by Peter Baker
Around 3 P.M., Hyde got his fellow Republican members of the Judiciary Committee on a conference call to inform them of his decisions. They would press forward with the investigation but try to wrap it up in the next eight weeks, he told them. They would call Starr and submit the eighty-one questions to the president. Fresh off the disastrous elections, the other Republicans sounded nervous and uncertain, but no one challenged Hyde. If he still wanted to forge ahead, they would too.
Weve got a duty to do, Hyde told his fellow committee members. Were all disappointed over the election results. The Constitution requires that we fulfill our obligations. We will fulfill our obligations and let the chips fall where they may.
The next day, Thursday, November 5, Hyde held a news conference in Chicago to announce the plan to call Starr and submit the questions to Clinton. While it looked as if Hyde was scaling back the inquiry, he insisted that had been his intent all along. We could just look away from this awful mess and let it disappear, he said. But our duty demands that we look further. It requires that we search out the truth, face it squarely. It insists that we uphold the rule of law. As for witnesses like Lewinsky, he said it was unnecessary to call them. We have their testimony. We dont need to reinvent the wheel.
Hyde, who had been rebuffing Republicans calling him in Chicago to urge him to run for Speaker, tried to wrap up the news conference without getting into the brewing leadership fight involving Gingrich. But Hyde could not escape the room fast enough. When a reporter asked what message had been delivered by the Tuesday election, Hyde sounded as peeved as some of Gingrichs worst critics.
You cant win a campaign without issues and without an agenda, Hyde answered. And I think we did conduct a status-quo, dont-rock-the-boat, stall-ball campaign. And it cost us.
And whos to blame for that? a reporter asked. Is it the Speaker?
Well, Hyde answered, leadership takes credit when things go right. They ought to take the blame when things go wrong.
Hyde started for the door again as reporters shouted after him: Should Gingrich remain as Speaker?
Hyde paused at the doorway, smiled mischievously, and called out, Good morning! before ducking out.
Hyde thought he was carefully staying out of the leadership fight, but in fact his flippant final answer spoke volumes. In Washington, it was seen as a repudiation by one of the Old Bulls of the House. In Georgia, Gingrich saw it the same way. Hydes few words about leadership taking blame struck home. Maybe Hyde was right, the Speaker wondered. Maybe he really should take the blame now that things had gone so horribly wrong.
Not long after Hydes news conference, the news grew worse for Gingrich. Bob Livingston called that afternoon. Look, Im thinking about running, he told the Speaker. I wasnt thinking about it a week ago or a few days ago, but Im thinking about it now.
The two talked for a few minutes about Livingstons complaints, but the conversation quickly degenerated into a quarrel about who was responsible for the budget deal that had helped depress conservative turnout in the election. They hung up.
Gingrich kept working the phones from Atlanta, surveying the political landscape one member at a time. That Livingston might run against him was bad enough. That Hyde had seemed to desert him was crushing. But in some ways, perhaps the hardest blow came in a telephone conversation with one of the newest members of the House, Mary Bono. Gingrich had played mentor first to Sonny Bono when he came to Washington and later to his widow when she decided to run for the seat following Sonnys death. The Speaker had helped her raise money, included her in his trips to California, and given her prestigious assignments in the House, including the Judiciary Committee. He was counting on her support.
When he got her on the phone, Gingrich explained to Bono that a coup might be under way and he was looking for help. Bono hesitated. She was feeling vulnerable after weeks in the impeachment bubble. Gingrich did not seem to understand just how brutal it had been for members of the committee. While she wished she could pledge her unwavering support to the Speaker, her first instinct was to reserve judgment.
Newt, she said, Im going to stand back and see how it plays out. You might be better off to resign.
The suggestion was stunning for Gingrich. Bono did not mean it viciously. She told him she thought it would be better both for him as a friend and for the party. But for Gingrich, it was an unexpected blow.
Bono reminded Gingrich of a conversation they had once had when he had corrected her after she said loyalty should flow both ways; there were times, he had instructed her, when you had to make a tough decision that might not seem loyal.
Newt, remember what you taught me? Bono asked.
Boy, he answered, you learned your lesson well.
Livingston had been working the phones too, and the message he had received was consistent and strong. A genuine tide was rising against Gingrich, and the only question was whether Livingston would have the temerity to ride it. Within twenty-four hours, Livingstons congressional office had been transformed into a war room. The chairman himself had been on the phone almost constantly since 7 A.M. the morning after the election, and his own brain trust had immediately swung into gear. Congressman Michael P. Forbes of New York, a Livingston protg, showed up to help man the phones, write letters, craft memos, and anything else that needed doing. Other allies, including Congressmen Ron Packard, Howard P. Buck McKeon, and Sonny Callahan, dispatched their own aides to Livingstons office to help. Even a few Republican aides from the Senate side migrated over.
Outside his own circle, members were telling Livingston that they needed someone new, someone who could right their capsizing caucus and lead them into an uncertain future. Longtime Gingrich critics such as Congressmen Matt Salmon of Arizona and Christopher Shays of Connecticut were saying they would not vote for the Speaker. In addition to the encouragement from members, Livingston was also hearing from other important figures in Republican circles, including fund-raisers, lobbyists, and elected officials outside the Beltway. Among them was Texas governor George W. Bush, then contemplating a run for the White House in 2000. Bush told Livingston that he could not formally endorse him, but said if he did run for president, he did not want to lose because of something Gingrich did. The message there was clear enough too.
Livingston was an ironic candidate for rebel leader. A longtime congressman who had worked loyally in the trenches for years, he had been on the verge of retirement just eight months earlier until he was talked out of it. Among those who beseeched him to change his mind was Gingrich. But Livingston had grown increasingly sour on his old friend. During the 1998 election cycle, Livingston had traveled the country for other candidates, given away some $600,000 of his campaign treasury, and raised another $2 millionbut not so that Gingrich could obsess about interns in thongs. For months, Livingston had been dismayed at how Gingrich waffled, one day hitting the scandal issue hard, the next vowing to never mention it. By election day, Livingston had concluded that the strategy to go after Clinton was an abomination.
Still in Georgia, Gingrich was unsure where to turn. The situation began to look desperate enough that he even reached out to Bill Paxon, the young New York congressman who had been involved in the abortive coup against him the year before. In the swirl of the week, Paxons name had surfaced as a possible challenger to Gingricheven though he had not run for reelection. The authors of this rather fanciful scenario noted that nothing in the Constitution required the Speaker of the House to actually be a member. Around eleven oclock Thursday night, Paxon picked up the telephone and dialed Gingrichs home north of Atlanta.
He had heard this rumor, Paxon told Gingrich, and was calling just to make clear he had no interest in challenging the Speaker. Paxon had made his decision to give up politics and was sticking with it.
If this provided any relief for the beleaguered Gingrich, it did not show. He sounded worried. He began telling Paxon about some of the conversations he had been having with rank-and-file Republicans, members who seemed tentative
toward him, not just the hotheads and malcontents but even younger loyalists such as Bono, Jo Ann Emerson of Missouri, and J. D. Hayworth of Arizona. What had Paxon heard? Gingrich asked.
Well, Ive heard from some members and youve got some problems, Paxon replied.
Paxon was stunned at how Gingrich sounded. This was a lonely man, Paxon thought, so isolated that he was willing to confide even in a known rival. Normally, Paxon would be the last person Gingrich would be opening up to. In all their years in the House together, in all the legislative fights and leadership meetings, Paxon had never heard Gingrich sound uncertain of himselfuncertain of specific issues or which way to go tactically, yes, but never uncertain of himself. As Paxon put down the phone, he looked at his wife, Susan Molinari, a former congresswoman. If somebody runs, Paxon told her, hes dead.
Not much later, maybe eleven-thirty or so, the phone at the Paxon house rang. It was Bob Walker, the former congressman and Gingrichs political alter ego. Walker had some advice for Livingston and wanted Paxon to convey it. Now working as a lobbyist in Washington, Walker warned darkly that downtown could be a cold place for those who run and lose, and it could be warm if he didnt run. Paxon assumed Gingrich had asked his friend to call. And the message was equally clear: Livingston would never be able to work in private-sector Washington if he took a shot at the king and missed.
Livingston did not know about the call when he woke up early on Friday, November 6, but he had had second thoughts overnight anyway. Maybe he would not run. Instead, he would lay down the law with Gingrich. He got hold of his secretary and started dictating terms of surrendersixteen conditions that Gingrich would have to accept in order to keep Livingston from challenging him. Livingston insisted on more order in the budget process, regular weekly meetings with the Democrats, longer workweeks and fewer vacations. Most important, he demanded complete control over his own committeeno more Gingrich end runs, no more secret deals with the White House without his involvement. If he was to stay as Appropriations chairman and not run for Speaker, Livingston told Gingrich, he would have to be allowed to run the committee as I see fit and in the best interest of the Republican majority, but without being subject to the dictates of any other Member of Congress.
Livingston had the three-page letter marked personal and confidential and faxed to Gingrich in Georgia, then gave him two hours to respond. This was political hardball at its toughest. Look, he told Gingrich in a telephone call, I dont want to run against you. But Ive got to run my committee. If Gingrich agreed to these sixteen rules, Livingston told him, then fine, he would not run.
Gingrich was momentarily encouraged, thinking Livingston would not take him on. Then he saw the list. This is ridiculous, Gingrich told an aide. Were not going to sign this. He began working the phones again, taking the temperature, seeking advice. One of those he called was Congressman J. C. Watts, the charismatic former Oklahoma football star and the only African-American in the House Republican caucus.
How do you deal with this kind of situation? Gingrich asked plaintively.
In football, when your team loses, they bench you, the quarterback, Watts said. Its painfulIve been therebut thats just the way it is.
Gingrich also heard from Bill Archer, the tough-minded Ways and Means Committee chairman from Texas, who had told him the day before he would stand by him. Having slept on it, Archer said, he had changed his mind: You might want to give second thought to this.
Livingstons list of demands was supposed to remain private, but within a few hours, he looked up to see his press secretary, Mark Corallo, rush into the office. He released the fucking letter, Corallo said. Reporters had copies. Livingston and his staff assumed that Gingrich had leaked it since they did not believe their side had put it out.
Fuck, said Livingston. It had been more than three hours at this point. Livingstons deadline had passed without a response. Maybe this leak was the response. Livingston summoned his entire staff into his office and had his district staff in Louisiana patched in by speakerphone.
All right, everyone, he said. I want everyone to go around the room and tell me why I should or shouldnt do this.
The district staff enthusiastically urged him to run, but others raised the obvious concerns. No one had ever taken on a sitting Speaker like this before. Gingrich had given him the Appropriations chairmanship in the first place. It would be tough on his family. Finally, Corallo challenged him to figure out whether he had it in your gut to take on Newt Gingrich, a guy who will go down in history.
Livingston thought he did, but he had one more person he had to consult. He kicked his staff out of his office and picked up the phone again. This time he dialed New Orleans and got former archbishop Philip Hannan on the line. Hannan was a friend who had paid a surprise visit to Livingston the previous February when he was thinking about quitting Congress and had coaxed him into sticking it out for another two years. This time Hannan gave similar advice: go for it.
Livingston called his aides back into his office. Were doing this. Im running.
The first thing he had to do was call Gingrich to let him know. It was a moment Livingston dreaded, but it had to be done. The letter with the sixteen demands was off the table, Livingston told Gingrich around 11 A.M. Its revoked.
Gingrich would not accept that. He was still trying to work something out: Were getting you an answer.
Too late. Im not interested. Im going.
Bill Paxon arrived at Livingstons door about a half hour later. Come on in. Sit down, Livingston told the younger man. As Paxon took a seat, Livingston turned to a secretary in the office with him and issued a few final editing instructions as he worked to polish his speech. The secretary left and Livingston shifted his gaze out the window of his office and stared for a few moments before saying anything.
Hardest decision I ever had to make, he said finally.
Paxon thought he knew but asked anyway. What decision?
I just told Newt Im going to run. Livingston looked out the window again, then back at Paxon. What do you think?
Paxon remembered the phone call from Bob Walker the night before. Well, apparently Im forty-five minutes too late.
Paxon told Livingston why he had come and described the message from the Gingrich camp. He was not there to encourage or discourage, Paxon added. He did not intend to be doing Gingrichs dirty work by passing along threats, but he had committed at least to telling Livingston what people were saying so he could evaluate for himself.
Livingston seemed unbothered. Yes, he said, he had thought a lot about that. He knew the possible ramifications to his postcongressional career if he ran and lost, but he felt confident he would be okay. He had been in Congress a long time and had a lot of friends in this town. In fact, while he did not mention it, he had heard directly from Walker, who had told him that if he lost a challenge to Gingrich, potential clients might be suspicious of Livingstons ability to deal with a Republican leadership he had unsuccessfully challenged.
Okay, Paxon said, but what about the rest? Are you ready for what the Gingrich people could do to you? Paxon paused. Just so you know, your life will be an open book.
Livingston looked stunned. It appeared that thought had not really occurred to him. He put his head down on his desk for a few moments, lost in some trance Paxon did not understand. Paxon knew nothing about any personal indiscretions in the older mans past, but he became instantly worried as he saw Livingstons reaction. As Livingston lifted his head from the desk, his face looked drained of blood.
Before Paxon could pursue the subject any further, Livingstons wife, Bonnie, walked into the office, followed by his chief of staff, Allen Martin. They were there to plan the big announcement, now scheduled for just two hours away. As Paxon excused himself, he caught Livingstons attention when Bonnie was not looking, pointed to Martin, and silently mouthed the words, You better talk with him.
Two hours later, Livingston was on the lawn of the Capitol, surrounded by hastily gathered supporters waving hasti
ly printed signs, courtesy of friends at the American Conservative Union who were rallied to provide the political props necessary for the anti-Gingrich revolt. Accompanied by Bonnie and their daughter Susie, Livingston was armed with a speech that until the last minute had a hole in it because his staff could not find a missing list of issues he wanted to mention, such as preserving Social Security, lowering taxes, and strengthening national defense. It was also missing kind words about the man Livingston was seeking to dethrone. His aides had convinced him to take out a section praising Gingrichs strengths, but now before the microphone, he adlibbed them back in.
As Livingston described him, Gingrich was a wonderful human being, a man of Churchillian proportions, and an intellectual giant with many talents that exceed anything I can aspire to. Hardly the words of a bitter rival. Yet Livingston argued that, just as Britain had turned away from Winston Churchill in peacetime, it was time to move on from the larger-than-life leadership of Gingrich to a more nuts-and-bolts manager committed to making the trains run on time.
Revolutionizing takes some talentsmany talents, Livingston said. My friend Newt Gingrich brought those talents to bear and put the Republicans in the majority. Day-to-day governing takes others. I believe I have those talents.
