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In Washington Speaker Martin has lived for years in a two-room Hay-Adams House suite, across Lafayette Square from the White House. He wears the same dark blue suit and the same dark tie for a week, along with his trademark, black, box-toed, ankle-high shoes. One night a week during the baseball season, plus an occasional Sunday afternoon, ex-Shortstop Martin likes to take in a game at Griffith Stadium, usually with his good friend and the Rules Committee Chair man, Illinois' Leo Allen. Joe roots for the Nationals, keeps an eye peeled for the Boston score to see how the Red Sox do. He is particularly critical of sloppy play around second base, and sometimes observes that a rookie is just like a freshman Congressman: "They both need proper seasoning."
At 12, a Cue. On days when the House is in session, Joe is driven in his official Cadillac to the House restaurant, where at 8:30 he breakfasts (cantaloupe, buttered whole-wheat toast, black coffee) and spends an hour holding informal court. Sometimes Sam Rayburn joins him. Then others troop up to schedule the day's activities or ask for favors. Rules Chairman Allen checks with him on bills to be cleared for floor action. Whip Les Arends warns that too many members are out of town to risk a close vote. Then come the requests. Would Joe ask Allen to clear a pet bill? Could Joe get a district classified as a drought disaster area? When Joe makes a speech in New York, would he spend a few minutes with visiting schoolchildren from upstate?
At 9:30 Speaker Martin goes to his personal office to read the newspapers, dictate letters and receive more callers. Then, at 11, he moves to the heroic mahogany desk under a crystal chandelier in the ornate Speaker's Suite. There he keeps his formal appointments with Cabinet members or visiting VIPs. Each day, a few minutes remain for newsmen to swarm into the room and fire a quick volley of questions. Joe's answers are terse, to the point and, except when he needs a big news play to help swing a tight vote, off the record. Suddenly a youthful page's voice squeaks, "One minute, Mr. Speaker."
That is Joe's cue. He brushes through the band of reporters, walks over to the House floor to convene the day's session promptly at noon. Joe presides during the routine business of referring bills to committee and putting speeches in the Congressional Record. When the day's debate begins, the House "resolves" itself into a "Committee of the Whole." At that point the Speaker turns over his gavel to the day's chairman and goes to lunch.
Lunch is often a sandwich and piece of pie at the cloakroom snack bar. The rest of the afternoon, Speaker Martin stays close to the House floor, constantly feeling the political pulse of its members.
Before dinner Speaker Martin stops in at one or two official or semi-official cocktail parties, at each one puts a glass in his hand, lifts it to his lips, but drinks not a drop. (He just doesn't like the stuff, or tobacco.) If there is a formal dinner party, Joe may stay as late as 10:30, rarely later. Otherwise, he dines at the hotel, and by 9:30 he is in bed.