I moved to Colorado just two weeks before Pat Schroeder was first elected to Congress in 1972. Like any newcomer, I knew little to nothing about the circumstances of her campaign but was mildly surprised a 32 year old had been elected to Congress from Denver. Pat was among a vanguard crop of women to win their seats under their own power during the 1970s. Although a handful of women had served in Congress for more than 50 years, most of them won election by replacing husbands who had died in office. A few others managed to hold statewide offices first, which then provided them with a springboard to Congress, but these were the exceptions.

It was 1974 before I met Pat as a precinct committeeman from northwest Denver. By then I had learned Congressman Byron Johnson, for whom the downtown federal office building is named, had been defeated in 1970 by anti-war candidate Craig Barnes in the Democratic primary. Johnson had held the Denver seat for decades and his supporters shifted their votes to Republican Mike McKevitt in the general election. A popular and capable congressman, McKevitt would later be hired as Director of the National Association of Manufacturers. Denver Democrats expected the 1972 Congressional race to be difficult with Nixon leading a Republican ticket cruising to an easy victory.

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Ralph Nordhauser, a stalwart Democratic leader active in the Denver Jewish community and a behind-the-scenes player in the McNichols administration at City Hall, recounted to me years later that a meeting to select an opponent for McKevitt – when such decisions were still made in smoke filled rooms – came down to a choice between Jim and Pat Schroeder, husband and wife. They were both attorneys with impeccable academic records and successful local practices. It nearly came down to a coin flip. Jim, however, had previously lost a race for the legislature and would be tainted with another loss. A second defeat would likely close off his future political ambitions. So Pat was tapped. Denver Democrats returned home to support her lively, “She Wins, We Win” campaign.

Congressional offices operated on a different clock then. There were no emails, cell phones or even reliable answering machines. If you needed assistance, you had to call or visit your member’s local office. Pat’s first Denver office manager, Sally Brown, spoke at last week’s memorial for Pat at the Colorado History Museum. By 1978, when I ran for the legislature, Pat’s office had earned a reputation as the best place to go for help. Sally and Pat had assembled a cracker-jack staff. Although Sally didn’t mention it, she enforced an informal policy that no one left the office until every call received that day was returned, even if it was only to assure a constituent that their message had been received and would be handled expeditiously.

Whether it was a veteran’s benefit issue or social security dispute, Schroeder’s staff was the one among the Colorado delegation most likely to resolve it for you. Once I arrived at the Capitol, Republican colleagues would occasionally ask me whether I could have Pat’s people handle a stalemated conflict for them. Schroeder’s office always accepted these cases. Not only did Pat serve on the right committees, but I learned her staffers were quick to take a cab to the appropriate federal office and appear in person at a bureaucrat’s desk. This occasionally extended to the congresswoman making the trip herself. It proved easier for everyone to just make sure her requests received kid glove treatment.

By the 1980s, the “astro-turfing” of Congressional offices with thousands of pre-printed post cards advocating for or against legislation began to disrupt communication as staff simply scored yes or no messages. Nonetheless, Schroeder insisted the business of representing her district and voters continued to come first. In 1979 I visited Pat at her Washington office and she recruited me for a political chore that blew up on us. Gary Hart would be running for re-election in 1980 and Pat felt he was neglecting to return home to Colorado. The state was growing so fast that 40% of registered voters would not have cast a ballot in his 1974 election. She had arranged for a Denver Post reporter to write a piece about his extended absence from the campaign trail and quoted an unnamed Democratic legislator regarding the importance of him returning to Colorado more frequently.

I was that unidentified Democrat. A few months later, attorney Hal Haddon, Gary’s campaign manager, jumped down my throat for being the source of the news story. I denied it, of course, (belated apologies to Hal). The reporter is now writing gossip for the Elysian Fields newsletter. At the time he admitted to identifying me to his editor but denied he was the source of the leak to Haddon. Pat was embarrassed and I learned an important political lesson. Anonymous sources are meant to remain anonymous. Gary soon jump-started his re-election campaign. So, I suppose all’s well that ends well.

In 1983 I was unexpectedly elected Denver Democratic Party Chair and received a call from Pat the next morning at my office. She asked if I could meet her for breakfast the next weekend. She didn’t beat around the bush when we met. A decade into her eventual 24-year career in Congress, she told me she was aware there were discussions among Democrats about whether she should step aside and make room for a more diverse delegation. She confirmed she was planning to run for re-election in 1984 and wanted to know whether she could count on my support as party leader.

Naturally, I told her she would have my endorsement. Nonetheless, I couldn’t help admiring her prompt attention to the political reality of remaining in front of any potential insurgency and slamming the door shut with me. We remained close friends for the remainder of her years in Washington. Quietly and diligently, she expanded military career opportunities for women, brought the regional distribution center for the U.S. Post Office to Stapleton, rounded up money for a clean-up of the arsenal site and much more. She was truly the dean of the Colorado delegation.

Visiting with her in 1995, following the Gingrich rebellion that put Republicans in the majority after 20 years of Democratic majorities, it was apparent Pat was chafing beneath the humiliations the House Speaker was imposing on former Democratic committee chairs. Although she had already announced her intention to run again, I sensed a hesitancy in her commitment. A few weeks later, standing in Diana DeGette’s kitchen one morning, I recommended she start thinking about putting a campaign committee together in case Schroeder’s seat were to open up. Diana told that she had spoken with Pat and been assured the congresswoman planned to run again.

I outlined my recent conversation with Schroeder, and advised Diana, “It may be a mixed analogy but the Democratic bulls that have been running Congress over the past half century aren’t willing to endure the abuse they’re receiving from Newt – some of it arguably deserved – but I’m guessing they will walk away rather than remain. I believe Pat will quit and you should be prepared when she does.” A few months later, Pat threw in the towel.

She went on to a successful decade as director of the American Publishers Association supporting copyright law in the face of an expanding internet that copied books, music and video without permission. Once, while discussing the tears she shed when she opted out of the 1988 presidential race, she told me, “I wasn’t crying for myself; I was crying because we wouldn’t blaze a trail for the next woman who would run for the White House.” Neither of us expected we would wait 28 years to see a major party nominate a woman for president – and then she lost. Maybe next time.

Miller Hudson is a public affairs consultant and a former Colorado legislator.