Rep. Murtha, a force on Hill, dies

John P. Murtha, 77, the powerful dean of Pennsylvania's congressional delegation who survived scandal and seismic political shifts to become the longest-serving House member from the state, died yesterday at a hospital in Arlington, Va., after complications from gallbladder surgery.

Presiding over what became "the Murtha Corner" in the House, he wielded power quietly, working deals for his party's leadership, advising members on everything from defense spending to how to line up money for their districts. His 36 years in Congress were marked by extraordinary access to presidents of both parties.

Republicans and Democrats alike sought his advice on defense matters, and from his perch on the House Appropriations defense subcommittee, he personally dispensed billions of dollars in federal funds, steering much of it to his economically wracked 12th Congressional District.

He was revered in his district, never receiving less than 55 percent of the vote in a general election since he first went to the House. He initially became famous as the first Vietnam combat veteran to serve in Congress - and, later, as one of the kings of congressional pork.

Tributes were immediate.

"His passion for service was born during his decorated career in the United States Marine Corps, and he went on to earn the distinction of being the first Vietnam War combat veteran elected to Congress," President Obama said in a statement. "Jack's tough-as-nails reputation carried over to Congress, where he became a respected voice on issues of national security."

Gov. Rendell ordered state flags throughout Pennsylvania to be flown at half-staff until the burial.

"That is fitting," Rendell said. "Jack Murtha was not just a wonderful congressman for his district, but for all of Pennsylvania."

Though he was at times a fierce partisan - most notably when he called for an end to the Iraq war in 2005 - Rep. Murtha earned respect and praise from Republicans as well.

"While the congressman and I often differed when it came to politics," Pennsylvania GOP chair Rob Gleason said in a statement, "he always had my deepest respect."

House Republican leader John A. Boehner issued a statement as well, saying that Rep. Murtha would be missed and offering condolences to House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, a close ally of Rep. Murtha's whom he helped become the first woman to ascend to the top post in the House.

Pelosi, in a statement, called Rep. Murtha "a great patriot."

Said Rep. Bob Brady (D., Phila.): "There is no smarter, tougher, kinder, funnier, or more revered member of the House of Representatives."

Mayor Nutter said he had worked with Rep. Murtha "on a number of occasions, as he cared deeply about this city and our citizens. He will be remembered as a spirited and dedicated leader, admired and respected by all."

Rep. Murtha was a perennial target of reform groups, a hero to lobbyists for his defense of their role in shaping legislation, and he created an elaborate and subsidized defense industry in his hometown of Johnstown.

"If I'm corrupt, it's because I take care of my district," he said in a 2009 interview. The remark was intended to illustrate his argument that he never personally profited from his deals to force defense contractors to set up shop in the 12th District. Critics seized on it as a paradigm of congressional cynicism.

Never once did he offer even a hint of apology for his methods and the billions in earmarks that became, in effect, a de facto industrial policy in the 12th District.

In a classic Murtha moment, in 1993, he attended the ribbon-cutting for the National Drug Intelligence Center. Ordinarily, such a facility would be somewhere inside the Washington Beltway. Instead, it sits in the building that housed Penn Traffic Co., a Johnstown department store that closed after a 1977 flood.

Why, Rep. Murtha was asked, was such a center sitting in Johnstown?

"Because this is where I wanted it," he snapped.

A champion of organized labor and an opponent of abortion and gun control, Rep. Murtha exemplified his steel-and-coal district, where labor unions still hold political sway and where religious, ethnic voters are still courted with a curious mix of economic liberalism and social conservatism.

Born in West Virginia and raised in Westmoreland County, Rep. Murtha walked off the football practice field at Washington and Jefferson College in Washington, Pa., in his second year to enlist in the Marine Corps.

He said the decision was spurred by a conversation with teammates about how many of their classmates were then fighting in Korea.

"I said to myself: 'This isn't right. I got a deferment because I'm in ROTC,' " he explained. He entered the service in the middle of the conflict but never made it to Korea, working instead as a drill sergeant.

A decade later, serving as a reservist and running the Johnstown Minute Car Wash, he lobbied to be sent to Vietnam.

"I had to fight my way to the front lines," he said. He later received two Purple Hearts.

He came home and challenged U.S. Rep. John P. Saylor, a Republican so comfortably ensconced in office that he did not bother to maintain a district office.

He lost but then was elected to the Pennsylvania General Assembly.

When Saylor died in 1973, Gov. Milton J. Shapp called a special election for the first week of February. Party leaders nominated Rep. Murtha, and the Republicans selected Saylor's chief of staff, Harry Fox.

Rep. Murtha won by 200 votes.

He secured his status as a virtual congressman-for-life in 1977 when a flood struck Johnstown and dozens of surrounding towns. Dropping from spot to spot in a commandeered military helicopter, he directed aid to the stricken region. Later, he interceded with President Jimmy Carter and his cabinet to steer flood-recovery dollars into the valley.

Rep. Murtha's first brush with scandal happened in early 1980 when a team of FBI agents mounted an elaborate sting that ensnared several members of Congress. The agents posed as representatives of a fictitious Arab sheikh who wanted a special immigration bill introduced to allow him to stay in the United States. During the probe, Rep. Murtha was videotaped talking about ways to get the phony sheikh to invest in businesses in his district.

That same tape turned out to be his salvation. Repeatedly, he declined to accept a drawer full of cash.

"They opened a drawer, and there was $50,000 in cash," he recalled last year. "And I told them I wasn't interested."

In subsequent years, he would enjoy an unlikely celebrity with his party's left, the same quarters from which he was often attacked for his old-school dealing and social conservatism.

In 2004, he called a news conference to declare that the Iraq war was an unwinnable proposition and called for an American withdrawal. The declaration, by an avowed Democratic hawk, created a storm in Washington.

Rep. Murtha lambasted the Bush administration, saying it failed to brief members of Congress on progress in the war and shut out questions.

The move made him a sudden target of the political right. He blamed it for later controversies over earmarks, including widespread theorizing that he was the ultimate target of a criminal probe into a prominent lobbying firm. He was never charged in that or another probe.

Survivors include his wife of 55 years, Joyce; daughter Donna; twin sons John and Patrick; and three grandchildren.