When Frank Horton left Congress, they had a big celebration for him at the Rochester Riverside Convention Center.
As the evening wore down, I sat on a bench near the coat room, putting together a column for the newspaper.
Louise Slaughter walked up, and in that beautiful southern drawl called me by name.
“Bob,” she said. “Bob, be sure and write something nice about dear Frank. He deserves it.”
The same is true of Louise Slaughter.
I want to write something nice, because she deserves it.
Because history deserves it. Because the tale of this woman ought to be told and taught, remembered and replicated.
She was truly one for the ages.
She was a neighbor lady who saw something she didn’t like – some plan to bulldoze some trees or something – and she said something about it. More importantly, she did something about it.
She stood up. She spoke out. She led.
For the rest of her life.
From the county legislature to the state Assembly to the House of Representatives.
She led a whole life before she was elected. A scientist, a wife, a mom. And then the full flower of her public service. A lion of principle who took the ideals of her kitchen table and shouted them in the halls of power. She not only won a seat in the House – the first woman from Rochester to do so – she held it longer than anyone ever had, and she took it higher than anyone ever had – chair of the Rules Committee.
She was not only the first woman chair of Rules, she was an essential part of the core of Democrat members who gave the United States its first-ever female speaker of the House.
And in Washington she put her fingerprints in places of progressive nobility.
When the subject was violence against women, she was a powerful legislator. When it was international trade, she was a pragmatic and prescient voice. When it was the Affordable Care Act, her parliamentary ability saved the day, making her second only to Barack Obama in the successful passage of that milestone legislation.
Personally, I almost never agreed with her.
But I always admired her.
Fairly early in her tenure in Congress, the Republican elections commissioner asked me to run against Louise Slaughter. It was flattering for a young man, and I got several free lunches out of the discussion, but I declined. I knew, of course, that she would demolish me. More importantly, I just admired her too much.
If I had agreed with her, I would have thought Louise Slaughter the perfect politician and leader. It was no mystery to me why she was elected year after year, opponent after opponent.
She was brilliant, she was tough, she was gracious.
And she believed what she believed.
Louise Slaughter was partisan, but she was partisan because her party advanced her philosophy. To her very core, she believed in progressivism. That was obvious if you just watched her. If you just listened to her.
It’s as if Franklin Roosevelt – or Eleanor – planted a seed in a little girl’s heart and it bore fruit all the rest of her life.
And, even in disagreement, you can’t help but admire and respect that principled passion.
The life and rise of Louise Slaughter are worthy of teaching to children. She came out of the coal fields, became a scientist, had a wonderful family, earned the trust of her neighbors, and rose to the highest echelons of power in our country, and did so consequentially.
Along the way she gave particular inspiration to women and girls, and to the so-called elderly.
For the past 25 years, Louise Slaughter has been past the age of retirement. And yet for those 25 years she has been as active as any member of Congress, and far sharper of mind than most people. She worked an entire career – a career of historic import – at an age when we have put most people on a shelf, forcing them into irrelevance. By her example, she showed the lie of sexism. By her example, she showed the lie of ageism.
By her life, she showed the power and reality of the American dream.
Louise Slaughter lived 88 years, but she lived every single one of them. She was brilliant and gracious and useful to the end.
They will probably name the train station after her, but I hope they also name an elementary school after her. I want children to remember her example and follow her path. I want Rochester to mark this contribution to history.
I heard from her twice in recent years. When her husband died, and at the last election. Her notes were gracious and genuine, and treasured by me.
And her death is personally sad. As odd as it may sound, the death of this 88-year-old came as a surprise. It is hard to imagine her gone. Louise Slaughter was a force of nature, and an historic leader, without doubt the most consequential Rochestertian of this generation.
And I will miss her.
(Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images)