Turn out the lights...

It's 10 o'clock on the big election night in Washington, D.C., but the city seems deserted. Beautiful, yet tired and empty, the many monuments and federal buildings acquire a stark, left-behind quality against a starless sky. The usually hectic streets have gone quiet. It just doesn't seem like the world's most furiously political city awaiting the fate of two presidential candidates, numerous congressional incumbents and wannabes, and countless bureaucrats. Jobs are on the line! Important ideas are at stake! The interior of the White House hangs in the balance! But Power Town seems more like Prague at three o'clock in the morning after the American tourists have finally returned to their hostels and hotels.

This room has been informally dubbed the Dick Morris suite, for in that august location Mr. Clinton's friend and arch strategist, the amorous Dick Morris, passed out campaign information to a Washington call-girl like so many baubles. It ended badly for Mr. Morris, but not before he steered Mr. Clinton through to another four years. Baubles? Make that gold nuggets.

The point is not lost on those who occupy room 205 tonight. Mike Murphy--Lamar Alexander's campaign chief who was hired by Mr. Dole a few months back only to resign in disgust after a few irritating weeks during which he claimed he could not get Dole &quoton message&quot--and Don Sipple, who from the beginning headed up Mr. Dole's television campaign, are throwing a party in 205. It's an ironic tip of the hat to a man who was able to keep his candidate on message. While watching Dole concede on television, Mr. Sipple turns to Mr. Murphy. &quotHe still doesn't have the non-verbal," Mr. Sipple whispers. That's politico talk, and it means that even when Bob Dole says something good and even when he says it well, he still looks sour. Mr. Sipple's rich, deep voice is lifted ever so slightly by his gallows humor. He turns back to the TV and drags hard on a cigarette.

The Republicans in the room are not altogether sour, however. They don't like to see a man of Mr. Dole's character and courage lose, but Senate and congressional races are coming along nicely. A Dole insider, just off the Dole campaign jet, walks toward the elevator. He's rumpled. He doesn't care about Bob Dole or Dick Morris or any other political figure anymore. He wants to go home. &quotI'm going to bed," he states flatly. And with that he disappears into the inky Washington night.

Earlier in the evening, across the Potomac, in Arlington, Va., at the headquarters for the National Leadership Council--which teaches young conservatives to take and hold public office--the mood is upbeat. The council has graduated personages as politically hefty as Ralph Reed and Senator Mitch McConnell (R-Ky.). They smile out from handsome frames along a sort of walk of fame. Mr. Reed's photograph seems to have been taken a few years back, when he was in his late 20s and passed for 16. Down that hall and to the left a Mexican buffet provides food that only the very hungry would find appetizing, but no matter, it is also where General John Singlaub stands and holds forth on the flaws of Bill Clinton. General Singlaub has served in just about every major conflict of this century. He resigned from the military in 1978 because President Carter, he explains, put the American military at risk.

Mr. Clinton, he argues, has &quotconducted sociological experiments on the military by letting sodomites and lesbians into the armed forces." General Singlaub wears a Dole '96 Purple Heart pin. If he's a tad bombastic, it should be remembered that there probably aren't many recipients of the Purple Heart wearing Clinton '96 Purple Heart pins.

The consensus here seems to be that having Congress is better than the White House and the half-dozen TV screens are reporting good things. This is the kind of crowd conservative strategist Grover Norquist--founder of the American Tax Reform association--represents. And after getting the night's returns, Mr. Norquist is optimistic. &quotI'm ecstatic," he says. &quotThis was the Battle of the Bulge and we won. The Democrats knew they had to take back Congress this time or they wouldn't be able to in the foreseeable future."

Mr. Norquist argues that demographics and Democrats just don't mix anymore: &quotTheir core voters are getting older. The cohort that supports big government, that came of age during the Depression and World War II when government seemed to solve problems, is dying at the rate of 2 million a year. In 1998 and 2000 there are going to be another 20 to 30 Democrat retirees. I believe we'll get two-thirds of those seats."

Mr. Norquist is adamant about congressional seats' being more important than the White House. &quotDuring the Cold War, it really mattered who was president. Congress is more important now. Congress can cut government programs."

Guess who drops in? The Tennessee Walker himself, the plaid-spoken orator, Lamar Alexander. He's wearing a natty dark suit and for a few minutes talks to Mr. Murphy undisturbed. He toys with a strand or two of aged cheddar the way lesser men would play with a few quarters. When a reporter from The Weekly Standard magazine moves in for the kill, he smiles, calls the reporter by name, then takes a bite of cheese--nothing to it! Mr. Alexander says Mr. Dole ran a courageous campaign, though he sees room for improvement. &quotI think we've learned that we have to talk about what we're for more than about what we're against. We have to stick to our strong conservative principles. That's what wins."

But apparently Mr. Alexander won't swear off the fun of an old-fashioned political knock-out punch. When asked about that other Tennessean, Al Gore, his eyes sparkle. &quotI think he should be a little uncomfortable complaining about the Christian Coalition when he goes to Buddhist temples to raise money for his party," he says.

Last question: Are you going to run in 2000? &quotI'm going to be right in the thick of things," he says with a grin.

So this is where the Democrats are hanging out. First things first--the Democrats have the best cheese by far; they even go in for goat cheese. But this is offset by the fact that they are a far-too-serious bunch. They watch their leader. He is happy. They are teary-eyed, moved.

The downstairs room of the homosexual group Human Rights Campaign is teeming with activists wearing buttons with equals signs on them instead of the little pink triangle. &quotThese stand for equal rights," a helpful young lad volunteers.

And then she comes into view--Candice Gingrich, the ultimate gay-rights activist. She's cute as a button, looking for all the world like she could be almost anyone's little sister so generic is her short-haired, tom-boyish charm. But she's Newt's sister, and is she ever angry.

&quotNo my brother is most certainly not an acceptable candidate," she snaps. A reporter wonders why not. &quotBecause he's against me having children and a family and he's against me having the right to work." No one risks stating the obvious: Someone far more powerful than her brother is against her having children. But what about the work part--does she really believe that her brother is against her having a job? Oh, yes, she most certainly does. When she's asked this question she arches her brows and lowers her eyes. &quotThis interview is over," she says with force before storming off.

It's over. That's what a cameraman says. He allows a peek into his monitor, through which it is possible to see a nearly empty ballroom. Once inside someone suggests that the party has moved up to one of the hospitality suites, which proves to be equally picked over. It's depressing. The older people are going to bed. The admirable people are going to bed. Here and there worn-out voices begin to ask: &quotShouldn't we go to bed now? It's over."

All night there has been talk of beds (who will have to lie in this or that political bed); of going to bed (everyone seemed so exhausted so soon); and there was incredulity among Republicans that Mr. Clinton did not get into trouble with more voters because of his and Mr. Morris's alleged goings-on in beds. And it turns out that conservative syndicated columnist, author, and budding television luminary Arianna Huffington spent all of Election Day on Comedy Central's political commentary feature called Strange Bedfellows. Mrs. Huffington says she's willing to venture out into the popular culture arena and argues that if more Republicans don't, they can expect more sleepless nights. &quotWe have to connect with the electorate," she insists. &quotFifty percent of registered voters did not vote. That's a very dangerous signal. We need to take steps to revive confidence in the political system."

Paul Weyrich, who started the Heritage Foundation and the Free Congress Foundation, spent election night manning his own television station, National Empowerment Television. He agrees voter turnout was disheartening. &quotThis was the lowest voter turnout since 1924 when John Davis--who was even more conservative than Calvin Coolidge--ran against Calvin Coolidge," he says. &quotPeople didn't see a difference then and people didn't see a difference between Clinton and Dole this time."

But where he is hopeful about a Republican Congress, Mrs. Huffington is skeptical. &quotI've analyzed a lot of these last Republican campaigns and many of them boasted that they still supported government programs," she says. "[Republican National Committee Chairman] Haley Barbour was on Larry King the other night emphasizing the fact that government has grown under Republican leadership. I hope the Republicans will seize the opportunity to promote conservative change, but I don't think it's likely."

The sky is darker now, the streets and avenues within the beltway deserted. The Potomac is glass calm. Bill Clinton is still president. The Republicans still have Congress. And there is print space and will enough for analysts to assess the damage for weeks to come.

But heading out to Virginia, it's hard not to think fondly of Robert Dole, a man who, whatever his campaign mistakes, whatever his political deficiencies (and for a conservative there are many), served his country when his country called.

Here in Washington and all across America, there are those who will remember this strange and sad election night not as the night Bob Dole lost the election--though there is evidence in abundance for that--but as the night the nation turned its back on one of its true and solid and dignified heroes in favor of a silver tongue and flattery.