From the Vintage Archives:

It seems like only yesterday...

New Kid in Town

By Rick Horowitz

He liked the sound of it.

He thought it might be exciting the first time he heard it, or maybe the first two or three times, but here it was long after midnight and he'd heard it all day long, dozens of times, and he liked the last one every bit as much as he did the first: "Yes, Congressman." "Of course, Congressman." "Right away, Congressman." Now he picked up the phone and said it to the dial tone, just to hear it again in his own voice before he went to bed:

"This is Congressman Cipher."

Wally T. ("Flip") Cipher, in fact, limited heir to the styling-gel fortune and high-gloss flotsam on the great Republican tide. Who'd have believed it six months ago, when he first threw his hat into the ring? (A figure of speech, that's all -- Flip Cipher hated hats.) The Peeples re-election machine looked unbeatable back then, but there was Cipher, the right man at the right time with the right ads and the right hair. And here he is now, a one-day veteran of the historic 104th.

And what a day it's been! He was up before 3; by sunrise, he was in his new congressional office, trying out his new congressional chair. His staff had already hung his favorite campaign sign -- "SEND THEM A MESSAGE. SEND THEM A CIPHER!" -- right over the door.

He was so busy daydreaming about the campaign, he almost forgot the new members' prayer service and had to scurry for a seat in the last pew. He liked all the talk about justice and mercy, although the singing was the highlight, especially that part about the "terrible swift sword."

After the service, he tried to take some special constituents on the shiny little Capitol subway, but the place was so complicated -- hidden tunnels everywhere! -- that he never did find the thing. Another congressman offered to point him in the right direction, but Cipher ignored him. It was a Democrat, and Speaker Gingrich had warned him about them.

That was the very best part: watching Speaker Gingrich become Speaker Gingrich. First everybody voted, just called out either "Gingrich" or "Gephardt" when their own names were called. Speaker Gingrich got 228 votes, which meant, Cipher figured, that they heard the word "Gingrich" 228 times, or 456 times actually, because the clerk repeated each one.

Cipher hadn't imagined how exciting it would be to hear the word "Gingrich" 456 times, although he had been secretly hoping that Congressman Sonny Bono might sing "I Got Newt, Babe" instead, just to liven things up. But he didn't.

Then Speaker Gingrich gave a speech. It was a wonderful speech, Cipher decided, although he ran out of space to write down all the books Gingrich told them to read. Gingrich also spoke for quite a long time, Cipher noticed. Was he just imagining it, or were some of the other members already whispering about "Old Motormouth"?

Cipher would never criticize Speaker Gingrich; he was the reason they were all there today, voting "yes" on everything he proposed and calling the Democrats "the minority party" every chance they got. It felt great, even though it went on for hours and hours. Cipher was famished, but he hadn't gotten instructions on when and what to eat so he waited, until someone mentioned they could make their own food decisions. (Cipher had roast beef.) But on everything else, the Republicans stuck together like glue.

Which was excellent advice, Cipher realized as he pulled off his socks and fluffed his pillow; if only he'd stuck to the words they'd given him, his very first congressional speech would have gone perfectly. But with all the excitement, who could blame him for a little ad lib?

"The American people have voted for a revolution!" he'd thundered, his face red and his fists pounding. "And tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we're revolting!"

But it's still early.