An American Son: A Memoir

by Marco Rubio

  I enjoyed my new assignments, and was especially excited about the challenge of building Broad and Cassel’s new consulting business. I liked teaching and television work. I was grateful to have more time to spend with my family. But I still missed the excitement of politics and the fulfillment of public service.

  Although it wasn’t a substitute for the adrenaline rush you experience participating in a political campaign, the Miami Dolphins, as they often did, brought more excitement into my life. They went from being one of the worst teams in the NFL in 2007 to a play-off team in the 2008 season. I attended every home game that fall, thanks to the generous gift from my house colleagues, often in the company of my father.

  When I was young, my dad had taken me to the games at the Orange Bowl in his old 1973 Chevy Impala. We would park a few blocks away, and stop on our way to the stadium at the same cafeteria for a Cuban coffee. When the Dolphins moved to a new stadium farther north, he would drive us to Florida International University, where we would catch a shuttle bus to the game. Now I picked him up and drove us to the games. I got the sense he didn’t enjoy football as much as he once had, and that he accompanied me only to avoid disappointing me. The Dolphins’ season ended with a play-off loss at home to the Baltimore Ravens. It was the last Dolphins game my father and I ever attended together.

  Observing the presidential election of 2008 as a teacher and television analyst made me long for the thrill of campaigning—the battle of ideas, the clash of competing visions, the energy and ups and downs of campaigns. What made it harder to bear was the knowledge that the campaign was heading to the wrong conclusion: Senator Barack Obama’s election to the presidency. It became increasingly obvious he was going to win. He was a compelling figure, with an extraordinary gift for public speaking. His soaring rhetoric, almost poetic at times, but always seeming so calm and reasonable, blurred the lines between right and left and spoke to a nation weary of angry partisanship. He seemed to offer a third way and hope to Americans exhausted by two long wars and terrified by an economic crisis that threatened their jobs and savings.

  Hidden beneath his centrist message, however, was a decidedly left of center policy agenda—exactly what the country didn’t need. His personality and language gave an impression of moderation, but his ideas and voting record revealed a dogmatic, big-government liberal. I found it frustrating that so many voters couldn’t see the agenda behind the appealing personality, and I worried that at a time when our economy desperately needed the innovation, competition and creativity of the free-enterprise system, the country was going to choose a president who would rely almost exclusively on government for the solutions to our many problems.

  But as I waited in Univision’s studio on election night and watched the new president-elect give his victory speech, I was moved deeply by the historic significance of his election, and it overwhelmed my political concerns. As he reached the end of his speech and told the story of an elderly African American woman, born just two generations removed from slavery, braving a long line and cold weather to cast her vote that day for America’s first black president, I saw the emotion and pride on the faces in the massive crowd that had gathered in Chicago’s Grant Park to hear him. And I, too, became emotional with pride for my country.

  In the sweep of history, it was just a moment ago when AfricanAmericans were denied their God-given rights and full citizenship in the country that had been founded to protect those rights. Two generations later, an African American had risen from modest beginnings to the highest office in the most powerful country in the world. I was so proud to be an American, and so moved by the powerful symbolism of the moment, I couldn’t stop myself from tearing up.

  I could see the shock on the faces of some of the people in the newsroom as they noticed my eyes begin to water. Some of them thought they were tears of regret for the election of a Democratic president. But they weren’t. There would be plenty of time to oppose the new president’s misguided policies. That night was a night to be proud of our country and grateful for the blessing of my citizenship, for the place I was privileged to call home, for the nation that had given my parents a second and third chance at a new life, and had given me an education, a standard of living and opportunities that were unimaginable for my family just a few decades before. America is a place where anyone from anywhere can accomplish anything.

  The election marked the official end of my career in the Florida legislature, and in the weeks that followed I struggled with the idea that I might never hold public office again. There would be open seats in the state senate in 2010, but I wasn’t really interested in running for one. I had occupied what many people considered the second most powerful office in the state, and I didn’t believe I could have that kind of influence in the senate. I would only be running just to have an office, and in my heart I knew that wasn’t a purpose worth the sacrifices it would impose on my family. Every state office was held by an incumbent who would be easily reelected. The only Democrat in the state cabinet, Alex Sink, was a former bank executive who, by all accounts, had done a competent job.

  I had always been interested in foreign policy, but I had never been very interested in federal office. That all changed, though, with President Obama’s election. While his election was inspiring, I knew he would use his presidency to lead the nation in the wrong direction, and we would need a strong conservative movement to restrain him. For the first time, I had a genuine desire to engage in federal policy debates, but no platform from which to do it. As a former state legislator without a national profile, my views wouldn’t receive much attention. And there weren’t open congressional seats in Florida. South Florida’s three congressional districts were represented by strong, well-liked incumbents who weren’t going anywhere. There would be an election for one of Florida’s seats in the U.S. Senate, but the incumbent, Mel Martinez, a Republican and Cuban American, was assumed to be running for reelection.

  I had risen swiftly in Florida politics—from city commissioner in West Miami to speaker of the Florida House in a little more than a decade. But there really wasn’t anywhere for me to go now, and my political career seemed to have run its course. I had a hard time accepting that for a few weeks, but by December I was resigned to it.

  This is what God wanted me to do, I told myself. I could take care of responsibilities I had neglected for a decade. I could make certain my family was financially secure. I could devote myself to being a good husband and father. I could succeed at something other than politics.

  My grandfather had wanted to be a prominent business and civic leader in Cuba, and he had briefly experienced success. Then he spent the rest of his life struggling to make a living in Havana and Miami. My mother had wanted to be an actress. She dreamt of being a movie star, and had auditioned for a few acting roles. She would settle for menial labor and raising her children. My father had wanted to be a prosperous business owner, like the Spaniard who had given him his first job and then fired him. He had started several businesses in Miami only to see them all fail. He had settled for work as a bartender for thirty years.

  I had reached my ambition. I had been elected to public office. When I faced personal financial challenges that had almost forced me to leave politics, I had found a new job that would let me continue. I had been a leader in the legislature for most of my time there, and been called the most effective member of the house of representatives. I’d been elected speaker at thirty-five, the first Cuban American to hold the office. My parents had seen me raise my hand and take the oath of my office. They had lived long enough to see me live my dreams. If it all ended now, I would have had a great ride.

  I was only thirty-seven. I was married to a wonderful woman and I was the father of four wonderful kids. I was home for dinner every night, and I spent the weekends with my family. I had nothing to complain about. I enjoyed my work in television, and had recently had an offer from another local station that was interested in giving me a long-term deal to do political a
nalysis and reporting. I loved teaching more than I ever thought I would. I was blessed and I knew it, and I should have been content to live a less public life.

  But as I had discovered many times in the past, life doesn’t always follow our plans. It often changes course when you least expect it. I didn’t know it at the time, but those quiet, rewarding months right after I had left office were just the calm before the storm.

  CHAPTER 23

  An Opening

  IN EARLY DECEMBER 2008, THE FLORIDA PRESS ERUPTED with the news that Mel Martinez, Florida’s incumbent junior U.S. senator, would not run for reelection.

  There had been rumors Mel might retire, but they had subsided, and everyone assumed he would be on the ballot in 2010. I had never run a statewide campaign. Out of office, I no longer had a fund-raising base. I wasn’t very well known outside Miami. But, at least initially, if I made a run for his Senate seat the media would consider me a serious candidate—not the front-runner, of course, but credible.

  I told Jeanette the news, and that I was interested in the race. I expected her to tell me I was out of my mind, that we had just decided to begin a new chapter in our life free of the demands of public life, and the toll they took on our family. Instead, she said we should think about it and pray for guidance. I was shocked. Jeanette didn’t care for politics. She tolerated my political career because she knew it was important to me, and because I could be of service to people who needed help. But she, too, was worried about the direction of the country after the 2008 elections. For the next few days we discussed what a Senate race would entail for our family.

  A few days after the Martinez announcement, rumors began to circulate that Jeb Bush was interested in running for the seat. Usually, when there had been speculation before that Jeb might come out of political retirement, he quickly shot it down with a firm denial. Not this time. Several people I trusted, including Mel himself, told me Jeb was seriously considering it. Jeb was still immensely popular in the state. If he were to run, no one would challenge him in the primary—certainly not me. The Democrats would probably offer only token opposition. Rather than spend several weeks preparing for a campaign that wouldn’t happen, I decided to ask Jeb myself. I drove to his office in downtown Miami the day before Christmas Eve and met with him for an hour. I left the meeting convinced he would soon announce he was running for the United States Senate.

  I asked friends to do a little preliminary organizational work in the event Jeb changed his mind, but otherwise, Jeanette and I let the matter drop. We had something more important on our minds. Doctors had noticed something unusual in my father’s chest X ray during his annual checkup: a lesion in one of his lungs. They ordered a biopsy, and in December we learned he had lung cancer. He was eighty-two and had smoked virtually his entire life. Previous checkups revealed he suffered from early-stage emphysema, but hadn’t detected the cancer I had long feared he would contract.

  A series of tests indicated my father had a small cancerous lesion that had not metastasized. Despite his age, he was a candidate for a surgical procedure, a lobectomy, which would remove the diseased portion of the lung. My father agreed to the surgery, which was scheduled for January. We spent the holidays at home worrying about my father, although his doctors seemed confident of a prognosis for a full recovery.

  Just a few days after New Year’s, I was in my office at Broad and Cassel going over financial projections for our new consulting venture when my cell phone rang. It was Jeb. I had been expecting him to call and tell me he was declaring his candidacy for the Senate. Instead he began the conversation by announcing, “I’m not going to do it.” He asked if I was interested in running, and I told him I would give it a serious look. He was encouraging, but cautious, as if he were worried about whether my family and my finances were ready for the challenge. He sounded tired and hurried, and I suspected he had a number of similar calls to make that day. After we hung up, I called Jeanette and told her, “Jeb’s not running. We need to talk.”

  I spent a lot of time in January trying to make up my mind. My father had his surgery early in the month and, as the doctors expected, was on his way to restored health. Not having to worry about my father’s health was a relief that freed me to contemplate the possibility of a Senate run. The more I thought about the issues that were at stake in the next election, the more interested I was in running. The economy was in disastrous shape. I believed only the creativity and dynamism of an unleashed American free-enterprise system would rescue it, but over the last ten years Washington had increasingly relied on the federal government to stimulate economic growth. Now, with a Democratic president and Congress, I expected Washington would assume even greater control of the economy. I was concerned about the administration’s approach to important foreign policy questions as well. President Obama and his allies had promised to reverse many of his predecessor’s policies: closing Guantánamo, retreating from Iraq and trying terrorists in civilian courts. I thought their positions were not just naive, but dangerous.

  I was frustrated, too, by the failure of Republicans to counter the leftward drift in Washington with distinctly conservative solutions to our national problems. There seemed to be a growing chorus of Republican voices who argued that to win national elections in the future, we needed to become more like Democrats. Some claimed it was simply a matter of demographics—the country was changing ethnically, culturally and politically, and to retain our appeal conservatives would have to be, well, less conservative. Right-wing purists had cost us the 2006 and 2008 elections, they argued. The future belonged to centrists, and the party needed to nominate candidates who sounded, acted and voted like centrists.

  That didn’t make sense to me. President Obama had won a decisive victory, but his election had not established that Americans believed any less in limited government and a free-market economy than they had in the past. He was the most effective political communicator since Ronald Reagan. He was the best-funded candidate in history, and had an enormous financial advantage over Senator McCain. He ran during the most serious economic crisis in a long time, when the incumbent Republican president was very unpopular. And, still, almost half the country had voted against him. The voters hadn’t given him a liberal mandate, and he had been careful to campaign on a centrist, bipartisan message. His election hadn’t been the consequence of a historic demographic and ideological shift. He was a very good candidate running at a very opportune moment for Democrats.

  The argument that the Republican Party’s future depended on fielding moderate candidates wasn’t a new one. It had been building for a while, especially in Florida. Charlie Crist had won the Republican nomination for governor by veering as far to the right as he plausibly could. But the day after his primary, he had tacked sharply back to the middle, where he remained ever since. In his two years as governor, he had pursued policies designed to position him as a new kind of Republican: a reasonable, moderate leader who wasn’t afraid to wage war against extreme elements in the party.

  In the beginning, he relied on symbolic, stylistic measures to signal he wasn’t like his predecessor, Jeb Bush. He removed Jeb’s appointments to state boards and replaced many of them with Democrats. Soon, however, he began to pursue policies that would mark him as one of the country’s most prominent moderates. He wanted to expand dramatically the government’s role in the property insurance market. And in the summer of 2007, he hosted a huge climate change summit, following which he issued a series of executive orders on global warming.

  The capital press corps considered Crist one of the more masterful politicians in Florida’s history, a gifted retail politician who could charm anyone. They loved to cover the Crist as the-antithesis of Jeb angle. And they especially enjoyed it when Crist took on Republican legislators, which he did quite often during his first two years in office. He liked to make a production out of phone calls and meetings with Democrats in the house of representatives. He was clearly trying to create the perception he was a coura
geous, fighting centrist who would take the party back from conservative ideologues, which, more often than not, meant house Republicans, and particularly me. He often used me as his foil, playing to the liberals’ view that I was an out of touch, stuck in the-past, right-wing disciple of Jeb Bush.

  I never bought into any of it, though. I didn’t believe conservatism had vanished in Florida overnight. But even if it had, even if America and the Republican Party were shifting to the left, I wasn’t prepared to join them. I believed in what I did.

  It might be hard to remember now, but in the early months of 2009 the GOP was somewhat in the wilderness, engaged in a national debate about whether or not the party had to move to the center to stay relevant in American politics. I thought the U.S. Senate was the right platform to take a stand that the country already had a Democratic Party and didn’t need another.

  While the prospect of fighting for the direction of my party and the nation excited me, there were other considerations that made a Senate campaign a difficult undertaking for me. Broad and Cassel had tolerated my absences when I was speaker, but I doubted they would give me leave to wage a statewide campaign. Even if they did, it would be a risk to run for the Senate while still associated with a law firm. The firm’s clients would likely become fodder for my opponents’ research.

  By late January, I started to raise a little money and travel the state to make my case to voters that the country needed to return to the principles of limited government and the American free-enterprise system. I thought the Republican Party needed to make that argument and counter the president’s policies. If I was right, I thought I would pick up support quickly. If I was wrong, I would run out of steam immediately, and realize this was not the time.