Bill Strauss, the antic, cerebral founder of the Capitol Steps satirical group and a sort of puckish polymath for all seasons, died of pancreatic cancer Dec. 18 at his home in McLean, Va. He was 60.
With the dyspeptic fatalism of a failed idealist and the rapier mischief of a court jester, Strauss put a human face on Washington's political shenanigans. In the process, he taught an entire generation of elected leaders to laugh at themselves.
Whether he was presaging the 1989 invasion of Panama ("We Need a Little Isthmus") or simultaneously sending up both yuletide extravagance and the firearms debate ("Gun Nuts Boasting They Can Open Fire"), Strauss and his troupe of theatrical co-conspirators often had more to say about current affairs than did the city's pundits, whom they also lampooned. And in an era of shock jocks, broadcast porn and general cultural downdraft, Strauss consistently proved that even the most salacious Washington scandals were funnier when handled with wit rather than wallowing.
"I grew up on Tom ('Fight Fiercely, Harvard') Lehrer in the '60s," Strauss once said. "He wrote satirical songs that said something but weren't offensive. Nowadays people write songs that are offensive and don't say anything."
Born in 1947 in Chicago and raised near San Francisco, Strauss was a Capitol page during his junior year in high school and knew before the end of law school at Harvard that he preferred government to the bar. He moved to Washington with his wife in 1973 after getting his master's from Harvard's John F. Kennedy School of Government. He worked for various government agencies and co-wrote two books before joining the staff of Sen. Charles Percy (R-Ill.) and landing as chief counsel and staff director of the Senate subcommittee on energy, nuclear proliferation and government processes. It was not the most obvious launching pad for a career in musical satire. Or maybe it was.
In December 1981, as Percy staffers kicked around ideas for the office Christmas party, they thought about doing a Nativity scene. But, as Strauss used to say, in all of Congress they couldn't find three wise men or a virgin. Instead he teamed with Elaina Newport, a college music major who played piano, and a few others and worked up skits that poked fun at newly inaugurated President Reagan ("Workin' 9 to 10") and administration appointees such as Interior Secretary James Watt ("Mine Every Mountain.") They took their name from the spot famously used for a midnight tryst by Rep. John W. Jenrette (D-S.C.) and his wife, Rita.
