HERSHEY, Pa. -- During fights on the House floor, they have plenty of opportunity to snipe. During committee hearings, they have ample occasion to seethe.

But in this realm of chocolate kisses, members of Congress had a rare chance this weekend to do something different. They got to share.

Descending on a rambling lodge and conference center for what was billed as a three-day course in civility, nearly 200 Republicans and Democrats, some with their spouses and children in tow, came together to exercise their diplomacy and exorcise their demons, primarily in small discussion groups that were meant, according to organizers, to provide "safe environments" for the venting of feelings.

Lawmakers listened Friday afternoon to a keynote speech by John Hume, a Nobel-winning architect of peace in Northern Ireland, on the theory that anyone who could soothe the tensions there might be able to do as much for Ways and Means.

They were scheduled yesterday for line dancing at a Family Country Hoedown, on the theory that if they could kick up their heels together, then maybe -- just maybe -- they could break the impasse over Medicare.

These were lofty goals indeed, but not, participants insisted, beyond all reach.

Reflecting on Hume's remarks, which alluded to the Northern Ireland accord, Rep. Richard Neal, a Massachusetts Democrat, said, "The odds that he faced getting the Good Friday agreement were clearly more difficult than the odds we face here."

The bipartisan retreat, from Friday to today, was a reprise of a similar gathering here two years ago, but lawmakers conceded that this one came at an even more difficult moment, on the heels of the impeachment ordeal.

Their presence here seemed to signal both a genuine desire for some degree of reconciliation and a genuine concern about their everyday estrangement from each other.

As they boarded a chartered train leaving Union Station in Washington on Friday morning and as they took breaks from their scheduled activities Friday and yesterday, they spoke ruefully of the frenetic pace in Congress these days and the impersonal atmosphere around Washington, where they said fewer and fewer lawmakers were anchoring their family and social lives.

Rep. Jack Quinn, a Republican from New York, said between events that there was an incalculable benefit to "getting to know someone over a tuna fish sandwich and a Pepsi instead of a minimum wage agreement."

But the failure of a majority of House members to come to Hershey, the self-christened "sweetest place on earth," underlined a feeling among many that all they would get here were empty calories. Several of them said the event was a charade, more useful for public relations than political harmony.

After reports earlier this week that many more Republicans than Democrats would show up, organizers declined yesterday to provide a list of participants and were hazy about the overall attendance figure, which they said was almost evenly divided between the two parties.

Reporters were relegated to the periphery of the conference center, and details of the schedule were kept under wraps, but this being Congress, there were any number of leaks, revealing an itinerary rife with items that had an ambiguous connection to civility and healing.

After a Friday night event at which the actor Sam Waterston performed his much-applauded imitation of Abraham Lincoln, early risers could attend an aerobics workout at 6: 45 this morning led by Sandie Knollenberg, the wife of Republican Rep. Joe Knollenberg of Michigan.

Saturday afternoon was set aside for diversion and relaxation, with lawmakers and their families choosing among such options as a journey to Gettysburg, a trip to the chocolate museum, high tea at the Hotel Hershey and a skating exhibition known as World on Ice. That was all leading up to the hoedown, where the kind of iridescent necklaces popular at circuses would be scattered around the tables as a festive icebreaker. (Two years ago, it was hula hoops.)

Organizers said that none of this strayed from the retreat's purpose of fostering greater civility in Congress. A common refrain was that once a lawmaker had seen a colleague from across the aisle changing a toddler's diaper, it would be harder for him or her to summarily demonize the other side.

"When all is said and done, relationships count," said Rep. James Rogan, a California Republican, who had been among the prosecutors of President Clinton during his Senate trial.

Pub Date: 3/21/99