Only the Fort Worth Times correspondent dared to fetch a take-out lunch from the cafeteria downstairs. He sat on a windowsill in the rear, morosely munching a sandwich. The others stood for an hour and a half rather than miss the President's emergence. Doubtless, many considered sneaking out for a cup of coffee, then thought of trying to justify missing a vital quote to their senior editors.

Finally Reagan and the Republicans emerged from their conference. We learned later that the President had engineered his own humiliation, failing to win any Senator to his side, even when he reportedly said, "I beg you for this vote."

Drama is rare in the United States Senate, but the interns, reporters and dubiously fortunate tourists who packed the galleries the day before had watched the Senate vote with suppressed tension. I sat and watched as the tourists--a Boy Scout troop, some sort of club of fraternal order, a lot of well-bred white high school students--fidgeted and daydreamed about the souvenir shops.

The vote proceeded, at first with few surprises. Then, as the less certain Senators emerged from arm-twisting sessions, the chamber began to fill with members who uncharacteristically remained in their seats after voting. Even the tourists sensed the vote's importance.

The galleries' usual murmur of quiet commentary hushed to tense whispers. The gaggle of interns in the corner "ladies' gallery" asked each other "What's the score?" "Was that number 30 or 31?" Meanwhile, on the New York State Thruway, a bridge waited to collapse.

There was silence during the last few votes. With only two Senators remaining and the score at 66-32. Democratic freshman Terry Sanford of North Carolina emerged from a group of remonstrating senior Senators and tersely voted, "Present."

The crowd gasped and leaned forward in unison. A few seconds later, Sanford changed his vote to "nay." Republican Alan K. Simpson predictably provided the necessary, 34th vote to support the President.

But it wasn't over. Majority Leader Robert C. Byrd, known as a specialist in parliamentary technique, changed his vote to favor the override so that Senate rules would permit him to move that the vote be reconsidered. He then managed to postpone a vote on this motion by further maneuvering, in order to buy time for pressuring Sanford.

Three tense hours later, Sanford emerged onto the Senate floor from a session with his party's leaders. Claiming that the President had already been vindicated by winning the first vote, he promised to favor the override in the next vote. The next vote, however, was not a sure bet.

Taking a page of the Democrat's book. Dole decided to filibuster, hoping to use the time gained to shepherd one of the 13 stubborn Republicans back into the President's flock. The delay was accomplished with a series of motions and countermotions. The text of each motion, printed across the television screen by C-Span, soon approached self-parody.

One vote considered the motion to table the motion to indefinitely postpone the motion to reconsider the motion to override the President's veto of the highway bill, or, for all it mattered, the house that Jack built.

The stalling ended by mutual agreement when the Senate decided at 7:30 p.m. to postpone the reconsideration vote on the override and get some dinner. By Thursday morning, suspense and frustration had mounted, the Senate leadership was haggard and the galleries were packed.

It was time for the heavy artillery; the press gallery loudspeaker rasped an announcement that the President would visit Capitol Hill to lobby the 13 Republican dissidents who opposed his veto. It loosed the press on an instant stampede to the second-floor corridor for a futile wait while the President began a fruitless and ignominious attempt to win a single Senate Republican to his side. Considering the political riches that a President can offer in return, few expected Reagan's failure to persuade even one of the 13.

But that afternoon, amid mutual efforts at chivalrous good sportsmanship by Dole and Byrd, the Senate defeated President Reagan by the bare margin of 67 to 33.

Immediately both Senators and commentators in the press began explaining that the President had, in Dole's words, "come out on top."

Throughout the three days of the battle it had been easy to believe that the Presidency hung in the balance. Suddenly, having felt the suspense, I wondered how members of both parties--not only on the floor, but in the press--could exaggerate the vote's importance, then, in a classic case of timidity, minimize it when the President lost. Senator Edward M. Kennedy '54's mixed metaphor after the vote met derision in the Senate Press Gallery" "If no more shoes drop on Irangate, [the President] is out of the woods."

The President had entered the woods, done battle and lost. And, contradicting the rampant charges of "liberal bias in the media," the next day's papers failed to report this fact's significance. Consequently, the override battle will likely lose importance in perspective, continuing the process which began with the speeches 10 minutes after Reagan's defeat.

Reagan showed his power, not through an ability to control Congress, but by continuing to manipulate his own public image. He lost in the Senate, but he won in the nation's eyes because neither Congress nor the press would admit that the President had suffered a nearly fatal humiliation.