98-year-old Thurmond is at end of his run but hangs on to preserve GOP Senate control
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Normally, this might be a matter of importance only to the chaplain, who gave the Senate's Republican president pro tem a gentle nudge to get him back on track. Thurmond has for years been acknowledged to be a shrunken, shuffling, shadow of his robust former self.
But a ghoulish preoccupation now attends every act of the nation's oldest and longest-serving senator, who has been hospitalized repeatedly for fatigue and other minor ailments during the past year.
With the Senate split 50-50, the Republicans can claim majority control only because their party holds the White House and Vice President Dick Cheney, whose own health is another source of concern, is empowered to break ties in their favor.
A loss of just one Republican seat would end a power-sharing arrangement and shift control of the Senate to the Democrats, who would not likely favor President Bush's priorities, such as the $1.6 trillion tax cut the Senate is about to take up.
If Thurmond is unable to remain in office until the end of next year to complete what he already has said will be his final term, his replacement would be named by Jim Hodges, South Carolina's Democratic governor.
Thus, as South Carolina's Democratic Party Chairman Dick Harpootlian, puts it: "After 46 years in office, Strom is down to 20 months left and everybody's focused on whether he's going to make it."
As Thurmond serves his party in perhaps the most vital capacity that he has in years, he draws attention to how accommodating Congress - the House as well as the Senate - can be to members who choose to stay long past the peak of performance.
His staff does his work
Staff assistants can carry out almost every necessary function - drafting legislation, answering mail, solving constituent problems, meeting with other lawmakers and even receiving visitors at the congressional office.
In Thurmond's case, Chief of Staff Duke Short has been acting on behalf of his boss for many years. In other instances, wives or other relatives have quietly stepped in to call the shots.
The only responsibility a legislator can't delegate to a surrogate is his floor vote. Sometimes members of Congress have to come on crutches or in wheelchairs. Once in a great while a legislator shows up on a hospital gurney.
Thurmond is still moving under his own power and so far hasn't missed a vote. But after years of relying on an aide to escort him from his office to the Senate floor, Thurmond now relies on at least two assistants to get him where he needs to go.
'It's a club'
Fellow legislators tend to be very sympathetic to failing colleagues. In business, there might be concern about the bottom line. In academia, even tenured professors face periodic reviews. In the health fields, steps are taken to avoid medical mistakes. But Congress can be more like a family making allowances for ailing members.
"It's a club," says James Thurber, director of the Center for Congressional and Presidential Studies at The American University. "Lawmakers tend to be very tolerant of each other's foibles in this area as well as others. Reciprocity is very strong, especially in the Senate. They treat each other with respect, if they have been treated with respect."
A key distinction, of course, is that lawmakers are essentially peers who answer only to the voters of their state or district. The voters of South Carolina chose to re-elect Thurmond to an eighth term in 1996 after a campaign waged by his challenger focused almost exclusively on the issue of Thurmond's age. His colleagues are in no position to overrule that.
Legislative leaders will ease their failing colleagues out of power positions, however. Thurmond invoked his seniority to take the helm of the Armed Services committee when Republicans gained the majority in 1995. He stepped aside in favor of Sen. John Warner, R-Va., in 1999, however.
House Democratic leaders had a tougher time a few years earlier persuading Rep. Mo Udall, D-Ariz., who had Parkinson's disease, to give up the chairmanship of the House Interior Committee, where he had made his mark as a leading conservationist.
Trying to cut a deal
Thurmond has hinted that he may be willing, even eager, to lay his burden down if he could avoid upsetting the balance in the Senate. Rumors have been circulating for more than a year that the South Carolina Republican was trying to strike a deal with Democratic Gov. Hodges that would allow him to step aside in favor of the senator's estranged wife, Nancy.
Thurmond confirmed last November - before it was certain that the Senate GOP margin had slipped from 54-46 to 50-50 - that he would agree to an arrangement that would allow Nancy to serve for a few months. But he withdrew the statement almost immediately, saying he had received a torrent of complaints from constituents.
Reports surfaced recently that Thurmond had also made the offer on a homemade videotape that Nancy Thurmond brought to a meeting with Hodges in November.
So far, Hodges has said no deal.
He comes to work every day
Meanwhile, Ol' Strom, as he is known, carries on. He gave up the daily chore of opening the Senate early last month after he was briefly hospitalized for fatigue, but remains Senate president pro tem (as such, he's third in the presidential line of succession) and plans to preside over the formalities from time to time.
He still attends committee hearings, comes to the office every day, and meets with constituents. He still lives alone in an Alexandria, Va., apartment, after his family briefly considered moving him into an assisted-living facility.
He is very hard of hearing but refuses to wear a hearing aid.
Thurmond's biography spans the 20th century, including high points as a World War II hero and low moments as leader of segregationist forces during the civil-rights struggle of the 1950s and 1960s. More recently he's been known mostly for his longevity - and his fondness for women.
He was feeling spry enough to ask Hillary Rodham Clinton for a hug when she was sworn into the Senate in early January. Nothing unusual for him, but he's being watched very closely these days.
"I guess it's like a marathon," Harpootlian, the state Democratic chairman, said of Thurmond's long career. "Nobody is really interested until near the end. My bet is that he's going to make it, that in January 2003 he'll be standing there holding the Bible to swear in his successor - who I predict will be a Democrat."