A Union of Families, Politics and Society

Their influence is of a quieter and more traditional sort, a matter of manners and knowing one's place, of sitting on the right boards and working behind the scenes.

Most likely you would never hear of these people -- unless they chose to get into politics.

This is the model for much of the Hagers' influence. They know the other movers and shakers, the other Good Families in Richmond. The Children's Hospital of Richmond, the state Chamber of Commerce and countless other groups outside the political realm have been the lucky recipients of John's prodigious energies. (And he does seem to have more energy than most people.)

Maggie, meanwhile, was inspired by her husband's polio to serve with numerous groups dealing with the problems of the disabled. Lex Frieden, a disability advocate who served with Maggie on the presidentially appointed National Council on Disability 15 years ago, describes Maggie as supremely "gracious" and seldom critical of anything. Her method was more conciliatory, Frieden recalls, drawing on her ability to act as an "information broker" among her various networks. A quiet influence.

"They're invited to most cocktail parties, most socially acceptable cocktail parties," says Beverley W. "Booty" Armstrong, a friend and Richmond businessman. "They're in the upper crust."

Henry was born in 1978. He was an Eagle Scout. At St. Christopher's, an all-boys prep school in Richmond, he made the honor roll and played varsity football and varsity lacrosse, according to his yearbook. His senior page, in the perfect amalgam of the high school male, quoted Thoreau, Bob Marley and the movie "Scarface." He went to Wake Forest University in North Carolina, graduating in 2000. Now he's studying for an MBA at the University of Virginia.

Behind the scenes, there was tragedy, in a string of untimely deaths on Maggie's side of the family. Over decades, Maggie's father, Clarence Ryland Chase, both of her siblings and a nephew all apparently committed suicide, according to family members, a family friend and published reports. (In the case of Maggie's sister, two people close to her said her death at 59 was a suicide, and two others said it was not.)

Maggie has an "iron backbone," says one of her nieces, Charlotte Wray. "A lot fell on her shoulders, I think, including her personal grief, but I think for all those situations . . . she would have been the one holding people together and her own grief would have been more private."

One senses about the Hagers an assuredness, a belief in a right way of doing things. They are not about airs, not about proving themselves -- why would they need to?

In August, when the family was still talking to reporters about Henry's engagement, Maggie told The Washington Post that yes, indeed, her son had gone to the president to ask him permission to marry Jenna.

"Anybody raised in this family follows the rules," Maggie said.

By His Father's Side

When John Hager entered politics, the polio story became emblematic of his doggedness, his stubbornness. He would travel harder than anyone else. He would not be put off his task, even if it involved stairs and hills and was more difficult for him than for others. He would not alter his course -- there he was in 1997, running for lieutenant governor, telling a radio show he didn't think cigarettes were addictive.