Going Rogue: An American Life (24 page)

Going Rogue

“Mr. Ruedrich’s conrinued service calls inro quesrion rhe purpose and credibility of the

as well as its ability ro act in an

unbiased way ro protect and conserve the resources of the state. Aggressive lobbying in favor of developments he obviously doesn’r fully undersrand and conrinued use of his office in improper ways ro press forward his agenda and thar of rhe Republican Parry reduced rhe commission to an ineffecrual, biased body rhe public cannot trust.”

As commissioner, I was prohibited by law from publicly discussing my concerns, but I responded ro this citizen with a message that I meant with every keystroke: “This will not be swept under the rug:’

I got a call from a Democrat state legislator. “Hey, we know what’s going on over there,” he told me on the phone. “If you don’t stop this, I’m going to blast Ruedrich’s corruption all over the
state.”

‘Tm with you on this conflict issue. I promise you I’m not sweeping this under the rug,” I said. “Will you trust me?” Since the chain of command seemed ro be ignoring the conflict of interest and the concerns of commissioners, lawmakers, and citizens, I went ro Governor Murkowski’s chief of staff. I laid out what I knew so far, including potential conflicts of interest that staff was observing. He assured me he’d take care it.

“That’s what a chief of staff is for!” he said. A few days later, I stopped Ruedrich in the hall at work. “I think Murkowski’s chief is going ro be calling you, Randy,” I said.

“Oh yeah, he called me.”

I thought,
Whoa, he

be shaking in his boots.

“He calls me every Sunday afternoon:’

“Really?” I said.

“Yeah, we talk politics, what’s going on in the administration, that kind ofthing:’

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That’s when I knew the chief had done nothing. My ethics supervisot was doing nothing, the AG was dismissive of the concerns I tepeatedly shated with him, and the public was tightfully questioning the commission’s integtity. I wcote a letter to Governor Murkowski. Basically, I told him that his appointee, the chairman of his party, was perceived as trashing the reputation of a state agency. Shouldn’t he do something about it?

As I typed out the words, I thought,
This is it. I’m taking on the
party and putting it in writing. My career is

Wett, if I die, I die.

Then the strained peas hit the fan. The staffwas becoming more vocal. Democrat lawmakers bcoke their silence, as did others, and I couldn’t blame them. Then reporters statted calling. One weekend evening my home phone rang. I picked it up in my bedroom.

“Sounds like Randy Ruedrich is thcough,” a local television reporter said. “What do you know about it?” I sat down. “I don’t know anything about it. What do you know?”

“Sounds like the governor gave him a choice, resign or fired. We hear he’s gone.”

He was gone, but I hadn’t been cold about it, and the pcoblems would still brew. Outside the commission, people began turning up the heat. While I pushed for somebody higher up than I co do something co salvage the regularory commission’s reputation, I cook fire from both sides. GOP operatives accused me of speaking ill of a fellow Republican and” jumping on board with the Democrats,” warning that I was thcough politically. Democrats accused me of covering up for the GOP. And no one in the administration would tell me the status of any investigation into the Meanwhile, I was living under a Department of Law gag rule and paying a high price for my silence. Finally, I wcote Governor Murkowski another letter. I reminded him that I had warned him and the rest of the chain of command

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Going Rogue

about all this for months, and I detailed my communications with all of them. I concluded the letter with the suggestion that for the good of AOGCC, to salvage its reputation, arid to prove a commitment to transparent government, as chairman I should be allowed to speak publicly about all this.

Nothing happened.

So I had to
make
something happen. I prayed long and hard. I loved the job. And I had to consider that by making any drastic moves I would be crossing swords with the most powerful men in my own party. My political career would be over. My whole future was before me. But I also knew I couldn’t sit there and be a party to all of this.

I knew what I had to do, so I resigned-stepping away from the ethical lapses and hierarchical blinders to effect change where could-on the outside.

After I left, a state assistant AG issued a sixteen-page ethics complaint against Randy, who eventually agreed to pay the highest civil fine in Alaska history. He retained his GOP chairmanship. Out of a job but sleeping well again, I knew that any shot I might have had to become a GOP insider was gone, which was fine, but I wanted Alaskans to be able to believe in the party ideals again. I knew the GOP planks made the strongest foundation upon which to build a strong state and country. Later that winter, the gag order was finally lifted and I was able to talk about what had really happened at the AOGCC and how Seamount and I had tried to preserve the integrity and work product of the conscientious geologists, engineers, and other professionals who served in the agency. Lawmakers on both sides of the aisle, such as Democrat State Senator Hollis French, told the
Anchorage Daily News
that they had gotten to know and respect me through all that as I tried to uncover the truth.

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The Democrats and the media borh praised my efforts, bur obviously only because it was the GOP getting hammered in that episode.

“Sarah has been tortured by rhis for a long time,” French said.

“I feel she has never had a chance to let her story out.” Funny, five years later, when I ran for VP, he would personally make sure I didn’t get my story out then either.

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The snow melted, the sun rose again, and summer rounded the corner-a glorious time up North! I stayed busy with the girls and traveled with Track’s hockey team as the team manager. The boys were a handful of mischievous fun, and they made my work rewarding. My years in politics were a fine training ground for dealing with smalltown dramas involving coaches and referees. (Any soccer mom or dad knows what I’m talking abour.) In the meantime, there was drama in my own family, too. In 2001, my sister Molly had married a guy named Mike Wooten who’d recently moved to Alaska. Molly has always loved kids and had been concentrating on her job as a pediatric dental hygienist and helping out with her nieces and nephews, because by now the extended family was growing rapidly. Around the time she turned thirty, this new guy came along and her off her feet. She did not know that he, only in his midtwenties, had already been married and divorced twice. Or that he’d already filed once for bankruptcy, or that infidelity had been a problem in an earlier marriage. What Molly saw was a big, charming guy who cared for her; he was fun and was also persuasive even if he was known around town for stretching the truth.

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