A Nice, Quiet Man Who Made a Difference   

Dependability was David Kaplan's hallmark during his tenure at Congressional Quarterly.

He never took a sick day in nearly 12 years on the job. His accuracy and meticulous reporting habits were legendary; he could recall a vast array of facts and figures related to congressional districts and elections. His principles were equally reliable, if extreme – he once upbraided a young reporter for accepting a free cookie at a campaign event.

Modest to a fault, he never sought nor accepted acclaim. He just figured he had a job to do and ought to do it. He carried this determination to the softball field, where he once slammed into a chain-link fence in quest of a long fly ball, landing in a heap. He emerged with the ball, deep creases in his face and no tolerance for the concerns of teammates who rushed to his side.

So imagine the shock that enveloped the CQ newsroom the morning of June 7 when staffers were told that the 34-year-old Kaplan had been shot and killed the night before.

After a typical late night at work, Kaplan had returned to the Arlington, Virginia, home in which he was renting an apartment. According to police, when Kaplan arrived a 20-year-old relative of one of the residents had just murdered two residents of the building. The disturbed young man, an apparent stranger to Kaplan, then turned the gun on him.

In his quiet manner, Kaplan had become a treasured asset at CQ, and friends and coworkers are determined to keep his memory alive. Reporter Bob Benenson flew to Boston to tell Kaplan's parents about how valued he was at work, as a journalist and as a friend. He was soon joined by editors Phil Duncan and Ron Elving, who spoke at Kaplan's funeral, as well as more than two dozen staff members who trekked to Boston by car.

Returning to Washington, Benenson organized a trip to a Baltimore baseball game in memory of Kaplan, who had never missed his beloved Red Sox when they came to town. This time, 100 of his friends went in his place.

Kaplan's family attended the game, as well as a memorial service the following day. Many of the people who knew Kaplan best spoke for one-and-a-half hours about his virtues, through tears and laughter.

He would have hated it.

Many people like to say they take their jobs seriously but not themselves. Kaplan lived it.

He came to CQ as an editorial assistant in 1983 after graduating from Union College in Schenectady, New York. Over time he was promoted to proofreader, back-up legislative reporter, politics researcher and finally, in 1989, political reporter.

He covered U.S. House races in a thorough, comprehensive way. After surveying all 435 House races last fall, his October 8 article showed that Republicans were poised to topple 40 years of Democratic control.

But it wasn't just Kaplan's political and journalistic acumen that endeared him to his colleagues. It was also his strong principles and quirky sense of humor.

He was generous as a friend, but not with CQ's money. So determined was he to stretch the company's tight travel budget, he would spend hours on the phone searching for the cheapest car deal.

His biggest fault as coach of CQ's softball team was that he was too fair. When too many people showed up for a game, "Coach K" thought everyone should play an equal amount. He took himself out of the game first.

Kaplan was so self-effacing that when he applied for a higher position at CQ a few years ago, he ended up endorsing a friend who was competing for the job.

He generally resisted appeals to become an editor, determined instead to work on his writing and reporting. He relented earlier this year, editing a new CQ product, a guide to all bills introduced in Congress.

"It's so reassuring," Kaplan's father, Stephen, said at his son's memorial service, "to know that nice, quiet people can make such a difference."