The daring Charlie Rangel
This is not the way Sandy Levin would have wanted it.
The Michigan Democrat became acting chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee last week after its former chairman, Charlie Rangel of New York, stepped down -- temporarily, he says -- because he was censured by the House ethics committee for going on a corporate-financed junket.
The same committee has been examining many other, more serious charges against the Harlem congressman, relating to his disclosure of outside income and properties, solicitation of charitable contributions and other matters.
It seems doubtful from what has been reported that Rangel will be able to resume control of the powerful committee that handles taxes, trade and big chunks of health care.
But his decision to ask for a leave of absence from the chairmanship, which followed his closed-door meeting with Speaker Nancy Pelosi, is a matter of regret to many -- not least, Sandy Levin.
Rangel and Levin have been committee colleagues and friends for decades. I have known Levin since he was a youthful Democratic chairman in Oakland County, Mich., and an unsuccessful candidate for governor. He and I share status as alumni of the College of the University of Chicago. There's not a jealous bone in Levin's body, and he never would have thought of rising at the expense of Rangel.
When I think about Rangel, my reflections turn to the early autumn of 1996. Watching Bill Clinton's reelection bid against Bob Dole unfold that year, it occurred to me that it was possible the Democrats might regain the congressional majority they lost in 1994. I was wrong -- or maybe just 10 years premature, if you want to be charitable.
But I decided to write a piece for The Post on what might be in the offing, so I interviewed the ranking Democrats on key congressional committees, including Rangel of Ways and Means.
Earlier that year, he had led a last-ditch fight against the welfare reform bill that was one of the notable battles of the new Republican Congress. President Clinton vetoed two versions, then in 1996 negotiated a deal with the Republicans and signed the third one, ending the guarantee of federal stipends for very-low-income women with children.
Rangel fought it every inch of the way, even when a Democratic president capitulated. He was particularly aggrieved that New York Gov. George Pataki, a Republican, came to Washington, like other governors, to lobby for the bill. Like his home-state senator, the late Pat Moynihan, Rangel was convinced that it meant ruin for his constituents and for New York.
So when he had run through his list of bills that he would try to pass if the Democrats regained the majority, I said, "I'm surprised you didn't mention welfare. I would have thought you'd want to undo the bill they passed this year, first chance you get."
"Not me," he said, with that mischievous grin that colleagues and reporters came to know so well. "I'll wait until the next recession, when those governors are crying for help with the people who lost their welfare checks. I want to see Pataki down on his knees, begging me to fix it." That was Rangel, brushing past all the congressional protocol and double-talk and making it clear that his high-principled policy views live comfortably with a completely human passion to settle personal scores.
This was a no-pretense guy who, like other military veterans in politics, had lived through much worse than his opponents could ever throw at him. Rangel's ordeal came in the retreat from North Korea, and he was liberated by surviving the experience.
When he came home, he had the guts to take out the redoubtable -- and crooked -- Rep. Adam Clayton Powell Jr. And he had the guts to tell Hillary Rodham Clinton, with her Illinois, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Washington, D.C., and Arkansas addresses, that she could become the senator from New York -- and he would help.
I hate seeing him fall.