Chapter Excerpt

In 1851, Israel Washburn was elected to Congress. Two years later, Elihu Washburne joined him in the House of Representatives. Perhaps the extra e at the end of Elihu’s last name prevented people from realizing it at the time, but these were the first brothers ever to serve in Congress.

About a century later, a young Mexican woman made the decision to head north in pursuit of a better life. If she had been informed during that exhausting journey, when her future was just a giant question mark, that two of her seven yet-to-be-born children would become the first sisters in the American Congress, she would have been incredulous. And yet, that’s exactly what happened.

In January 2003, precisely 150 years after the aforementioned brothers’ names were written into the history books, Loretta and Linda Sánchez, daughters of immigrants Maria Macias and Ignacio Sánchez, became the first sisters in Congress. Before this, 1,881 relatives had served in the House, but never sisters. Why did it take so long? And what enabled us to finally break through this most resilient of barriers?

Of course, we’re delighted to be the first and, so far, only sisters on Capitol Hill, but we’re also disheartened. As we stride down the halls of the Longworth Building, racing to the next vote, why don’t we see more faces like our own, female or Latino? Anyone who’s glanced at recent U.S. population statistics knows that the word minority is rapidly becoming a misnomer, as 35 million Hispanics certainly don’t sound all that minor to us. Okay, so we’re the exception. But we shouldn’t be. And that’s why we want to tell our story — to inspire others to pursue a career in public service, and to ultimately speed up the sluggish transition to a more representative government.

Step into our world, both political and personal, and take a behind-the-scenes look at our joint and individual experiences. After all, despite sharing the same background and many similar views, we’re also two very distinct individuals: Loretta the businesswoman, Linda the lawyer; Loretta the neat freak, Linda the leave-it-where-it-drops specialist; Loretta the exercise-conscious early riser, Linda the late stop-out who’s returning home just as her big sister is getting up. It would make for some engaging interaction if we shared a home together in Washington, D.C.

To a certain extent we grew up together, but in many ways we didn’t. I’m the second among seven kids, Linda’s number six, and the older siblings usually stayed together and the younger ones played together. However, the older ones also had to take care of the younger ones, so from changing Linda’s diapers when she was a baby to watching over her and our youngest brother, Michael, when our mom had to work or run errands, I served as a sort of surrogate mother.

She always had her soapbox and was preaching about eating the right food, doing chores, and taking care of ourselves to the point where sometimes I felt like I might as well be living in a convent. She was not only a caregiver, but a disciplinarian as well. While our parents were stricter with the older siblings and more lenient by the time they got around to us, it was the older siblings who were super strict with the younger. Still, I don’t think I ever consciously thought about defying them. In Latino families, there’s a lot of deference given by younger kids to older siblings, because you’re supposed to respect authority. So, while Loretta might recall me disobeying her, I didn’t ever purposely resist what she told me to do.

I’d agree with that. When there are seven kids, you have to keep control or chaos will ensue, and so there was a lot of discipline in our home. Having been raised strictly myself, I was the same with the younger set when I was in charge. I was responsible for them, and I tried to use the same parenting techniques that I saw my mom use. I think Linda used to call me the Witch.

Actually, it was the Warden. While Henry was the firstborn among the siblings, for all intents and purposes Loretta was the eldest. She was the one who took charge.

That’s largely because Henry is an artist and a dreamer. As the head guy he always took the brunt of our parents’ discipline. He was expected to do everything right, and for the most part he did. But at the same time, being a dreamer, he didn’t want to be in control of the younger kids, so he handed that responsibility to me.

On Saturdays we had to get up and do chores. I think our parents’ philosophy was that if we were busy we’d be too tired to get into trouble. So, they pushed us to study, to be involved in sports, and, on Saturday mornings, to do chores around the house. Mom would go into the kitchen at some ungodly hour and quite literally rattle the pots and pans as an alarm clock, and then Loretta would act as the overseer, checking to make sure we weren’t goofing off, then reporting back on our performance! That’s why she was the Warden.

I was the one with white gloves. I did my own chores, but I also had to make sure everyone else stayed in line.

We didn’t actually rebel, but revenge was sometimes exacted on her. We knew, for example, that Loretta was deathly afraid of June bugs, so we’d place them on her face while she was asleep or tangle them in her hair, and then watch as she screamed and Dad held her down, trying to pull each of them out.

Initially, my role was to help prevent chaos, account for everybody, and keep the home orderly, because my mother had so many things to do. But eventually, as I began experiencing things that our parents had never experienced, I turned into a sort of advance scout for the younger siblings.

For example, right from the start our parents wanted all of their kids to go to college, but when I had to decide which college to attend, Dad said it should be USC, where Henry was already going. The reason? “They have a good football team!” He had no idea about choosing a college based on our interests and what classes were being offered. He could only relate to it in the way that he knew. I didn’t know much either, because my school counselors hardly acknowledged that I’d even make it to college.

There was no one to advise me which place would be best suited to what I wanted to do and how I wanted to do it, whereas by the time Linda got to that same point and was thinking of applying to Cal State Fullerton, I said, “What are you talking about? You can go to Cal Berkeley, you can go to Brown University, you can go to Harvard.” She said, “But I’m not smart enough to get into those colleges,” to which I rolled my eyes and responded, “You’re smart enough to get into all of those colleges! It’s just a matter of what you want to study.” I asked her what she liked about school, and after that, I gave her a list of about ten different schools to which she should apply.

Although Dad wanted his girls to go to college, he also wanted us to go to Cal State Fullerton down the street — which he described as “one of the best universities in the country” — so that we’d still be living at home, where he could keep an eye on us. It didn’t matter where the boys went. That’s why, when I eventually decided to go to a college in San Francisco, we didn’t even tell my father. Mom and I supposedly went “on vacation” to visit some relatives up north, but what we really did was drive up to Berkeley to find me an apartment. Then, two days before classes were due to begin, as I packed everything into my little car, Dad asked, “Where are you going?” I said, “I’m going to college.” When he learned it was Berkeley he was not happy, but it was too late. I’d already enrolled and paid my tuition, so there was no way I could back out. Mom, Loretta, and I had conspired to do this, and we all got an earful, but what could he do? I was going to one of the best schools in California, and since my father’s extremely thrifty with a dollar he’d never waste the money by saying I couldn’t go there.

I wanted Linda, and the rest of my brothers and sisters, to not have to reinvent the wheel. I’d walked around blindly, trying to figure out many of those things, and I didn’t want them to have the same experience. In my case, when Dad initially told me to go to USC like my older brother Henry, I took a look and didn’t believe it fit me well. When I got home I told Dad and he said, “That’s okay, Loretta. There’s this great little community college that I pass every single day on the way home. Its name is Chapman, and it looks so nice, I think you should check it out.” So, I did go and check it out, and I immediately discovered it wasn’t a community college, it was a private four-year university. That meant instead of costing $5 per unit, as Dad thought it would, the annual fee was $8,000. That was a lot of money in 1978, and didn’t exactly fit the plan to work and pay for it all by myself.

When I arrived home, I told Dad, “I really, really like that school. I think it’s a good fit for me and I want to go there . . . Oh, and by the way, it’s not a community college, and it costs eight thousand dollars a year.” He about choked. Still, I did end up going there. I received a federal Pell grant, a state grant, and a private scholarship from a family, the Pralles, that helped kids attend college, and so it cost my parents nothing. Some people go to Harvard or Stanford or Cal Berkeley because their parents have already gone there, other relatives have already gone there, and family money has resulted in their names being given to some of the halls. We didn’t have that kind of background, so we had to make it on our own, usually with the help of families we didn’t know but who understood how important education was for everyone.

It was much the same with politics. I went through the experience of running for Congress first, although politics is much more in Linda’s blood than it is in mine. However, it obviously helped that, by the time she decided to run for Congress, I was already there and I already knew the ropes. In fact, when she said, “I want to do this,” one of the deciding factors was that I had developed an infrastructure — what I call the good ol’ girl network — that she could use to set up her campaign and win.

I remember the day I called Loretta and said, “Are you sitting down?” “What’s up?” she asked, to which I replied, “The new congressional seat that’s just been created in my area — I want to run for it.” There was this pregnant pause at the other end of the line. Then she said, “Well, I don’t know, Linda. What’s your strategy for winning? How are you going to raise the money? There’s that assemblywoman who represents a large portion of the district.” As she herself has since decribed it, it was like having your best friend hire your child — you want your kid to understand there’ll be no easy treatment just because of the friendship.

Loretta was basically saying, “Do you realize what this involves?” and my response was “Look, you travel all over the United States, and you campaign for candidates who, in some cases, you’ve barely met. You’re always talking about how we need more qualified women in office, and how we need more Latinos in office to reflect this country’s diversity, and you know my background. You know I’m qualified, with all my legal training and experience working for the labor movement.”

She said, “Okay, well, let me think about it.” Then, the next day, she called and said, “You know what, Linda, you’re right. I’m going to help you.” Which she did, of course. She continued to help even after I’d entered the House, assisting in my effort to secure a slot on the Judiciary Committee, making recommendations when I was setting up my office, and generally showing me the lay of the land. Then again, there were also times when my big sister still brought along her soapbox . . .

One time, I was sitting on the floor of the House, and between votes I was talking trade with a couple of male colleagues when Loretta came up, stood right in front of me, and said, “Linda, have you had your flu shot yet?” I was in midsentence, talking to these guys, so I signaled no, only for her to then wag her finger at me and say, “Today’s the last day that the House physician is giving the flu shot, and you have a tendency to get sick when you’re flying back and forth. You’d better get your shot right away!” There I was, discussing a serious issue with my colleagues, and I felt like a kid being told to put on clean underwear. But that’s Loretta — part mother, part sister.

Hey, what’s wrong with that? When we were growing up, our dad used whatever was going on to teach us very, very valuable lessons, and as a result the siblings would never discount things that could be learned from each other. We have always learned from each other and helped each other. So, as much as I look out for Linda, I also often go to her for advice. She, after all, is the real lawyer. I just watch Law & Order. And although I generally understand how things work from a legal standpoint, I still consult her when it gets down to the nitty-gritty of interpreting the law. That’s her background, that’s her training . . . and I also go to her when she has better contacts to a House member that I need to reach out to. We’re not competitive with one another or with any of our siblings. On the contrary, I’m her biggest cheerleader, and she’s mine.

That having been said, for Linda and me to share a home together in Washington, D.C., it would have to be one of those places that, in addition to a common area, has an east wing and a west wing, enabling us to reside as far apart as possible!

Because of all the years I was in law school, my favorite, most productive time is usually from about nine in the evening until one or two in the morning.

And that’s my favorite, most productive time to sleep.

Loretta is one of those crazy, fanatical early morning people who gets up at five, which I think is unnatural. So, heaven help her if I were to get to bed at two in the morning and then hear her rattling around the house at five.

I’ve often thought we could share a single bedroom. I would use the bed while she’s up, and as I’d be rolling out she’d be coming in.

Since Loretta’s not a real late-night person, if I’m grabbing dinner with a colleague at 8:30 in the evening, that’s about the same time she’s ready to walk home, do some reading, and go to bed.

Dinner always sounds like a good idea at 8:15 when we’re about to vote. But then, after the vote, when it’s 8:45 and we’re standing around, I’m like, “Man, I need to go home and sleep now.”

Right after the vote my on switch turns to off. And that means while I’m chilling out at home, Linda’s socializing, making friends, and talking to our colleagues.

I have a different set of friends, because they’re the ones who get up at five in the morning to go for a run, before getting to the gym at 6:00 a.m. And you can also get a lot of business done at the gym in the morning with your colleagues, because again it’s a different set of people. So, if Linda doesn’t know somebody, I probably do, and vice versa. Between us, we know them all, and that’s really good in Washington, where work takes place all the time. People there don’t have another topic of conversation!

Well, that’s not entirely true. I’m on the Democrats’ baseball team, and when I’m with those guys we might talk ball for ten minutes.

Yes, and in my case we might talk about the musical I saw last night. There are a lot of renaissance people in the Congress, and I pretty much consider myself to be a source for what’s going on. However, usually when we’re together it’s a time for us to bounce ideas off each other, talk politics at home — “How should I handle this?” “What do you think of that?” “How do we get to the eighteen-to-twenty-four-year-olds who are in rehab right now?” So much of it is shop talk.

It definitely gets to a point where I’ve had enough talking about politics. In fact, when I go back to California and I catch up with my cousins or my friends, over dinner they’ll ask me what I’m working on and at first I won’t mind telling them. However, after about thirty minutes I’ll suddenly stop that conversation by saying, “So, are you dating anybody?” I don’t want to stay on the subject of politics all the time, and if the conversation returns there I’ll then ask someone, “How are your parents?”

Of course, there are many times when we discover that someone at a social get-together is actually there because of his or her political agenda. I try to tell them, “I’m not going to remember whatever it is you’re saying. Call my staff. They know much more about this subject than I do.” They somehow think that, at the office the next morning, you’re going to remember the hundred different things that people asked you to do the night before, even if it’s arranging a tour for visiting D.C.

What bothers me a lot is that some people who know me want to talk about my job all the time but never ask, “How are you doing, Linda?” or “How’s your family?” Those who’ve known me a long time generally will, but not all the new friends I’ve acquired since being elected. Some are only interested in my professional life; they never consider I might have other interests in addition to politics.

Some people are just curious, I think, and that’s understandable. We’re very accessible, and so it’s natural for them to ask questions. I usually just handle it in a different way from Linda. I’ll start off by regaling them with a couple of really funny stories relating to the Congress so they can have a good laugh and feel like they’ve got that tidbit of inside information. Then, after that, they can get on with just being themselves and not have to ask anything else. I think they just want the “inside scoop” on Congress. Actually, every day is exciting in Congress. So, why not?

As you can tell, Loretta and I have quite distinct personalities. But then, we also share several traits: optimism, an affinity for risk taking, a sense of adventure, and a work ethic that I think we and our siblings inherited from our parents, the immigrant work ethic.

Recently I was standing in the lobby of a building in the city of Orange, where I was scheduled to speak in front of the Orange County women judges, and there were other people attending a meeting of the city’s Heritage Foundation in the next room, which by definition is fairly Anglo, conservative, and wealthy. Anyway, some senior guy came over to me and asked, “Are you Loretta Sánchez?” I said, “Yes, sir, I am,” and he said, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while.” I was thinking, “Great. Okay, let me have it,” assuming he wanted to discuss immigration or something like that, but instead he said, “I used to own a company in the rubber-plastics industry and I know your father, Ignacio, and I just want to tell you he was the hardest-working man I’ve ever known in my entire life.”

It was humbling. He went on and on about how my dad gave 100 percent every day, how you could call him at five in the morning and he’d be there right away, and how he always got the job done. He asked, “Is your dad still alive?” and I said, “Yes, he’s got Alzheimer’s.” It really gets to me emotionally when people I’ve never met before describe the impact my father has made on their lives. And I’m also moved by how respectful they are of him, even though he was a blue-collar worker.

With this book I hope we, too, can make an impact, inspiring people and helping them understand what it takes to get things done.

It’s also about the self-belief that our mom and dad instilled in us. They thought we could be whatever we wanted to be — Madame Curie on a spaceship! That applies to everyone. You’ve got to allow yourself to dream, and then you must exploit the ways in which to achieve that. The people who realize their goals are the people who outlast all the naysayers and any negativity that surrounds them. And you also have to be yourself. Washington is very stifling in terms of the way others want you to act . . .

. . . and want you to look and want you to speak. One thing that people are invariably attracted to is confidence. There’s a theory that you’re not born lucky or unlucky, but that you make your own luck. Well, when you have confidence in terms of knowing who you are, what you’re about, and what you want to accomplish, people are drawn to that, so long as you’re not cocky or arrogant. One thing I’ve learned in Washington is that you don’t have to conform to other people’s ideas of what you should be. That will only erode your confidence, whereas by being yourself and being unorthodox you’ll stand out for all the right reasons. Not only will you attract attention for being a little out of the ordinary, but your confidence will be infectious.

In a million subtle and not-so-subtle ways you’re constantly being told what you should be like. Fashion magazines tell you what you should look like and self-help books tell you how you should think, and everything’s built around this expectation that you will be — or aspire to be — something that other people envision for you. Lord knows, this is true for me. I’m not a size 4, nor, probably, will I ever be, but I have a lot to offer in terms of intellect and passion and compassion. And even if I’m unfamiliar with a particular situation or environment, I know who I am, what my values are, and what I want to do, and I’ll persevere until I get it done. I hope that’s one of the messages our story conveys — you don’t have to be a supermodel to stand out from the crowd. Everyone can make an incredible difference in this world, and it doesn’t matter if you’re part of a minority, from humble beginnings, or started out with more obstacles than the average person. Loretta and I have had to overcome all those challenges, and we’ve learned as young women who got elected to Congress just how important it is to be the person that you fundamentally are.

Copyright © 2008 by Linda Sánchez and Loretta Sánchez