When Bob Fischer first started working in the House Democratic Cloakroom, it was still a smoke-filled room.
“I can remember my wife saying, ‘Every single one of your suits smells like smoke,’ and it used to drive her nuts,” he said. “And I’d be like, ‘What can I tell you? That’s where I work.’”
By the time he was promoted to manager in 2014, a lot had changed. Once a place where lawmakers could light up a cigar, knock back a drink or even get their hair trimmed, the cloakroom of today is both a refuge and a resource, and Fischer has quietly nudged it into the 21st century.
Over the years, Fischer became an expert on floor procedure and strategy, helping Democrats avoid mishaps and mistakes. Now the no-nonsense Buffalo native is retiring from his post.
Fischer remembers the first time he used a computer to track votes on the House floor, shortly after he arrived in 1993. When he was promoted to manager, he insisted the entire team take a turn, even as party leaders pushed back.
“They were like, ‘Yeah, that’s not going to work. Members are used to you being out there,’” he said. “[But] it was important for me that everybody could do it.”
While the cloakroom first opened in 1857 as a storage space for personal belongings, Fischer and his two assistant managers now operate it as an information hub, as well as a place for members to escape, catch up with colleagues, and grab a hot dog or ice cream sandwich from the famed snack bar. Located steps from the House chamber, it’s close to the action but hidden from the curious eyes of reporters.
As manager, Fischer worked to modernize the cloakroom. He shifted from paper to digital, establishing a website and social media accounts. “There was definitely a desire to find better and more modern ways to communicate the message that we were giving to both the members and the House staff,” he said.
Some things remain timeless, however. Fischer still lays out newspapers at the start of each day. Wooden phone booths still line the walls of the cloakroom, even if video calls have replaced landlines.
He did have to briefly close the cloakroom during the coronavirus pandemic, turning away angry members while adjusting to new public health guidelines.
“The doors were locked, and we had members banging on the door, going, ‘It’s our cloakroom. You have to let us in,’” he said. “And I was like, nope.”
He reopened with reduced seating after a few months, removing the squashy brown leather couches that members often used for some shut-eye. Now, the space is furnished with black leather armchairs, firm tufted sofas and a couple of round tables surrounded by high-back chairs.
Overall, Fischer has worked almost 40 years at the Capitol. He was first hired by House Doorkeeper James T. Molloy, a fellow Buffalo native, in 1987. He then moved to the Office of the Sergeant-at-Arms before eventually joining the cloakroom.
Seeing the late Pope Francis address Congress a decade ago was a highlight for him, Fischer said, and more somber memories will stay with him too. He remembers returning to his post after police cleared the building on Jan. 6, 2021, as members still had to certify the 2020 presidential election results.
“We walked back in here, and we walked onto the floor, even though the stench of the tear gas and the fire extinguishers and God knows what else was all over. It was pungent,” Fischer said. “You could see people’s jackets and stuff that were left behind. There were purses, there were briefcases, there were iPads. All that stuff was in here.”
He describes a sense of pride in his work at the Capitol, along with concern over increasing partisan polarization under the Dome.
“Typically for me, a good bill is one where nobody is celebrating and everybody’s grousing a little bit,” he said. “Because that means nobody got everything they wanted and there was probably some compromise in the process. When you have one side saying, ‘This is the best bill ever, we did it, we got everything we wanted,’ I worry about those types of outcomes.”
While he has worked with thousands of lawmakers during his tenure, Fischer has a special affinity for those representing his hometown district in Buffalo. He keeps in touch with former Republican Rep. Jack Quinn, who served from 1993 to 2005, and Quinn’s successor Brian Higgins. And he and Rep. Tim Kennedy, who took Higgins’ seat, have been connected since Fischer’s childhood.
“His parents owned a penny candy store on the corner of Densmore and Abbott Road,” he said. “And as a kid, my mother would give us a nickel or a dime or whatever and we could go up there and get licorice or pretzels. But it wasn’t until Tim came and explained that his parents owned that store, I was like, ‘Oh, my God, I used to go in there as a kid.’”
To mark Fischer’s retirement, Kennedy helped give Densmore Street an honorary name: “Bob Fischer Way.”
“That was the street I grew up on, and it’s a street where my parents still live,” Fischer said. “One of my father’s first questions was, ‘I better not get my mail screwed up because of this.’”
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