The Battle for America 2008

by Haynes Johnson

  From across the grounds came the roar of the crowd and the muffled applause from thousands of hands in heavy gloves. Families hoisted up their children for a better view and raised their digital cameras to capture history. They had come, many from hundreds of miles away, because they believed they were witnessing history. A new political movement was arising.

  As in Boston, Obama had met the moment. Now he had a campaign to run. If somehow he managed to defeat Clinton in the primaries, further ahead presumably lay John McCain. How would the Republicans run against him if he became the Democratic nominee? In December 2006, when Obama was asked that by Chicago Tribune editors and reporters, he quickly answered, “War hero against snot-nosed rookie.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Johnnie Boy

  The war in Iraq was “necessary, achievable, and noble. . . . Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  —John McCain, defending Bush’s Iraq war decision to the 2004 Republican convention

  John Sidney McCain III, “Johnnie boy” to his mother, was the presumed front-runner for his party’s nomination in 2008. Years earlier, in 2000, he was an insurgent, a maverick, an irritant to the establishment. He was never a party man. In fact, he was distrusted within his party, seen as a too-willing collaborator with the Democrats and an unreliable conservative. The religious right disliked him, though his voting record on abortion was solidly pro-life. Economic conservatives saw him as a turncoat; they could not forgive his opposition to Bush’s big tax cut in 2001, though he was the Senate’s most hawkish opponent of pork-barrel spending. Only on defense and national security did McCain have the respect of those within his party, and then grudgingly so. Worst of all, he was seen as too eager to butt heads with the president.

  McCain always believed he would be in a strong position to win a general election after Bush’s 2004 reelection opened the way for a successor. McCain’s problem was getting to that election. To win the nomination, he knew he needed to move from outsider to insider.

  John McCain is a complex man whose character was formed as a military aristocrat and in a lifetime of public service. His father and grandfather were four-star Navy admirals, and like them McCain attended the Naval Academy in Annapolis. Unlike them, he graduated near the bottom of his class in 1958 (894th out of 899). He was a rebellious cadet and became a Navy pilot eventually assigned to combat duty in Vietnam. His service there became the stuff of a legend that shaped the rest of his life.

  By 1967, McCain had made lieutenant commander and was on bombing runs over North Vietnam from the aircraft carrier USS Forrestal. That July, he narrowly escaped death after a fire swept the Forrestal, enveloping his plane on the carrier deck. McCain was badly burned, sustaining injuries from metal fragments to leg and chest after a bomb exploded. The fire killed 134 men, but he escaped and helped another pilot to safety.

  The events at the center of the McCain story began three months later, on October 26, 1967. On his twenty-third bombing mission over North Vietnam a missile, fired from a Hanoi battery, struck McCain’s A-4E Sky-hawk. He bailed out and parachuted to Truc Bach Lake below, where North Vietnamese found him, unconscious, nearly drowned, suffering broken bones in both arms and a leg. They bayoneted him, crushed his shoulder with a rifle butt. They took him to Hoa Lo Prison, the infamous “Hanoi Hilton,” where American prisoners of war were routinely and brutally tortured.

  His five and a half years of captivity spanned the closing years of Lyndon Johnson’s presidency, with the nation divided, and four years of Richard Nixon’s White House tenure, which later ended with Nixon’s resignation in disgrace in the wake of the Watergate scandal. While America was experiencing those national disasters, McCain was undergoing his own personal traumas. He was beaten, often repeatedly, and bound with ropes, all part of an interrogation process to compel “confessions” from prisoners. During the early months of his captivity, McCain was even denied medical treatment, and for two years he was held in solitary confinement. It was not until much later, after his captors learned that his father had been named commander of all U.S. forces in Vietnam, that they offered him, as a propaganda show of mercy, an opportunity to be released. McCain refused unless the other prisoners came out with him. Finally, on March 14, 1973, he was released. He had lost fifty pounds, his hair had turned white, and he was unable to raise his arms above his head.

  John McCain, promoted to captain, returned to Washington to serve as Navy liaison to the Senate. It was there that he learned politics firsthand. He was offered promotion to admiral, but turned it down to enter politics himself in 1982 as Republican candidate for the House from Arizona, where he had moved. He won, served two terms, then in 1986 won the Senate seat held by retiring Barry Goldwater, the pre-Reagan political father of modern conservatism.

  From the beginning, John McCain was a politician with restless energy and a short attention span. He could be merciless in his joking putdowns of young staffers. He had a quick temper and did not hesitate to use it on his colleagues. He survived an ethics investigation over a political influence scandal stemming from the collapse of savings and loan institutions in the 1980s and was dubbed by the media as one of five senators making up the “Keating Five.” But whatever his strengths and weaknesses, friend and foe alike agreed on one fact about John McCain: He was a genuine American hero.

  McCain’s 2008 candidacy was born out of the despair and bitterness of a failed run for the White House against George W. Bush.

  After McCain decisively defeated Bush in the 2000 New Hampshire presidential primary, their next encounter was in South Carolina, the state where the Civil War began and home to flag-waving, military-supporting citizens. South Carolina broke John McCain’s spirit. The primary was vicious, as the Bush forces, their candidate on the ropes, savaged McCain. The worst could never be traced directly to Bush’s team, but McCain and his advisers were certain they were responsible.

  In one account, Mark McKinnon, Bush’s media adviser, is described as listening to plans being laid by Bush’s South Carolina operatives to attack McCain and thinking, “They let the dogs off the chain.” There were telephone calls claiming McCain had fathered an illegitimate black daughter. 6 There were deceptive “push polls” designed to inflict damage on candidates by employing propaganda and false rumors to deceive poll respondents into thinking they were being asked questions based on facts. There were negative ads and snarling exchanges between the two candidates and ugly rumors about Cindy McCain being a drug addict and John McCain a homosexual who was mentally unstable as a result of his long imprisonment and torture. The attacks shook McCain badly. “Frankly, it’s the first time in the campaign that I’ve been a little rattled,” he said after hearing an account of a phone call to one household in which he was described as a liar and a cheat. He took down his own negative ads and sought to return to the style of campaigning that had helped him win New Hampshire, but to no avail. Bush won the primary easily, 53 to 42 percent.

  A few days later, McCain won Michigan, but his campaign was already in a death spiral. Bitter and dispirited, he retaliated with a speech in which he attacked the right-wing evangelical preachers Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson as “agents of intolerance.” By early March he was out.

  Two months later, McCain stood next to Bush in a Pittsburgh hotel in what he agreed was a “take your medicine now” event to announce his support for the victor. He had to be coaxed by a reporter before finally uttering the right words. Through gritted teeth, he said softly, “I endorse Governor Bush.” Then, in what seemed like a sarcastic coda, he added, “I endorse Governor Bush. I endorse Governor Bush. I endorse Governor Bush. I endorse Governor Bush. I endorse Governor Bush.”

  McCain returned to the Senate the leader of a rump movement of moderates, independents, reformers, and citizens fed up with the ways of Washington. His relations with the new White House were distant and chilly. John Weaver, his top political adviser, was so angry over what had happened in the campaign that he signed up as a consultan
t with the Democrats. Senate Democratic leader Tom Daschle quietly approached McCain and encouraged him to switch parties. McCain mulled over the idea but would not do it.

  Then he began to flex his muscles. With Democrat Russell Feingold of Wisconsin, he put together a coalition to pass the most significant campaign finance reform act since Watergate. In Bush’s second term, McCain fought the president over torture policy and forced him to give ground. He led a bipartisan group known as the “Gang of 14” that defused a tense standoff over Bush’s judicial nominees. Conservatives, looking ahead to probable Supreme Court vacancies, were infuriated. Dr. James Dobson, the conservative leader of Focus on the Family, called the McCain-led deal “a betrayal.” What his detractors overlooked was that McCain’s compromise assured confirmation of some of Bush’s most conservative and controversial court nominees.

  McCain had never given up his dream of becoming president. What he needed most was a rapprochement with Bush to ease his way back into good standing with the Republican establishment. Bush’s reelection campaign paved the way. The first step came that spring of 2004 with a telephone call from Weaver to Mark McKinnon, media guru to Bush. Weaver wanted the White House to know that McCain was eager to campaign for the president and believed he could be vitally important in attracting swing voters. McKinnon set up a meeting between Weaver and Karl Rove, who had been enemies for many years. The two agreed to bury their differences, opening the way for McCain to become Bush’s most important surrogate.

  Nothing captured that shift in political loyalties more powerfully than what took place during a joint appearance at a campaign rally in Pensacola, Florida, on August 10, 2004. Television cameras recorded the scene and the crowds cheered as George W. Bush and John S. McCain, standing together on the stage, embraced in a bear hug. Then, with McCain’s head resting awkwardly on Bush’s shoulder, the president gave his former rival a peck on the cheek.

  Later, McCain spent a night at the Bush ranch. There the president and several aides deliberately left Rove and McCain alone at the house. Some of Bush’s aides were worried about that private meeting, and were anxious to get back before any damage might be done. Bush took the opposite view. “The president said, ‘No, let’s wait, let’s let them marinate a little,’” recalled Mark McKinnon. McCain and Rove talked about the electoral map, about how McCain could help through the fall. Knowing of McCain’s admiration for President Theodore Roosevelt, Rove later gave McCain a pair of Teddy Roosevelt cuff links as a souvenir for his help in Bush’s reelection.

  One of McCain’s most important contributions, the moment he showed his loyalty to the president as never before, came on the opening night of the Republican National Convention in New York at the end of August. There he offered a strong defense of Bush’s decision to go to war in Iraq, articulating the case far better than the president or other administration officials had. The war, McCain said, was “necessary, achievable, and noble.” The choice, he added, “wasn’t between a benign status quo and the bloodshed of war. It was between war and a graver threat. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  McCain was far ahead of Clinton or Obama in preparing for 2008. As she was worrying about reelection in New York and Obama was barely thinking seriously about running for president, McCain took his initial trips to early states. His first stop was Concord, New Hampshire, on April 7, 2006—a fund-raiser for Republicans in the state legislature. About two hundred people turned out to hear him that night. He told some old jokes that he had used for years before addressing three topics at the heart of his message. First, spending in Washington was out of control and Republicans had to curb their own appetites and return to fiscal discipline. Second, illegal immigration was out of control but the only answer was a comprehensive solution that included a path to citizenship for undocumented workers already in the country. Third, winning in Iraq remained vital to America’s security. He said, “The consequences of failure are immense. . . . If we leave Iraq, if you read Zarqawi, bin Laden, all of these other terrorists, they’re not going to just be satisfied with Iraq. They’re coming after us.”

  On those three bullet points he was in agreement with the Republican base on spending, at odds with them on immigration, and out of step with the country on the war. His candidacy was off to a shaky start.

  After the fund-raiser, McCain was driven to the Hancock Inn for the night. It was rainy and the roads were enveloped in clouds and fog, so it wasn’t until 8:30 p.m. that he came down to the dining room to join John Weaver, Mike Dennehy, his New Hampshire political adviser, and Dennehy’s wife, Sarra, as well as several reporters.

  He was relaxed and engaging—the McCain voters had seen in the 2000 campaign. He talked at length about the immigration bill then under consideration in the Congress, and was passionate about the need for action. He was critical of some Republicans who opposed his bill and lavished praise on Edward M. Kennedy, his Senate partner in pushing for comprehensive legislation. “He is a lion in winter,” McCain said. He was also deeply worried about the political cost to his party if Republicans killed immigration reform. “We all know the parties that have attracted immigrants into this country have been the ruling parties,” he said. “It’s just a historical fact.”

  A man approached the table. “Senator, pardon me for intruding. I’m from Massachusetts and you probably don’t hear this enough from us, but I’m a Republican, I’m an admirer, and I wanted you to know there are a few of us.” McCain smiled. “I think you’re covered under the Endangered Species Act,” he said to laughter around the table.

  The talk turned to Iraq. What could Bush do about the situation there? McCain had long advocated sending additional forces but was now pessimistic about that course of action. “I think it’s getting more and more up to the Iraqis, because we’re not going to increase troop presence there,” he said. “We all know that. We’re not.”

  He was careful not to criticize Bush but expressed great frustration with Donald Rumsfeld and the Pentagon. He recalled one of his early trips to Iraq after the invasion when he met a British officer who told him bluntly the United States needed more troops. When he returned to Washington, he went to the Pentagon for breakfast with Rumsfeld and several senior military officers. “I say, ‘Mr. Secretary, you don’t have enough troops. We’ve got to have more troops over there.’ [Rumsfeld says,] ‘Commanders on the ground have not asked for additional troops.’ I said, ‘With all due respect, Mr. Secretary, I don’t expect the commanders on the ground to ask for help. It’s the nature of the beast.’ I said, ‘But you’ve got to look at the overall situation and it’s clear from historical lessons you’ve got to have more boots on the ground.’”

  McCain had traveled to Iraq with Hillary Clinton in 2005. Now a reporter asked about her views on the war and how they might affect her presidential aspirations. McCain said, “I think she’s in a difficult spot given the fact that her party is moving further and further to the left on the issue.”

  Would she be a strong presidential candidate? Yes, he said, without hesitation. “She’s smart. She’s tough. She’s disciplined. . . . I think to underestimate her would be the height of foolishness for any Republican. I could probably imagine a couple of remote scenarios where she doesn’t get the nomination, but in most scenarios, she’s got the nomination. That’s not a stroke of genius.”

  Would you offer her the vice presidency? someone asked in jest. “In a New York minute,” he said with a laugh.

  Back then to serious questioning. Was she too polarizing to win a general election? one of the reporters asked. “First of all, it depends who she runs against, and I’m dead serious when I say that—my own ambitions or lack of ambitions aside,” McCain said. “So how is she able to position herself depending on who she’s running against?” He then looked over at Weaver. “Correct me if you think I’m wrong, John, but I think 2000 and 2004 were radical departures from traditional presidential politics, because Rove was able to energize the base enough so that you just exp
anded the base out and won the election. Every other time, as we all know, it’s the fight for the center.” He continued, “So if she’s able to solidify her base early, which apparently she’s able to do, then she can swerve over to the center. . . . I think she may have an easier time moving to the center than perhaps we might like.”

  In describing the course for Clinton, he was sketching out his own hoped for path: Consolidate—or in his case at least mollify—the base early and then move to the center for the general election.

  The dinner closed with McCain offering a lengthy explanation of his relationship with Jerry Falwell, at that point the most visible symbol of his effort to win over the GOP base. There were reports that McCain and Falwell had patched up their differences. Falwell even invited him to deliver the commencement address at Liberty University. The previous weekend, NBC’s Tim Russert had grilled McCain so relentlessly about Falwell, among other issues, that as the program was ending, McCain deadpanned, “I haven’t had so much fun since my last interrogation” as a prisoner of war.

  “[Falwell] sought the meeting, came in and sat down and said I want to put our differences behind us. I said absolutely,” McCain told those around the table at the Hancock Inn. “Then the conversation continued. I discussed with him my position on the gay marriage amendment, because I knew that was a hot-button issue with them and they’re not in agreement with me on the federalism aspect of it. [McCain opposed a constitutional amendment but supported state bans on gay marriage.] And he said, ‘I’d like you to speak at the commencement of my university.’ . . . Ronald Reagan’s spoken there. Bush One spoke there. Bush Two, I think, has spoken there. . . . The one thing that some people don’t get is that I put that stuff behind me.” He rapped his knuckles on the table to emphasize each word. “It’s not a huge deal, but I didn’t ask to see him. I didn’t seek to communicate with him. We received a call one day that said Reverend Falwell would like to see you. Fine. . . . You’ve got to do that. And I find then that people don’t hold grudges against me.”