Not long after I joined his staff as Administrative Assistant, or more frequently used these days, Chief of Staff, as I escorted him down to the underground train that connects the House office buildings to the Capital, the cane slipped from his grip and went clattering to the marble floor. Instinctively, I bent down quickly to pick it up for him. Instantly, there was a firm tap on my shoulder.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he ordered. There was some harshness in his voice, but a softness in his eyes that explained he was not prepared to give even an inch to his infirmity.

Charlie Bennett picked up his own canes.

Every three weeks he would fly to Jacksonville as soon as the House was truly in recess. He would spend the better part of whatever time he had between sessions, visiting each and every post office, sub-station and even contract post offices. One of my duties was to ensure that every post office was visited by him at least once during that year.

For weeks before his visits, signs would be placed in the area. At the appointed time, Charlie would arrive in a private vehicle proudly driven by a fellow veteran. For several hours he would hear from anyone who wanted to speak to him—about anything. If they had a problem involving a Federal agency, he would dictate a letter on the spot using his portable dictation machine. For days after each visit, the staff would be processing his letters.

After hours standing with the aid of braces that hurt and chafed, he would get into the car now driven by a different veteran, and be taken to the next station. And so it would go for two or three days at a time—every three weeks.