House Rules

ON A WINTER DAY, COURTNEY ATTENDS HIS FIRST MAJOR HEARING AT THE HOUSE ARMED SERVICES PANEL. The principal topic today is Iraq. On the skewer are Donald Rumsfeld's successor, Secretary of Defense Robert Gates, and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Peter Pace. The two besieged luminaries sit at a witness table in front of the 62-member committee, who are positioned on four tiers, according to seniority.

On the Armed Services Committee, senior members have the first chance to question witnesses, and every member gets five minutes, which translates to more than five hours if everybody takes a turn. The questioning moves at a crawl. Courtney leans back in his chair and studies Gates and Pace with a long index finger pressed against his right cheek. Several hours pass before the first freshman has an opportunity to ask Gates and Pace a question, and at about this time, Gates says that he must shortly leave for an appointment. Courtney and the other remaining freshmen will need to wait for weeks before they see the defense secretary again.

But Pace remains. Finally, Courtney gets his opportunity. He wants to press Pace on a troop deployment detail that he read about in a newspaper article. Is it true, he asks, that some troops are being moved from Afghanistan to Iraq -- and, if so, "is that wise, considering how tenuous things are [in Afghanistan]?"

Pace's voice turns icy. "It is not true, sir," he says. "No troops are coming out. I don't know where that rumor [started]."

Courtney looks over toward the press section and a national security reporter who wrote the article, the Baltimore Sun's David Wood. He has come to appreciate Wood's articles on Afghanistan and Iraq, sometimes alluding to them during the Armed Services hearings. The men exchange looks, and Wood tries to suggest with a raised eyebrow that Courtney is on the right track, that the general is technically correct but that there is more to the story here. Uncertain how to read that eyebrow and somewhat awed by the general's bearing, Courtney swiftly wraps up his questioning. Even in his own view, he looked "a little tentative."

Later, Courtney asks Wood about the seeming contradiction between his newspaper report and the general's testimony. "What happened there?" he asks. Wood says that no troops have gone directly from Afghanistan to Iraq; that the plan at the time had been to send them first from Afghanistan to Fort Polk, in Louisiana, where they were tentatively slated to go to Iraq before the deployment picture changed again. For Courtney, there is a lesson in what happened during his exchange with Pace. "If things don't exactly go according to script, you can't be shy and not follow up with more questions," he will say later. Back in the office, his communications director, Brian Farber, is trying to put the best face on what had just happened. "Unless there is an error in the Baltimore Sun story, then there is a discrepancy in what the general said."

But Courtney isn't looking for protection. Later he says, "I didn't handle that as well as I could have."

COURTNEY ARRIVES IN CONNECTICUT EARLY ON A THURSDAY AFTERNOON. He sees his family for a few hours, but by Thursday night, he has embarked on what will be a 48-hour whirlwind of get-togethers, interviews, meetings and fundraisers.

Wherever he goes in Connecticut, the 2008 election always seems to be looming. On Friday afternoon, he attends an event promoting the construction of a state highway called Route 11 that would connect two distant areas in the congressional district. There is his old rival Rob Simmons, accepting the praise of local officials who note Simmons's contributions in Congress toward advancing the highway issue. Introduced to the throng, Simmons makes a few remarks at a lectern, turns to Courtney with a smile and says, "Welcome to Route 11, Joe." Some in the crowd appreciate what they regard as Simmons's graciousness; others think Simmons is slyly suggesting that Courtney has come late to the Route 11 issue. There are a few chuckles. Whatever Simmons's intent, the effect of his comment has been to illustrate the gap between his own efforts on the highway and those of Courtney, who supports Route 11 but is just beginning to work on the issue in Congress. Courtney stands, praises his predecessor's effort on the highway, and the two rivals shake hands and clasp each other's shoulders.

As people leave, an old Simmons friend named David Bingham pauses by the door to shake the defeated congressman's hand and wish him well. "I'd have voted for Rob if he weren't a Republican," says Bingham, who switched his party registration from Republican to Democrat during the campaign. "The problem wasn't Rob. I voted for Joe because I thought I needed to do everything I could to stop Bush and the Republicans. It wasn't my party anymore. We needed to get Republicans out of positions of power in Congress and wherever we could."

Simmons hears that a lot. He now works out of a basement office in his home; several of his old congressional office boxes rest on the floor against a door. He isn't sure what he'll do next, but he can already see an '08 strategy. "I'd have to show that I'm running and not George Bush," he says. "Then maybe my friends and other people would come back."

For his part, Courtney is working nearly every waking hour -- his schedule includes a television interview in Hartford, meetings with social service advocates, sit-downs with visiting constituents and a lunch with the mayor of Norwich. The personal meetings are critical for building bonds with activists and officeholders with whom he doesn't have tight political relationships and whose disaffection at any point could spell doom for him in the district.

He finishes his workday on Friday by having dinner with a Republican supporter, a lawyer who helped supervise a review of the vote count in Courtney's slender victory. The dinner is supposed to end around 6 p.m., so that Courtney can get to his daughter's school basketball game on time. But at 6:45 p.m., he is still eating. Finally, he bounds toward a vehicle belonging to a volunteer who has been driving him around, not because he likes having a driver but because he has no worthy car to drive himself. "I've been bumming rides since I blew that engine," he says.

The volunteer's car is hurtling along, but he gets lost. Courtney has him pull off to the side of the road. He calls his wife. The game is already at halftime, she tells him. He walks back, looking crestfallen. The volunteer isn't sure where to go, he says. "No point in going now. We'll never make it in time even if we find it." He shakes his head. "I'm just going to go home."

I suggest that he jump in my car, which has a GPS navigational device. "We can find it," I say.

"It'd probably be over by the time we get there."

"Why don't you get in the car."

He thinks about it and gets in. He arrives at the gymnasium during the final minutes of the fourth quarter. His wife, Audrey, studies him casually, shrugs, smiles. She's used to this.

THE NEXT MORNING, COURTNEY RIDES TO THE COASTAL TOWN OF GROTON and the offices of Electric Boat's president, John Casey, who has talked to him often about the urgency of a second submarine. Now Casey doesn't bother repeating his national security arguments for the sub, instead boring in on the point that, without the additional sub, there will certainly be more layoffs of Courtney's constituents. "We appreciate everything you're trying to do," Casey says. Casey and other members of Electric Boat's management supported Simmons against Courtney in their two campaigns, praising Simmons's attempts to land a second sub. But with Courtney in office, the company has scheduled a fundraiser for the new congressman.

Courtney is learning a great deal about the benefits of incumbency, the chief of which is that money follows power. Well-heeled corporate contributors tend to be politically malleable. A couple of hours later, Courtney attends a fundraiser in his honor at a home in New London. The 35 guests include Dan Weekley, an official for the government affairs department of Dominion Resources Services in Waterford, one of the nation's leading energy producers.

"Joe initiated the call to us," says Weekley, whose company includes officials who supported Simmons in his reelection bids. Weekley says that he and other Dominion employees might contribute to Courtney in the next election, depending on his performance. "Joe's there now. He said to us: 'I'd like to sit down and talk with you and your employees about energy issues.' One of the important issues for us is an infrastructure energy project [in Connecticut]. You need permits from the government, water- and land-use permits. We want to streamline that process."

The fundraiser takes in about $25,000 for Courtney, who heads off to a Democratic Party fundraiser across town and then a meeting with a nearby Coast Guard official over dinner, which, as with everything in his professional life, runs overtime.

WHEN SUNDAY COMES, IT IS FINALLY FAMILY DAY. The four of them go to church and then head back home, where Courtney is free at last to shed his jacket. Nearby, the family's two guinea pigs rumble around in a cage on the kitchen floor. Courtney scans a newspaper. His children, 16-year-old Bobby and 12-year-old Elizabeth, are scurrying upstairs.

Audrey Courtney is a middle school nurse who also manages their kids' schedules, taking care of their transportation and every other need.

"She's got the tougher road with this," Joe Courtney says.

Audrey laughs good-naturedly. "He's having fun at all this," she says. "What could be so bad for him? He's wanted to do this his whole life." She adjusts her glasses, smiling in that practiced way of a nurse who has had to reassure a lot of people in her life that everything is going to be okay. She says she isn't bothered by his frequent absences, even on weekends. "He has to be out there," she says. "He only won by 83 votes. It could be close again. He's gotta be meeting people. I understand that."

The two reflect on stories they've recently heard about independents who, as past supporters of Simmons, said they didn't make up their mind to vote for Courtney until they were in the voting booth. Joe visibly shudders at the reports.

What do you get out of having your husband in Congress? Audrey is asked.

"What's in it for me?" she says, airily. She glances down at the guinea pigs and then up at her husband. She smiles. "How's this? The gratification of knowing that I'm well represented."

"You're on message," her husband says.

With Joe away five days a week on average, Audrey's responsibilities mount over the next couple of months. "I'm basically single-parenting," she says on another day, managing a chuckle. "I never make plans for myself when he's gone. I have to be at home. I have to be available to drive the kids here and there, or do whatever they need. It's tiring."

She also notices the toll that Joe's new job has taken on their life as a couple, even when he is back home on weekends. Speeches, fundraising activities and meetings with constituents consume many of their Friday nights and Saturdays. Sometimes politics even intrudes on Sundays. "We don't really do anything together," she says. "I know he's floating on air in this job; I'm really happy for him . . . But he's just been so busy even when he is back here. I understand he has to see people. It's just that the schedule sometimes has been a bit of a problem. They have him doing a lot."

Impatient, she finally phones Gross, the congressman's chief of staff, with a set of demands designed to lighten her husband's weekend duties and win herself a place on his schedule. "The biggest thing was that I said to [Gross] that I wanted at least one date night a month with Joe."

POLITICAL ACTIVISTS STUDY NEW CONGRESSMEN for signs of who is slavishly deferring to their party's leadership and who might be the rare freshman poised to take the risky path of occasionally bucking the leadership. Throughout his campaign, Courtney argued that American troops should be out of Iraq by the end of 2007. During his first couple of months in Washington, he has tempered his stance, taking more moderate cues from Pelosi and other Democratic House leaders on the timing for congressional moves against the administration's war policy. "Pelosi has told us to stay loose," he says.

He is also learning how quickly a new congressman can go from being one of the darlings of liberal activists to a politician suddenly under suspicion of establishment capitulation. One early February afternoon, he briefly steps out of an Armed Services Committee hearing whose spectators include a group of women dressed in pink and wearing clothes with anti-war slogans. The group is CodePink: Women for Peace. Some of the members spot Courtney in a hallway talking to a constituent. He notices them at about the same time and politely extends a hand.

The group favors a House resolution -- No. 508 -- that calls for U.S. troops to be out of Iraq in six months. One of the co-founders of the group, Gael Murphy, is wearing a T-shirt that reads "OUT OF IRAQ/NO WAR $" and a button with "3,110," the number of American military personnel killed in Iraq at that point.

She asks Courtney, "Have you signed on yet to 508?"

"I haven't," he answers.

"Will you?" she presses.

"I'm not ready to do that."

" Nothing's happening," another woman protests. "Democrats aren't really doing anything."

"That's unfair," Courtney says. "It's early . . . It's unfair to say we're not doing anything . . . But there's a process here . . ." He looks at them and smiles. "But pressure is good. Believe me, we're listening."

Murphy is not mollified. "We want you to sign on to 508."

"I'll take a look at it," he says.

He shakes their hands and walks back toward the committee room. Murphy watches him. "We have to make sure that talking about 'process' isn't used as an excuse," she says. "He got elected, but the problem now is that he's in the ivory tower of the process." She suggests that her colleagues could always stage sit-ins at the offices of congressmen who fail to support 508. "There is the possibility of offices being taken over, and you never know whose," she adds. "Code Pink of Connecticut might pay him a visit."

COURTNEY HAS BEEN BONING UP ON NAVAL ISSUES, trying to craft a national security argument for the second sub. He is drawn to reports about the Chinese government's expanded nuclear submarine program, a well-publicized Chinese missile test and the development of a Chinese aircraft carrier. In addition to arguing that a second sub is needed to offset those moves, Courtney has learned that the Navy could possibly use the sub to deploy stealth Special Op units to Middle Eastern hot spots. The second sub has affected his approach toward virtually everything he does in the Armed Services Committee, which accounts for the difference in his bearing when he meets up with Pace and Gates at another hearing.

The general and the defense secretary have been fielding questions about Iraq and Afghanistan all day. But when Courtney finally receives his turn, he ignores Gates and concentrates on Pace and the issue of America's submarine readiness, citing the Chinese navy's expansion. "You alluded, General, to how the Chinese are building 2 1/2 submarines a year; we [build] only one submarine a year," Courtney says, adding that, in time, "the size of our [submarine] fleet will be smaller than the Chinese navy's." He links the issue of the shrinking American sub fleet to the war in Iraq, asserting that the war is diverting money from subs and other U.S. sea power needs. "There is a disturbing decline of our fleet," Courtney declares.

Pace assures him that he will continue monitoring the Chinese, as well as keep on top of U.S. sub development. He says there are plans down the road to build two subs a year. He doesn't know the exact year that will happen, but, he adds, "I can get you that information."

Courtney looks at him, smiling thinly. "I can tell you, General. It's 2012."

Pace nods.

Courtney later makes the point that a laid-off work force "cannot just be replaced . . . with a snap of the fingers."

Pace nods again.

The committee's chairman, Ike Skelton of Missouri, pauses to offer a compliment: "Let me say I appreciate Mr. Courtney's reference to future readiness and the unpredictability of the need for American forces in the days ahead."

Back in his office, Courtney says, "I think I knew more about the issue than the general."

An encouraging report will soon be coming: Gene Taylor has scheduled hearings for the Seapower and Expeditionary Forces subcommittee on the subject of submarines. But that gets Courtney only an inch closer to what he wants.

IN EARLY SPRING, COURTNEY GETS THREE PIECES OF FAVORABLE NEWS. The first comes from longtime rival Simmons, who calls Courtney to say that he has been nominated by Connecticut's governor for a state post as a business advocate and that, if confirmed, he will be doing the job "full time." To Courtney, this sounds like Simmons's way of saying he probably won't be challenging him in 2008, though Simmons doesn't quite say this, leaving himself enough wiggle room to jump into the race, Courtney thinks. But later, after being confirmed for the post, Simmons goes on the Connecticut airwaves to say he won't be running for the 2nd District seat.

The second bit of encouragement comes from John Murtha, who expresses support for increasing funds to the Navy's shipbuilding efforts, including construction of an additional submarine. Courtney is careful not to make too much of this. "There's really no way of being sure what will happen in the [House] or the Senate," the freshman says.

Finally, in a report filed with the Federal Election Commission that delights his supporters and exceeds the hopes of the D-Triple C, Courtney's fundraising totals for the first quarter of 2007 are released. Thanks to contributions from former Simmons supporters such as John Casey of Electric Boat, he has raised more than $310,000 in three months, and already has more than $286,000 on hand for campaign spending. Both numbers are first-quarter records for a 2nd District incumbent in a nonelection year. Nonetheless, Courtney radiates caution. "Money is only part of a campaign," he says.

Meanwhile, visitors have kept streaming into his office, including his old friend Toby Moffett, the former Connecticut congressman who is a Washington lobbyist and something of a cautionary tale for any politician who believes that he is likely to stay in the House or in any other elective position for as long as he wants. Moffett's story is common enough for House members: He served four terms and then lost in a bid for the U.S. Senate. His political dream stalled there. "No one does this forever," Courtney says later. He sees himself in all his pursuits -- whether it's chasing the second sub or trying to protect a political career -- as the Irish fatalist. No one is supposed to win forever, he observes. "My hope is to serve the district for many years. But you never know what's ahead, I guess." There is a knock at his office door. An aide pokes his head in. A man wanting to lobby Courtney on an agricultural issue has stopped by: May he have a few minutes?

Courtney nods.

The man enters, shakes Courtney's hand, makes his pitch, leaves.

Courtney checks his watch. Another knock. Another visitor enters.

Rising, going to hearings, meeting with lobbyists, fundraising, speaking on the House floor, taking more meetings, walking to the apartment, crashing, rising: These are his days and nights in Washington.

The D Triple-C continues to send him reminders about his fundraising goals: Get off the Capitol grounds; get to the phone bank; make the calls.

He says he has calls to make soon and another constituent to see. Another knock. An aide pops in with a reminder: The fundraiser back home is that weekend.

"Yup," he says.

He rubs his eyes. He says he is no closer to mastering time management, but he thinks he has come to understand the rhythm of life on Capitol Hill.

"It just never stops. Never," he says. "You better get used to liking that."

Michael Leahy is a staff writer for the Magazine and can be reached at leahym@washpost.com. He will be fielding questions and comments about this article Monday at noon at washingtonpost.com/liveonline.