When the caucuses finally met, Edwards surged from fourth place with 11 percent to second place at about 32 percent. Unfortunately, John Kerry, who had also made a furious final week crusade, finished five points ahead and came out the clear winner. Howard Dean, who once seemed unbeatable, fell to below 20 percent and was then captured by TV cameras making a speech that included a strange-sounding victory howl that was instantly dubbed the “Dean scream” and subjected to endless mockery by pundits, comedians, and Internet commentators.
Inside the Edwards campaign, we knew that with another week’s time we could have passed Kerry and won Iowa. Instead, the Massachusetts senator with the long résumé and extremely sober demeanor got most of the press attention as the campaign shifted to New Hampshire. Kerry, who like Dean lived in a neighboring state, had a huge advantage over us, and we had only a week to try to close the gap. To make matters worse, we were running out of money faster than we were running out of time. As the senator dashed around the state, he discovered the crowds were smaller than they had been in Iowa, but we couldn’t afford to buy enough advertising to reach them through the media. On election day Kerry scored his second win, Dean made a comeback to claim second, and Edwards finished a distant fourth, just behind General Wesley Clark.
With his early wins, the fund-raising tide also turned toward Kerry, as donors who were eager to be with the winner rushed to show their support prior to March 2—called Super Tuesday—when ten states from Vermont to California would hold primaries. In Raleigh, I juggled money to keep Edwards on the road, and the staff was pared back. The senator’s mood and the feeling in our offices turned dark as it seemed that barring some disaster, Kerry was going to run away with the nomination.
Although it’s wrong to wish bad fortune on someone else, a feeling of hope rippled through the campaign when the Internet site DrudgeReport.com—run by a mudslinger called Matt Drudge—posted a story suggesting Kerry had had an affair with a tall, twenty-seven-year-old blond news reporter. We had heard similar rumors and innuendo for months and began following the story with so much intensity that another Web site measured the Internet traffic and announced that we had checked DrudgeReport.com a thousand times. When this got out, John Robinson went around the office telling people to cut it out. We were making ourselves look bad.
Soon after the supposed affair was reported, Alexandra Polier, who was supposedly Kerry’s paramour, stepped forward to say the story was a lie. I’d like to believe she told the truth, but in politics you never know. True or not, her statement killed the best chance we had at overcoming Kerry. In the last week before Super Tuesday, some commentators said the senator was keeping up the fight only to position himself to be the vice presidential candidate on a Kerry ticket and was therefore being too easy on him. Then Edwards took some swipes at the front-runner, trying to depict him as a Washington insider. It didn’t work. Kerry won every Super Tuesday state, except for Dean’s Vermont, by big margins. To our credit, Edwards finished second in all nine of those states and grabbed 41 percent of the Democrats in Georgia, the one state in the Deep South.
The talk of Edwards joining a Kerry campaign as the vice presidential nominee, which began even before Super Tuesday, flared for a moment after he decided to withdraw from the presidential campaign. (One of our supporters actually waved a handmade Kerry-Edwards sign at the gathering in Raleigh, where the senator announced his decision.) E. J. Dionne of The Washington Post said that Edwards had actually gained a great deal in his losing campaign and had positioned himself as a favorite in the veep sweepstakes. (Dionne complained, however, that Edwards had failed to challenge Kerry in a way that would toughen him up for the fight with Bush.) But while the pundits pointed to Edwards’s appeal and potential, not one of them mentioned the challenge the senator faced coming to terms with his loss—the first major defeat in his entire life—and figuring out what he would do next without an office to serve as his platform.
When he returned to North Carolina, we went to a postcampaign gathering that the headquarters crew threw in a local brew pub. (Remarkable as it may seem, some of these devoted workers would be meeting John and Elizabeth in the flesh for the first time ever.) I knew that the Edwardses, especially Elizabeth, were sore about the advice they had been given—and accepted—until his “fuck it” moment in Manchester, so I was wary of how things would go at this event. The senator was fairly upbeat and appreciative. Elizabeth was not. At one point I saw that Kayla, who had come from California to volunteer, was crying. Nick Baldick, a big, hulking tough guy, stood alone looking very upset. It struck me that I would be the only one kept on salary, while he, J. Rob, and the rest had just become unemployed. I went over to console him and said, “Nick, you did a great job. The best you could.” He nodded and then with a little catch in his voice said, “Thanks, Andrew. I wish Elizabeth shared that thought.”
MICKEY MOUSE AND JOHN KERRY
A
fter John Kerry had the 2004 Democratic presidential nomination wrapped up, the Dallas Morning News published an article citing all the reasons he should ask John Edwards to join the ticket. The arguments revolved around three main points. The first was that Edwards had proven himself in the primaries to be a disciplined and exciting campaigner. Second, “his private life, finances and pre-political career [had] all have been vetted” when he was considered to be Al Gore’s partner in 2000. And third was his Southernness: He had the accent, the regional base, and the charm to balance Kerry’s persona, which was colder than a New England winter.
Although it’s generally bad form to be seen vying for the running mate’s spot, especially when you are still in contention in the primaries, Edwards had started sending signals that he was open to an offer even before Super Tuesday. Using go-betweens like Bob Shrum, Harrison Hickman, and South Carolina congressman James Clyburn, he made sure Kerry understood his strength as a fund-raiser, communicator, and effective campaigner. Polling showed he was far more popular than Dick Gephardt, who we believed was Kerry’s personal favorite, and no one looked better on television. As part of a charm offensive aimed at getting Kerry’s attention, Edwards agreed to be featured in the March 8 People magazine. The article highlighted a telling comment from a female voter who said, “He’s real, and he’s easy to look at.” (This comment was tame compared with the words women whispered in Edwards’s ears or wrote on notes they pressed into his hand at public appearances. I knew this because I had been with him in the past when he rebuffed advances from women and a few men, which seemed to come whenever we were in public.) Altogether, Edwards seemed to provide the perfect balance for Kerry. In fact, the only negative where a Kerry-Edwards ticket was concerned was that the two guys didn’t like each other very much.
When we talked about him, the senator complained that Kerry, despite his long-winded, professorial demeanor, “just wasn’t all that smart.” The man seemed well-informed, he added, like someone “who had read The New York Times every day for twenty years,” but he wasn’t a creative person or even a good problem solver. He also found Kerry to be aloof and far too aristocratic in his bearing to succeed as the leader of a party that looks for major support from unions, African Americans, and people in big cities. During the primaries, Kerry had been the opponent our side most loved to hate. Our political strategist Jim Andrews, who I swore cussed and smoked in his sleep, used to bellow, “We just can’t let this mother-fuckin’ blue blood get in the White House.”
The resentment toward Kerry had been heartfelt, and it had come from the top of our organization, but when it appeared that the two teams might join forces, my boss tried to see the advantages. When Edwards met with the head of Kerry’s search committee, Jim Johnson, he stressed how they had complementary strengths, and whenever we talked about it, he focused on the idea that we would both move our families into the vice president’s mansion and that after eight years as Kerry’s second, he would spend eight more in the White House. He talked often about our kids growing up together in Washington.
(I liked this idea, too, and when Gus Gusler, lawyer for Hootie & the Blowfish, teased me and asked me what I charged for “delivering groceries,” I replied, “Sixteen years in the White House.” He laughed and said, “I would, too.”)
As Edwards saw it, Al Gore had squandered the opportunity Clinton had handed him. He said he wasn’t going to make the same mistake.
We had these conversations in my Suburban, at his home, and on the occasions when we took our kids out for some fun. During the spring of 2004, our two families grew as close as they would ever be. Jack and Emma Claire came to our house regularly, sometimes with their nanny, Heather North, and they would play for hours on end. Sometimes I’d take the whole gang out on the lake in our motorboat. I don’t think four kids ever had more fun.
In late spring, when the Edwardses were in Washington, they walked from their home to Kerry’s house for what could only be called job interviews. Kerry brought the senator to one part of the house, and his wife, billionaire heiress Teresa Heinz, took Elizabeth to another. (For political purposes, she called herself Teresa Heinz Kerry, but she never adopted this name legally.) As I heard it from Elizabeth and John, these meetings went terribly. Teresa asked Elizabeth if she would pursue any particular causes as the vice president’s wife. When she began to talk about education, Teresa cut her off and began talking about the education foundation she supported with millions of dollars. Elizabeth told me the same thing happened when she brought up a school computer lab the Edwardses established at Broughton High and Teresa acted like “she owned IBM.” They spent perhaps five or ten minutes together, and then Teresa left Elizabeth alone to search out her husband.
According to Bob Shrum, the two senators also struggled to get along. In an attempt to establish some intimacy, Edwards told Kerry he wanted to tell him a story no one else knew. He then told him about embracing Wade’s body in the medical examiner’s office. Kerry was stunned and put off, because Edwards had actually shared the same tale with him once before.
When I saw him after this meeting, Senator Edwards said nothing about the Wade story but confessed that he had serious doubts about whether Kerry would make a good president. The Edwardses both called John and Teresa “complete assholes,” and the senator concluded that their shared wealth, power, and privilege had left them out of touch with ordinary reality. He said, “Andrew, I’m rich, but they are ludicrously rich. How can he possibly be the leader of the Democratic Party? I bet he doesn’t know the price of milk.” (Mrs. Edwards always made sure her husband knew the price of milk, as well as gasoline, just in case someone asked.)
Of course, these personal feelings didn’t affect the senator’s professional ambitions or his public statements. All through the spring, he helped the Kerry campaign in any way they asked, even flying to the ends of the earth—okay, Fargo, North Dakota—to give a rousing speech on the nominee’s behalf. Inside the Democratic Party, support for a Kerry-Edwards ticket began to build. Kerry still had other candidates on his list, and while he labored over the choice, Senator Edwards invited my family to join his at Disney World, and he paid for the trip. The group would include little Jack and Emma Claire, plus the Edwardses’ twenty-two-year-old daughter, Cate, and the Young family of four. Or four and a half, since Cheri was eight months pregnant.
T
he summer high in Orlando averages about ninety degrees. The humidity generally hovers around 75 percent, and it rains every other day. These conditions would be hard enough on anyone hauling kids around the Magic Kingdom, but our group was further challenged by the fact that Mrs. Edwards was recovering from an abdominal operation (she still had a surgical drain in her belly) and Cheri was pregnant. In retrospect, I would guess that we mounted this expedition primarily so the world would know the Edwardses were at the most American vacation spot of all if the call came for him to be vice president.
To be fair, John and Elizabeth did not expect that he would be chosen, and the vacation was a thrill for the kids. A terrific father, the senator took Emma Claire and Jack on the flying teacups, allowed himself to look as silly as possible aboard the Dumbo ride, and endured the cloying melody of “It’s a Small World (After All)” as many times as they wanted. The experience was a little more difficult for Mrs. Edwards, who tended to have an inflexible concept of fun and was never able to relax like her husband. Instead, she seemed to get preconceived notions about what an experience should be and then tried to force everyone to play certain roles so the picture looked as she had imagined it would. For example, when we saw Peter Pan she had the kids listen as she told the entire story when all they really wanted to do was rush to see the young woman dressed up as the character.
The characters were a huge hit with the kids, and the Edwardses chose to pay for VIP treatment, which meant we had a tour guide—her name was Tracey—who drove us from the hotel to the theme park in a van and then stayed with us to make sure we got to the front of every line and got into the better restaurants on the property. Tracey saw our group at its best and its worst. One morning as she collected us at our hotel, Mrs. Edwards noticed something had been left behind with the senator, who was still in their room. I happened to be talking to him via cell phone, so when she tried to reach him she couldn’t. When she found out what was happening, she actually cussed me out in front of my family and people who stood nearby. I just took it, which made me feel humiliated. When the senator finally appeared, he discovered a stony silence in the van. Eventually, Cate spoke up and asked Mrs. Edwards to apologize. To her credit, she did. But I was reminded of all the times Cheri questioned how the Edwardses treated me and thought her concern was valid.
Mrs. Edwards was especially tense that morning because she and the senator were starting to think that he would not get the call to be vice president. That night, we had dinner at Chef Mickey’s, where the kids got to meet a gang of Disney characters. As we walked into the place, Brody saw Mickey Mouse and ran over to see him, with Emma Claire and Jack following right behind. The senator and I chased down the kids, and then I went to our table and took a moment to check my phone. It showed six or seven missed calls, all from the same number in Washington, D.C.
The messages were from Mary Beth Cahill, a major figure in the Massachusetts Democratic Party who was John Kerry’s campaign manager. After leaving one of the messages, she had handed the phone to Kerry, who said, “Hey, John, this is John Kerry. I’m hoping to speak with you as soon as we can.”
As I finished listening to the messages, the senator appeared with the kids and I told him what was going on. His eyes got wide, and I asked if he wanted to go back to the hotel and return the call. He said he’d prefer to do it right away and asked me to find a private place where he might use the phone. I had performed this duty for him countless times, and it’s remarkable to see how people always respond positively when they are told that a prominent person needs a private place to conduct important business. In this case, the manager of Chef Mickey’s cleared out a little outdoor smoking spot for employees and we sat there at a table, with amusement park rides in the background and lights starting to come on all around us.
When we reached her, Mary Beth didn’t put Kerry on the phone and was evasive about the purpose of the call. All she wanted to say was that Kerry was inviting Edwards to a meeting in Washington and wanted him to fly up the next evening. They then engaged in a little debate over whether he would travel in a private jet or fly commercial. He wanted the campaign to send a jet so he could avoid public attention and because the gesture would signal their respect for a family man interrupting his vacation. She wanted him to head for Orlando International Airport and hop a commercial flight to save the campaign money. (I suspect she also feared that if they sent a jet, it would indicate that Edwards was already the chosen one.) They agreed that he would try to get to Washington, but they left the transportation issue up in the air, so to speak.
When we returned to the table inside Chef Mickey’s, Mrs. Edwards was bursting with curiosity. The senator
explained what had transpired with the calls but emphasized that Mary Beth had not told him anything about the reason for the invitation. For all he knew, Kerry wanted to reject him in a face-to-face meeting. Mrs. Edwards insisted that the senator go to Washington as requested, even if it meant spending a few hours on a commercial flight.
The buzz about the call continued until we returned to the hotel, where Cheri went to the Edwardses’ suite with Elizabeth, and the senator and I took the kids down to the pool to swim and watch the nightly Disney fireworks show. We ordered some drinks, and after his third or fourth glass of wine, he got a little louder and more pessimistic about his prospects. Almost certain he wouldn’t get the nod, he said, “Andrew, this is bullshit. Unless they send me a jet, I’m not going. He’s fucking with me, he’s yanking my chain. I’ve been in the Senate with him for four years, why does he need to meet with me?”
Worried that the senator was speaking too loudly poolside, I went to pay the bar bill. When I turned around, he and the kids were gone. I assumed they had returned to the room, so I went upstairs. They weren’t there. Mrs. Edwards lost her temper and screamed at me, “Andrew, you know how irresponsible he is. You can’t leave him alone with four kids.”
She called security and we all searched the hotel. I went back to the pool area, where I saw him and he asked, “What’s going on?” He was carrying a bunch of clothes and there were four buck-naked kids trailing behind him. He explained that he had taken them to a little beach for a moonlight swim in a pond where big signs warned, do not swim. alligators.
I
n the morning, with the families set to spend the day at the Animal Kingdom theme park, Jim Johnson, Kerry’s lead scout in the hunt for a running mate, called a little after eight o’clock. He said he wanted to go over the issues that Kerry was considering as he settled on his choice. His first concern had to do with whether his vice president was serious about the work of governing. The second was long-term loyalty. (Kerry wanted a guarantee that if they lost, Edwards would not run against him for the presidential nomination in 2008.) The third and final concern was about Edwards’s stand on the issues. Kerry wanted to make sure that his partner at the top of the ticket would present a united front with him.
The Politician Page 14
