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How we will remember our boss, Chairman Elijah Cummings: Moral clarity in all he did

He listened to us, respected us, trusted us and was truly proud of us. He had so much left to accomplish, but he has left it for us to complete.

Current and former staff of Rep. Elijah Cummings | Published October 25, 2019 | USA Today | Posted October 25, 2019 |

As current and former congressional staff of the late Rep. Elijah E. Cummings, chairman of the House Oversight and Reform Committee, we had the great honor and privilege of working with him over the course of more than two decades.

Many public figures have praised the chairman in recent days, extolling his unmatched integrity, courageous leadership and commitment to service and justice. To these well-deserved tributes, we would like to add our own eulogy, based on our experience working by his side.

He was inspiring, both in public and even more so in private. He brought moral clarity to everything he did, and his purpose was pure — to help those among us who needed it most. He taught us that our aim should be to “give a voice to the voiceless,” including families whose drinking water had been poisoned, sick patients who could no longer afford their medicine and, most of all, vulnerable children and “generations yet unborn.”

'WHAT FEEDS YOUR SOUL?'

Whether in a hearing room full of members of Congress or in a quiet conversation with staff, his example motivated us to become our best selves in the service of others.

He was genuine. He insisted on personally interviewing every staff member he hired so he could “look into their eyes.” Each of us has a personal memory of sitting down with him for the first time, and it was like nothing we had experienced before. He would ask why we were interested in public service, how we thought we could contribute and what motivated us.

Then he would lean in and ask in his low baritone voice, “But … what feeds your soul?”

More than a few of us left those interviews with tears in our eyes, perhaps feeling that we had learned more about ourselves than about him. He made that kind of personal connection with everyone he met, from the people of his district, to witnesses who testified at hearings, to whistleblowers who reported waste, fraud or abuse. Since his passing, we have been inundated with messages from many whose lives he touched.

BE EFFICIENT AND SEEK 'HIGHER GROUND'

He was demanding. He would boast that he had the hardest working staff in Congress and that he sometimes would call or email us in the middle of the night, which was absolutely true. His directive to be “effective and efficient in everything you do” still rings in our ears.

In exchange, he listened to us, respected us and trusted us. He made sure we knew he was truly proud of us — memories we each now cherish. The result of his unwavering support was fierce loyalty from every member of his staff. We committed to doing everything in our power to fulfill his vision.

He was a unifying force, even in this era of partisanship. He would command order with a sharp rap of his gavel, elevate debate by noting that “we are better than that” and urge all of us to seek “not just common ground, but higher ground.”

Guided by his faith and values, he would look for and bring out the good in others, forming bridges through human connection.

WE ARE HERE 'ONLY FOR A MINUTE'

He fully grasped the moment in which we are now living. He invoked history books that will be written hundreds of years from now as he called on us to “fight for the soul of our democracy.” As he said, this is bigger than one man, one president or even one generation.

He was acutely aware of his own transience in this world. He reminded us repeatedly that we are here “only for a minute” and that all of us soon will be “dancing with the angels.”

He would thunder against injustice, or on behalf of those who could not fight for themselves, and he would vow to keep battling until his “dying breath.” He did just that. His final act as chairman came from his hospital bed just hours before his death, as he continued to fight for critically ill children suddenly in danger of deportation.

He had so much left to accomplish, but he has left it for us to complete. As he told us presciently, “These things don’t happen to us, they happen for us.”

Grateful he was part of our destiny

It is difficult to describe the emptiness we now feel. His spirit was so strong, and his energy so boundless, that the void is devastating.

But, of course, he left us with instructions: “Pain, passion, purpose. Take your pain, turn it into your passion, and make it your purpose.” He lived those words, and he inspired us to do the same.

Sometimes, after a big event, he would take us aside for a quiet moment and say, “I just want to thank you for everything you do and for being a part of my destiny.”

Today, we thank him for being part of ours. And we commit to carrying forward his legacy in the limited time allotted to each of us — to give voice to the voiceless, to defend our democracy, and to always reach for higher ground.

The authors of this tribute are current and former staff of the late House Oversight Committee Chairman Elijah Cummings, D-Md., whose funeral is Friday. Their names are below:

Aaron D. Blacksberg, Abbie Kamin, Ajshay Charlene Barber, Alex Petros, Alexander M. Wolf, Alexandra S. Golden, Aliyah Nuri Horton, CAE, Amish A. Shah, Amy Stratton, Andy Eichar, Angela Gentile, Esq., Anthony McCarthy, Anthony N. Bush, Aryele N. Bradford, Ashley Abraham, Ashley Etienne, Asi Ofosu, Asua Ofosu, Ben Friedman, Bernadette "Bunny" Williams, Beverly Ann Fields, Esq., Beverly Britton Fraser, Brandon Jacobs, Brett Cozzolino, Brian B. Quinn, Britteny N. Jenkins, Candyce Phoenix, Carissa J. Smith, Carla Hultberg, Carlos Felipe Uriarte, Cassie Fields, Cecelia Marie Thomas, Chanan Lewis, Chioma I. Chukwu, Chloe M. Brown, Christina J. Johnson, Christopher Knauer, Dr. Christy Gamble Hines, Claire E. Coleman, Claire Leavitt, Courtney Cochran, Courtney French, Courtney N. Miller, Crystal T. Washington, Daniel Rebnord, Daniel Roberts, Daniel C. Vergamini, Darlene R. Taylor, Dave Rapallo, Davida Walsh Farrar, Deborah S. Perry, Deidra N. Bishop, Delarious Stewart, Devika Koppikar, Devon K. Hill, Donald K. Sherman, Eddie Walker, Elisa A. LaNier, Ellen Zeng, Emma Dulaney, Erica Miles, Fabion Seaton, Ferras Vinh, Fran Allen, Francesca McCrary, Frank Amtmann, Georgia Jenkins, Dr. Georgia Jennings-Dorsey, Gerietta Clay, Gina H. Kim, Greta Gao, Harry T. Spikes II, Hope M. Williams, Ian Kapuza, Ilga Semeiks, Jamitress Bowden, Janet Kim, Jaron Bourke, Jason R. Powell, Jawauna Greene, Jean Waskow, Jedd Bellman, Jenn Hoffman, Jennifer Gaspar, Jenny Rosenberg, Jess Unger, Jesse K. Reisman, Jessica Heller, Jewel James Simmons, Jill L. Crissman, Jimmy Fremgen, Jolanda Williams, Jon Alexander, Jordan H. Blumenthal, Jorge D. Hutton, Joshua L. Miller, Joshua Zucker, Julia Krieger, Julie Saxenmeyer, Justin S. Kim, K. Alex Kiles, Kadeem Cooper, Kamau M. Marshall, Kapil Longani, Karen Kudelko, Karen White, Kathy Crosby, Katie Malone, Katie Teleky, Kayvan Farchadi, Kellie Larkin, Kelly Christl, Kenneth Crawford, Kenneth D. Crawford, Kenyatta T. Collins, Kevin Corbin, Jr., Kierstin Stradford, Kimberly Ross, Krista Boyd, Kymberly Truman Graves, Larry and Diana Gibson, Laura K. Waters, Leah Nicole Copeland Perry, LL.M.,Esq., Lena C. Chang, Lenora Briscoe-Carter, Lisa E. Cody, Lucinda Lessley, Madhur Bansal, Marc Broady, Marianna Patterson, Mark Stephenson, Martin Sanders, Meghan Delaney Berroya, Michael F Castagnola, Michael Gordon, Michell Morton, Dr. Michelle Edwards, Miles P. Lichtman, Mutale Matambo, Olivia Foster, Patricia A. Roy, Paul A. Brathwaite, Paul Kincaid, Peter J. Kenny, Philisha Kimberly Lane, Portia R. Bamiduro, Rachel L. Indek, Rebecca Maddox-Hyde, Regina Clay, Ricardo Brandon Rios, Rich Marquez, Richard L. Trumka Jr., Robin Butler, Rory Sheehan, Roxanne (Smith) Blackwell, Russell M. Anello, Safiya Jafari Simmons, Sanay B. Panchal, Scott P. Lindsay, Sean Perryman, Senam Okpattah, Sonsyrea Tate-Montgomery, Susanne Sachsman Grooms, Suzanne Owen, Tamara Alexander Lynch, Theresa Chalhoub, Timothy D. Lynch, Todd Phillips, Tony Haywood, Tori Anderson, Trinity M.E. Goss, Trudy E. Perkins, Una Lee, Valerie Shen, Vernon Simms, Wendy Ginsberg, William A. Cunningham, William H. Cole, Wm. T. Miles, Jr., Yvette Badu-Nimako, Yvette P. Cravins, Esq., Zeita Merchant

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Widow of Elijah Cummings says Trump’s attacks on Baltimore ‘hurt’ the congressman

By Jenna Portnoy | Published October 25 at 12:44 PM ET | Washington Post | Posted October 25, 2019 |

BALTIMORE — The widow of Rep. Elijah E. Cummings said at his funeral Friday that attacks by President Trump on the congressman’s beloved hometown “hurt him” and made the final months of his life more difficult.

Maya Rockeymoore Cummings, who is chairwoman of the Maryland Democratic Party, said her husband was trying to protect “the soul of our democracy” and fighting “very real corruption” as chairman of the House Committee on Oversight and Reform, where he played a central role in investigating the Trump administration.

Trump lashed out at Cummings this summer, calling Baltimore, the heart of his district, a “rat-infested” place where no one would want to live. Cummings did not respond directly to the attacks, but his wife said Friday that they left a lasting wound.

Rockeymoore Cummings spoke near the end of a lengthy funeral program at New Psalmist Baptist Church, where Cummings worshiped for decades — showing up regularly on Sunday mornings for the 7:15 a.m. service. Still to come were eulogies by former presidents Bill Clinton — who visited the church with Cummings in the 1990s — and Barack Obama, the nation’s first black commander-in-chief.

Sen. Elizabeth Warren (D-Mass.), a 2020 presidential contender, recited the 23rd Psalm at the start of the service, which Rockeymoore Cummings said her husband planned down to the last detail.

House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.), who also grew up in Baltimore, gave remarks, along with former congressman and NAACP leader Kwesi Mfume (D-Md.), Cummings’s daughters, brother, mentors, friends and a former aide. Attendees included former vice president Joe Biden, also a 2020 Democratic presidential contender, and Maryland Gov. Larry Hogan (R).

Former U.S. senator, secretary of state and Democratic presidential nominee Hillary Rodham Clinton called Cummings “Our Elijah,” thanking his family and constituents of Maryland’s 7th District for sharing him “with our country and the world.”

“Like the prophet, our Elijah could call down fire from heaven. But he also prayed and worked for healing,” Clinton said. “Like the prophet, he stood against the corrupt leadership of King Ahab and Queen Jezebel.”

The people in the packed sanctuary clapped and cheered.

Cummings was “a fierce champion of truth, justice and kindness ... who pushed back against the abuse of power,” Clinton added. “He had little tolerance for those who put party ahead of country or partisanship ahead of truth.”

A schedule showed that each speaker was allotted about five minutes at the podium — a time limit that several quickly ignored.

The congressman’s oldest daughter, Jennifer Cummings, 37, delivered a powerful eulogy extolling her father as a seasoned political leader whose most important role was as a dad.

Cummings told her he was amazed he could hold her in one hand when she was born. “This life, my life, in your hand,” she said. He wanted her to know her “rich brown skin was just as beautiful as alabaster, or any color of the rainbow” and insisted on buying her brown dolls so she could appreciate what was special about her.

His other daughter, Adia Cummings, asked the dozens of members of Cummings staff to stand. “I’m so sorry you lost someone who was so much more than a boss to you,” she said.

James Cummings, the congressman’s younger brother, said the family called Elijah Cummings by the nickname “Bobby,” and recalled how the congressman was haunted by the death of his nephew, a student at Old Dominion University, up through his final days.

Mourners began lining up at the church at 5 a.m., the Baltimore Sun reported. By 7 a.m., traffic was backed up a half-mile away from the church, which seats nearly 4,000. A choir sang and clapped as mourners filed into the concert hall-like sanctuary.

A pastor read Bible passages through the public address system, and one of the white-gloved ushers recited the words along with him, from memory. Clips of Cummings speaking in Congress played on huge video screens above the open casket, which was surrounded by massive sprays of flowers.

“In 2019, what do we do to make sure we keep our democracy intact?” he said in one video.

Cummings, who had been in poor health in recent years, died Oct. 17 at age 68. He often said he considered it his mission to preserve the American system of government as the nation faced a “critical crossroads.”

But Cummings, the son of sharecroppers, was also a lifelong civil rights champion known for his efforts to help the poor and the struggling, and to boost the fortunes of his struggling hometown.

Just after 10 a.m., mourners at New Psalmist sprang to their feet and waved their hands as the Clintons and former vice president Joe Biden, also a 2020 candidate, walked in. The cheers grew louder when Obama followed, taking his place next to Maya Rockeymoore Cummings, the congressman’s widow, in the front row. Together, they sang along to the opening hymn.

As gospel singer BeBe Winas performed, a woman near the back wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. He sang: “Tell me, what do you do when you’ve done all you can / And it seems, it seems you can’t make it through / Well you stand, you stand, you just stand.”

The crowd obeyed.

Cummings was honored Wednesday at Morgan State University in Baltimore, a historically black research university where he served on the board of regents.

On Thursday, he became the first African American lawmaker to lie in state at the Capitol, a rare honor reserved for the nation’s most distinguished citizens. Congressional leaders held a memorial ceremony for their former colleague at the Capitol’s ornate Statuary Hall, after which the coffin, was draped in an American flag, was escorted to a spot just outside the House chamber. Thousands of members of the public came to pay their respects.

For more than two hours, Rockeymoore Cummings, personally greeted the mourners, shaking hands, sharing hugs and engaging in extended conversations. A former gubernatorial candidate who chairs the Maryland Democratic Party, she is considered one of the potential contenders for her late husband’s seat.

Rockeymoore Cummings greeted the last mourner at 7:39 p.m. Minutes later, a motorcade escorted Cummings’s body out of Capitol Plaza for the final time.

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Dear President Donald Trump, let me tell you about my ex-boss Elijah Cummings

He goes home to Baltimore every night. He is the same person on camera and off. And everyone knows his cell number, you should call him and talk.

By Jimmy Fremgen | Updated 9:56 a.m. EDT Aug. 2, 2019 | USA TODAY | Posted October 25, 2019 |

Dear Mr. President,

Just over six years ago I was sitting in the gymnasium at Woodlawn High School in Gwynn Oak, Maryland, and I was very unhappy. You see, it was a weekend and as I’m sure you’d agree, I would have much preferred to spend the day playing golf. Instead, my boss had ordered his entire staff, myself included, to drive to this town outside Baltimore on a muggy 93-degree day to help run an event to prevent home foreclosures.

I know you’re wondering whom I worked for, Mr. President. It was Rep. Elijah Cummings. And it is safe to say that on this day, we would have had something in common: I really didn’t like him much.

I worked for Mr. Cummings both on his Capitol staff and for the House Oversight and Reform Committee from August 2012 to February 2016. When he called me to offer the job, he was hard on me immediately. He told me that my salary was non-negotiable, that if I did something wrong he would be sure to tell me, and that he expected me to meet the high standard he keeps for himself and his staff.

Same Man At Podium, In Grocery Store

What I quickly learned about him is that he is the same person on camera and off. The passionate soliloquies that he delivers from behind the chairman’s podium in the Oversight hearing room are very similar to the ones that I often heard from the other end of the phone after he ran into one of his neighbors in the aisle of the grocery store back home. If someone came to him for help, he wouldn’t let any of his staff tell him it wasn’t possible. He’d push us for a solution and give his cellphone number to anyone who needed it — even when we wished he wouldn’t.

In March 2014, then-Oversight Chairman Darrell Issa cut off Mr. Cummings' microphone during his closing remarks, a massive break in decorum that left Cummings reading his statement aloud as the TV feed abruptly stopped. The incident hit cable news in seconds, and I remember coming back from a meeting to find every single person in the office answering phone calls.

joined them on the phones, enduring nonstop racist epithets, cursing, threats and language that I had never imagined. I remember one vividly, a call from a Colorado area code on which an older female voice told me that Cummings better “sit down and shut up like the good boy someone should have taught him to be.” The phones rang this way for three days.

At Home In Baltimore Every Night

Sir, I won’t defend Baltimore, I’m not from there, and there are many who have already stood up to do so. Instead, let me correct you on one last thing: Unlike almost every other member of Congress, Congressman Cummings goes home every night. Honestly, when I worked for him, sometimes I wished he wouldn’t. There were times when I would want him to attend an early morning meeting, take a phone call or approve a document and he couldn’t, because he’d be driving the 44 miles from his house in Baltimore to the Capitol.

During the protests after the death of Freddie Gray in 2015, I couldn’t get hold of Mr. Cummings. Gov. Larry Hogan had called in the National Guard, and I was trying to relay an update about the soldiers that would soon be standing in the streets. It turned out that the congressman was in the streets himself, marching arm-in-arm with community leaders, pastors, gang members, neighbors, anyone who was willing to peacefully protect his city. He walked back and forth, bullhorn in hand urging people to be peaceful, to respect one another, to love each other and to get home safely.

Mr. President, I know you are frustrated. I, too, have been dressed down for my own mistakes by Congressman Cummings. I know how rigorous he can be in his oversight. I agree it can be extensive, but it certainly does not make him a racist.

Instead, let me offer this: I met you once in Statuary Hall of the Capitol, amid the sculptures of prominent Americans, and gave you my card. If you still have it, give me a ring. I’d be happy to pass along Congressman Cummings’ cellphone number so the two of you can have a conversation. Or better yet, swing through the aisles of one of the grocery stores in West Baltimore. I’m sure anyone there would be willing to give you his number.

Yours Sincerely,

Jimmy Fremgen

Jimmy Fremgen is a Sacramento-based consultant specializing in cannabis policy. He handled higher education, firearms safety, defense and foreign affairs as senior policy adviser to Rep. Elijah Cummings from 2012 to 2016.

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Elijah Cummings knew the difference between winning the news cycle and serving the nation

By Eugene Robinson | Published October 24 at 5:00 PM ET | Washington Post | Posted October 25, 2019 |

There are moments when the U.S. Capitol feels like a sanctified space, a holy temple dedicated to ideals that transcend the partisan squabbles of the politicians who work there. The enormous paintings that tell the story of America, normally like wallpaper to those who work in the building, demand attention as if they are being seen for the first time. The marble likenesses of great men — and too few great women — seem to come alive.

Thursday was such an occasion, as the body of Elijah E. Cummings, the Maryland congressman who died last week at 68, lay in state in one of the Capitol’s grandest spaces, Statuary Hall. There was a sense of great sadness and loss but also an even more powerful sense of history and purpose.

Cummings was the first African American lawmaker to be accorded the honor of lying in state at the Capitol. That his casket was positioned not far from a statue of a seated Rosa Parks would have made him smile.

Something Cummings once said seemed to echo in the soaring room: “When we’re dancing with the angels, the question we’ll be asked: In 2019, what did we do to make sure we kept our democracy intact?”

Cummings was able to give an answer he could be proud of. What about me? What about you?

He was the son of sharecroppers who left South Carolina to seek a better life in the big city of Baltimore. When he was growing up in the 1950s and 1960s, Jim Crow segregation was still very much alive. Angry whites threw rocks and bottles at him when, at age 11, he helped integrate a previously whites-only swimming pool. He attended Howard University, where he was president of the student government, and graduated in 1973. A friend of mine who was his classmate told me it was obvious even then that Cummings was on a mission to make a difference in people’s lives.

He got his law degree from the University of Maryland, went into private practice, served in the Maryland House of Delegates and was elected to Congress in 1996. At his death, he was the powerful chairman of the House Oversight and Reform Committee. But the reason he was so influential, and will be so sorely missed, has less to do with his title than with his integrity and humanity. In floor debates and committee hearings, he fought his corner fiercely. But I don’t know any member of Congress, on either side of the aisle, who did not respect and admire him.

A roster of the great and the good came to the Capitol on Thursday to pay their respects. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi called Cummings “our North Star.” Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell spoke of Cummings’s love for Baltimore. Rep. Mark Meadows of North Carolina, an ideological foe, teared up when he spoke of Cummings as a personal friend. Senate Minority Leader Charles E. Schumer said “his voice could shake mountains, stir the most cynical heart.”

The scene was a sharp contrast with what had happened one day earlier and two floors below. The House Intelligence Committee was scheduled to take a deposition from a Pentagon official as part of the impeachment inquiry into President Trump’s conduct. The closed-door session was to take place in a basement room designed to be secure from electronic surveillance. Before the deposition could get started, more than two dozen members of Congress — including some of Trump’s staunchest and most vocal defenders — made a clown show of barging into the room, ostensibly to protest that the deposition was not being taken in an open session.

Some of those who participated in the sit-in had the right to attend the hearing anyway; some didn’t. But the protest had nothing to do with substance. The point was to stage a noisy, made-for-television stunt in Trump’s defense that could divert attention, if only for a day, from the facts of the case. The interlopers ordered pizza and brought in Chick-fil-A. Some took their cellphones into the secure room, which is very much against the rules.

I have deliberately not mentioned anyone’s party affiliation, because the contrast I see between the juvenile behavior in the basement and the Cummings ceremony in Statuary Hall is more fundamental. It is between foolishness and seriousness, between nonsense and meaning, between trying to win the news cycle and trying to serve the nation.

Cummings knew the difference. We have lost a great man. The angels must be lining up to dance with him.

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Elijah Cummings, Reluctant Partisan Warrior

The story of the veteran lawmaker is one more example of how, in Washington, appearances deceive, and public performances and private relationships often diverge.

RUSSELL Berman | Published OCT 17, 2019 | The Atlantic | Posted October 25, 2019 |

The image many Americans likely had of Representative Elijah Cummings, who died this morning at the age of 68, was of a Democrat perpetually sparring with his Republican counterparts at high-profile congressional hearings.

There was Cummings in 2015, going at it with Representative Trey Gowdy of South Carolina while a bemused Hillary Clinton sat waiting to testify about the Benghazi attack. Two years later, the lawmaker from Maryland was clashing with Representative Jason Chaffetz of Utah, who would not countenance Cummings trying to inject the investigation into Russian interference into an unrelated Oversight Committee hearing. “You’re not listening!” the Democrat shouted at one point. And then this February, Cummings found himself bickering with Representative Jim Jordan of Ohio, who accused Cummings of orchestrating “a charade” by calling President Donald Trump’s former lawyer Michael Cohen as one of his first witnesses when he became chairman of the panel.

Yet the story of Cummings, at his death the chairman of the House Oversight Committee and a key figure in the impeachment inquiry against Trump, is one more example of how, in Washington, appearances deceive, and public performances and private relationships often diverge. In the hours after Cummings’s death was announced, heartfelt tributes streamed in from the very Republicans he had criticized so passionately. The contrast in tone with these memories of bitter public battles was jarring, even perplexing.

“I am heartbroken. Truly heartbroken,” Representative Mark Meadows of North Carolina, the founding chairman of the conservative House Freedom Caucus, told CNN. Chaffetz called Cummings “an exceptional man.” “He loved our country,” tweeted the former Oversight Committee chairman, who jousted with Cummings when the Democrat was the panel’s ranking member. “I will miss him and always cherish our friendship.” The House Republican leader, Representative Kevin McCarthy of California, hailed Cummings as “a leader for both parties to emulate.”

It’s easy, of course, to find a kind word for the deceased—even Trump, who just a few months ago called Cummings’s Baltimore congressional district a “disgusting rat and rodent infested mess,” lauded him as a “highly respected political leader” in a tweet this morning.

Yet by all accounts, the reactions from Republicans on Capitol Hill were no crocodile tears, and Cummings had genuine personal relationships with several of them. Cummings himself described Meadows as “one of my best friends,” and came to his defense after Representative Rashida Tlaib of Michigan accused the Trump ally of pulling a “racist” stunt at the Cohen hearing.

Perhaps no tribute—from a Democrat or a Republican—was as reverential as that of Gowdy, who said Cummings was “one of the most powerful, beautiful, and compelling voices in American politics.

“We never had a cross word outside of a committee room,” Gowdy, another former GOP chairman of the Oversight Committee, said in a lengthy Twitter thread this morning. “He had a unique ability to separate the personal from the work.” He recalled a story Cummings often told of a school employee who urged him to abandon his dream of becoming a lawyer and opt for a job “with his hands not his mind.” That employee would later become Cummings’s first client, Gowdy wrote.

“We live in an age where we see people on television a couple of times and we think we know them and what they are about,” the Republican said.

Cummings died at a Maryland hospice center from what his office said were “complications concerning longstanding health challenges.” He had spent months in the hospital after heart and knee surgeries in 2017 and got around in a wheelchair, but there was little public indication of how serious his condition was in the weeks before his death.

In Baltimore, Cummings’s legacy will extend far beyond his work on the House’s chief investigatory committee. He was first elected to Congress in 1996, after 13 years in the Maryland state legislature. After the death of Freddie Gray in the back of a police van in 2015, Cummings walked through West Baltimore with a bullhorn in an attempt to quell the unrest from angry and distraught black citizens. In March 2017, at a time when most Democrats were denouncing the Trump administration on an hourly basis, Cummings met with the new president at the White House in a bid to work with him on a bill to lower drug prices. As my colleague Peter Nicholas recounted earlier this year, the two men fell into a candid talk about race, but little came of the effort on prescription drugs.

Democrats tapped Cummings to be their leader on the Oversight and Government Reform Committee in 2010, after Republicans retook the House majority. He was not the next in line, but the party pushed out the veteran Representative Edolphus Towns of New York over concerns that he’d be too laid-back at a time when Republicans were preparing an onslaught of investigations into Barack Obama’s administration.

The oversight panel is a highly partisan committee in a highly partisan Congress, and Cummings had no illusions about his role. Still, he tried to forge relationships with each of his Republican counterparts, and some of those attempts were successful. As the combative Representative Darrell Issa of California was ending his run as chairman in 2014, Cummings traveled to Utah to bond with Chaffetz, Issa’s likely successor. “I want a relationship which will allow us to get things done,” Cummings said during a joint appearance the two made on MSNBC’s Morning Joe. After Chaffetz left, Cummings got along well—at least in private—with Gowdy and Meadows.

Yet time and again, the cordiality behind closed doors succumbed to rancor in front of the cameras. The relationships Cummings and his Republican counterparts had were no match for these deeply divided times; they yielded few legislative breakthroughs or bipartisan alliances in the midst of highly polarized investigations.

By early 2019, any hope that Cummings may have had of working with conservatives in Congress, or with the Trump administration, seemed to have given way to frustration, and occasionally anger. At the end of Cohen’s testimony, he delivered an emotional plea to his colleagues. “When we’re dancing with the angels, the question will be asked: In 2019, what did we do to make sure we kept our democracy intact?” he said, his voice booming. “C’mon now, we can do two things at once. We have to get back to normal!”

As for Trump, two years after their candid talk on race, the president was viciously attacking Cummings as a “brutal bully” and blaming him for Baltimore’s long-running struggle with poverty and crime.

Two months later, Cummings joined the growing chorus of Democrats calling for Trump’s impeachment. “When the history books are written about this tumultuous era,” he said at the time, “I want them to show that I was among those in the House of Representatives who stood up to lawlessness and tyranny.”

In truth, he had long since realized that the effort to work with the president had been futile. “Now that I watch his actions,” Cummings told Nicholas, “I don’t think it made any difference.”

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Elijah Cummings Was Not Done

The House Oversight chairman died too soon at 68, while working on his deathbed to ensure this country measured up to his standards

By JAMIL SMITH | Published October 18, 2019 | Rolling Stone | Posted October 25, 2019 |

Even with the deaths of our elders today and the 400th anniversary of chattel slavery, we are often reminded that this terrible American past is within the reach of our oral, recorded history. Elijah Cummings, who died Thursday at 68, was the grandson of sharecroppers, the black tenant farmers who rented land from white owners after the Civil War.

Cummings once recounted to 60 Minutes that, when he was sworn into Congress in 1996 following a special election in Maryland’s 7th District, his father teared up. A typical, uplifting American story would be a son talking about his dad’s pride at such a moment, and there was that. But Cummings’ father, Ron, also asked him a series of questions.

Isn’t this the place where they used to call us slaves? “Yes, sir.”

Isn’t this the place where they used to call us three-fifths of a man? “Yes, sir.”

Isn’t this the place where they used to call us chattel? “Yes, sir.”

Then Ron told his son Elijah, according to the story: Now I see what I could have been had I had an opportunity. Forget the Horatio Alger narratives; that is a story of generational ascendance that actually sounds relatable to me as someone who has grown up black in America.

Sixty-eight should be too early for anyone to die in the era of modern medicine, but it somehow didn’t feel premature for Cummings. It wouldn’t feel premature for me, either. Racism kills us black men and women faster, that much has been documented. Cummings had seen the consequences of racism in the mirror every day since he was 11, bearing a scar from an attack by a white mob when he and a group of black boys integrated the public (and ostensibly desegregated) pool in South Baltimore. Perhaps a shorter life was simply an American reality to which he had consigned himself. Or, he had just read the science.

When speculation rumbled about whether he would run for the Senate in 2015, Cummings spoke openly about his own life expectancy.

“When you reach 64 years old and you look at the life expectancy of an African-American man, which is 71.8 years, I ask myself, if I don’t say it now, when am I going to say it?” Cummings said, referring at the time to combative rants and snips at Republicans whom he perceived to be wasting the public’s time and money with nonsense like the Benghazi hearings.

He continued to speak up for what he considered was just, not just when president did wrong but also when it involved the police. The bullhorn seemed to never leave his hand and his voice never seemed to die out in the wake of Freddie Gray’s death at the hands of Baltimore cops in 2015. His willingness to speak up not just in defense of America but of us black Americans is why the passing of Cummings was a puncturing wound for anyone hoping for this nation to be true to what it promises on paper to all of its people.

Worse, Cummings’ death leaves a void. Only a few members of his own party have been as willing to speak as frankly as Cummings, or take as immediate action against the grift and madness that Republicans pass off as governance. “We are better than this!” was one of his frequent exhortations, and I am not sure that we were.

It is tempting, and lazy, to encapsulate the Cummings legacy within the last few years. Pointing to his deft handling of his Republican “friend” Mark Meadows’ racist call-out of Rashida Tlaib in February or his grace in dealing with President Trump’s petulant insults about his beloved Baltimore even as he used his House Oversight powers to help begin perhaps the most significant impeachment inquiry yet launched into an American head of state. But there was more to the man and his patriotism than his pursuit of a corrupt president.

Cummings was, as his widow, Maryland Democratic Party chairwoman Maya Rockeymoore Cummings, put it in her statement, working “until his last breath.” In a memo just last week, as he was ailing, Cummings stated he planned to subpoena both acting USCIS Director Ken Cuccinelli and acting ICE Director Matthew Albence to testify on October 17, the day he would later pass away. (Both men agreed to testify, voluntarily, but the hearing has been postponed until the 24th.)

Cummings also signed two subpoenas driven to him in Baltimore hours before his death, both dealing with the Trump administration’s coldhearted policy change to temporarily end the ability for severely ill immigrants to seek care in the United States.

One of the young immigrant patients who had testified to a House Oversight subcommittee about this draconian Trump measure, a Honduran teenager named Jonathan Sanchez, told the assembled lawmakers, simply, “I don’t want to die.”

Cummings knew all too well that this is a country that kills people with its racism, and saw this president trying to do it. He went to his deathbed trying to change that America. His untimely death left that work undone, but that task is ours now.

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