

"Senator Johnson is showing evidence of more functional, spontaneous speech and is indicating preferences. He is answering questions and following commands appropriately," Philip Marion, medical director for GW's Department of Rehabilitation Medicine, says in the most recent statement, released Thursday.

Johnson's wife, Barbara, spends much of every day with her husband. Several times a day, she taps out updates on her BlackBerry and sends them to staff and family members.

Amusing anecdotes from the hospital, hot off the BlackBerry, are savored and laughed about around the office: Watching football playoffs, the senator groaned in mock dismay when his wife kept referring to the Chicago Bears as the Chicago Cubs. He rolled his eyes when she asked why he wasn't rooting for the Patriots over the Colts, since South Dakota native Adam Vinatieri is the place kicker. Did she not know that Vinatieri had signed with the Colts!?

Staff and family say the senator's wife, an education consultant and a two-time breast-cancer survivor, has been a powerful presence during this period of absence. (She declined to be interviewed for this story.)

"It probably shouldn't be this way, but she's been the source of strength for her kids rather than vice versa," Brendan Johnson says. Tim and Barbara Johnson have been married for 37 years.

The senator wasn't in the House chamber Tuesday evening, but he let his wife know he wanted to watch the State of the Union address. He heard President Bush say, "We pray for the recovery and speedy return of Sen. Tim Johnson."

Barbara Johnson tapped out this bulletin: "Tim was very touched by the President's recognition. It was obvious that he wanted to be there and I reminded him that next year he would be."

From such glimpses, friends and colleagues glean that the old Tim Johnson is present, albeit in a hospital bed.

Senate Precedents

When a senator is absent for an extended period, two seemingly contradictory sides of Washington come into focus.

There is an inevitable, almost ruthless, forward momentum that tarries for no senator. The people of South Dakota must be served, partisan interests must be advanced.

Yet, there is also a human side, an instinct for decency, an acknowledgement that life can't fully go on as usual.

"Every senator plays a unique role within the process; all 100 fit a specific place," says Jay Truitt, vice president of government affairs for the National Cattlemen's Beef Association. He relies on Johnson to advocate for his industry. Yet he also knows he can count on others in the meantime. "While one single senator has a great deal of power, they're not bigger than the process. . . . We are going to do an appropriations bill. . . . The work will go on."

"There isn't an event that goes on around here where Tim isn't mentioned and prayers aren't offered," says Sen. John Thune, the Republican from South Dakota.

Thune lost his first race for the Senate to Johnson in 2002 by 524 votes. When the Republican visited Barbara Johnson after her husband was stricken, she noted that her husband is a tough fighter. Thune, recalling that contentious election, said wryly, "Believe me, I know it!"

Expressing both qualities of senatorial absence, Julianne Fisher, Johnson's communications director, finds herself issuing somewhat paradoxical messages: "The office is open and we continue to work." And: "The senator is not replaceable."

Her predicament is obvious. To suggest the work has been seriously disrupted would be to imply the people aren't being served. To say everything is being accomplished too well would imply the senator is superfluous.

Of course, senators might be absent for many reasons.

Some run for president. In 1996, Majority Leader Robert Dole resigned his seat to campaign against President Clinton. This year, with at least a half-dozen Democratic and Republican senators already vying for 2008 -- and none publicly planning to give up his or her seat -- absenteeism is certain to rise. Phoning in votes from New Hampshire or Iowa is not allowed.

Sometimes senators aren't very active even when they are present. By the time he was 98, in 2001, an exceedingly frail Strom Thurmond of South Carolina rarely participated in debates, gave speeches or interviews, questioned witnesses, wielded a gavel or introduced consequential bills.

Karl Mundt, a Republican from South Dakota, suffered a stroke in 1969, but held his seat until the end of his term in January 1973, even though he could no longer report to the Senate. Johnson holds Mundt's old seat.

In 1988, Joe Biden of Delaware was out for seven months recovering from two brain aneurysms. He proves a senator can bounce back from brain surgery, get reelected and run for president.

Something Was Wrong

The recording of the moment when Johnson slipped from present to absent is chilling to hear.

He was in a basement studio in the Capitol for his weekly conference call with South Dakota reporters. There was one last question about funding for four projects, including a medical school and a Boys and Girls Club.

"Ah, ah, second, uh, uh, you know," Johnson stammered. He laughed nervously. For long moments there was more stammering, silence, isolated words.

It was the awful sound of a man struggling mightily to master his thoughts.

"Well said," the senator concluded, trying to make a joke. "Anything, uh, further? Going once, twice. Okay."

On the subway back to Hart, Fisher tried to draw Johnson into conversation. When she asked about his wife -- family was a subject that always got him chattering -- and he gave a one-word reply, she knew something was wrong.

Within minutes the staff summoned a doctor, and Johnson was wheeled to an ambulance. That night he was in surgery.

The Mechanics of an Absence

The 46 members of the senator's staff in Washington and South Dakota suddenly found themselves on their own.

"This experience is certainly one of the most surreal of my life," says Drey Samuelson, Johnson's chief of staff for 20 years in the House and Senate.

The first few days brought out the best and worst of Washington: Colleagues from both sides of the aisle rushed to be with his family, sent piles of food to his office. But no one could help speculating: What if Johnson died or resigned? South Dakota's Republican governor probably would pick a Republican successor. The Senate would be divided 50-50. Vice President Cheney would break ties.

"It was hard to see Tim treated as a poker chip as opposed to a human being," Samuelson says.

When it became "clear he was going to live," the story lost its sizzle and the reporters went away, Samuelson says.

Then the quirkier aspects of absence came into play. Senate officials postponed approving reimbursements for official staff travel while Johnson was sedated, which he was until late December, because his agreement could not be verified.

The staff asked the Rules Committee for permission to send out official mail over the chief of staff's signature. For the first time in his career, Samuelson scanned his autograph into an autopen. Wielding his new authority with great deference, he has signed only a brief letter thanking constituents for their input and explaining the unusual situation.

Majority Leader Harry Reid of Nevada appointed temporary substitutes to key committees where the Democrats could not afford to lack a vote. Barbara Boxer of California would chair Ethics in Johnson's stead; Jack Reed of Rhode Island would chair the Appropriations subcommittee on military construction and veterans affairs; Frank Lautenberg of New Jersey would occupy Johnson's chair on the Budget committee.

There were inadvertent slights. Another Capitol Hill paper, Roll Call, published a supplement listing committee members in the new Congress. Johnson was mistakenly omitted from Budget and Ethics.

"One of the things that makes it easier is jumping back into the work," says Todd Stubbendieck, the legislative director. "We've tried to return to be as normal as we can be, and get back into the swing of things and the normal schedule."

"We all want to work hard so when he comes back, he's proud of the work we've done," Fisher says.

Luckily, Johnson had nearly completed a series of legislative planning meetings in the days before he was stricken. The staff is following that plan.

His key constituencies include farmers, ranchers, veterans, seniors, rural communities. Although his profile is low on Capitol Hill, in South Dakota, a state with fewer people than Prince George's County, residents address their senator as "Tim" when they see him in the coffee shop on Main Street.

"He's one who was never real imbued with the power and the glory, he just wanted to do a good job," says Jerry Oster, news director with WNAX-AM radio in Yankton, who has known Johnson since he was a baby-faced lawyer in Vermillion. "It's part of that Norwegian upbringing. Don't care who gets the credit . . . . We always kid him about being Norwegian powered by coffee."

If Johnson's recuperation lasts longer than several months, then his absence will be felt more keenly. That is when the farm bill will be moving through the Senate, and the appropriations process will be underway.

"Senator Johnson's main impact would come this summer," says Troy Larson, executive director of the Lewis & Clark Rural Water System, which is seeking $35 million for pipeline construction. "It would not be possible for senators in other states to make up that clout."

As always in the political world, some are sizing up Johnson's prospects for reelection in 2008, and whether his illness has made him vulnerable. A moderate Democrat from a very red state, Johnson has twice won tight races for the Senate.

"I think the reelection question is a key one," Samuelson says. "I talked to Barb [Johnson] about whether or not to shut our fundraising operation down. She said that she felt that when Tim recovers, he will want to run for reelection. We can't know that for sure, but that's what she thinks and that's what I think as well."

A Small, Empty Desk

Johnson has another desk, as every senator does, rather small, made of mahogany, on the floor of the Senate chamber: the ultimate symbol of his position and, when not occupied, of his absence.

Johnson's is in the second row, between those of Mary Landrieu and Barbara Mikulski. Every morning, the same legislative paperwork is placed on Johnson's desk as on every other, as though he might be present. There is a sharpened pencil in the pencil slot.

Early one afternoon, the clerk calls the roll for another vote. It's on an amendment to the minimum wage bill.

" . . . Mr. Inhofe. Mr. Inouye. Mr. Isakson. Mr. Johnson. Mr. Kennedy. Mr. Kerry . . . "

The senators amble up to the clerk's desk and signal thumbs up or down.

Mr. Johnson is recorded as "not voting."

On Tuesday, the Democrats head to the Lyndon B. Johnson Room for the weekly caucus lunch.

"I think knowing Tim Johnson as I have, respecting him greatly, that I will convey the ideas as he would have them," Lautenberg says of filling Johnson's chair on Budget. "But it's an interpretation. I'll do my best."

"He has a great deal of technical competence, so we miss him," Mikulski says of the Appropriations subcommittee that Johnson is supposed to chair. "At the same time, our good friend Sen. Jack Reed is filling that role. So we can pick up the slack."

One morning, Christopher Dodd (D-Conn.) gavels Banking to order. Dodd salutes the absent senator and wishes him a speedy return -- then gets down to business, a hearing on mass transit security.

Johnson is the second-ranking Democrat on Banking, after Dodd, and would ordinarily sit immediately to Dodd's right. But this morning Johnson's chair is not empty. It is occupied by Reed, whose lower rank in the pecking order should place him farther from the chairman.

Afterward, Reed says of Johnson: "He's one of those guys you like to emulate, because of his example as well as what he says. A lot is said around here. When you can provide the example, judgment and decency that he provides, those are very scarce commodities."

What about taking Johnson's chair this morning in Banking?

"I think it's less important where we sit than what we contribute," Reed says. "But I assure you, I'm just keeping that seat warm."