Mr. Cremeans goes to Washington.(In real life: first-person America)(Frank Cremeans)(Obituary)

"Don't drink the tap water here. Use this stuff in the fridge. I bring it from home."

So said my Congressman, Frank Cremeans, pointing to several gallon milk jugs filled with Ohio water, taking up much of the space in his otherwise barren refrigerator. It was my first full day of life in Washington, and until my own lease began, I was his invited houseguest.

For 14 days I lived with my Congressman in his small, sparse, over-priced, ground-floor apartment with bars on the windows and no telephone. "I have to have somewhere to go where they can't reach me," he explained. These days, when people are surprised that I don't own a cellular phone, I point out that if a Congressman can remain unreachable for a few precious hours each day, so can I.

That was June of 1995. Frank had been elected by a slim margin the year before over a Democratic incumbent, in Ohio's largest and most rural Congressional district. A native of that district, I had done some field campaign work for him over the summer. The next year, he brought me onto his staff. Living with him was a fascinating experience. I used to say, "Not many people ever see their Congressman in his pajamas," but this was the sight which greeted me each morning as he awoke early and left for the Capitol, only to arrive back at ten or midnight or, on occasion, not at all.

I happened to agree with Frank Cremeans on almost every policy point we ever came across--a rare mix. But I used to tell friends that he was the sort of person you would want as your representative no matter what your political views. That is because Frank was not in politics for himself, but because he felt it was his duty.

Here was a man of simple background, raised poor in hill country near the Ohio River, where the odds of becoming a success are slim today, let alone five decades ago. But he made his way the best he could, became educated, started a business, and raised a family. He slowly grew in stature and status, and by his fifties he felt it was time to ...