Going Rogue: An American Life (28 page)

Going Rogue

from Alaskans; and people were sick of politicsas-usual. After the AOGCC issue erupted and rumors began to swirl about FBI corruption probes in Juneau, it was pretty certain that some state officials were on the take.

By the end of that summer, the bottom line fot me was cleat: votets wanted change, and they should have a sttaightforwatd choice about what kind of change it would be. As always, Todd supported me and encoutaged me to do it. So on Alaska Day, Octobet 18, 2005, I kicked off the gubernatorial campaign with about fifty friends, family, and teporters my living toom. It also

was Bristol’s fifteenth bitthday, so of course we had cake. Now hete I was headed home from Valdez, still toting kids on campaign trails, except this time (with longer distances to covet) using a Jetta instead of a sled. Ironically, and typically, the trip cost me more than I managed to raise.

The Valdez event had been a typical grassroots affair. The local mayot, Bert Cottle, an old friend, had invited me to meet a few folks fur

and coffee in a small venue. I talked about the potential Alaska had if we protected out Constitution and unshackled the private sectot. Most people tecognized that Wasilla had thrived while I served there,

I had to touch only briefly on what

we’d done. Basically, we’d gotten government out of the way. Throughout the campaign, I made a point of praising the good work ethic and personal responsibility of our pioneets. Then I would tie the state’s history to the significance of the election. Always thinking of their kids and mine, I’d tell the voters, “There’s a lot riding on this

including the trust of future

generations. We need new energy and someone with a stiff to

fight fur you. I’ll put government back on your side.” I promised that if they hited me as their governor, there would be no more politicsas-usual, and I had a record to prove it. “I let you down.”

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SARAH

PALIN

In 2005, I was the fitst Republican to file fot governot because I didn’t want to play the political “wait your turn in line” game to see if Murkowski, the incumbent, would seek reelection, I knew I wouldn’t have the backing of the patty machine anyway, so my teliance on a grassroots effort required an early edge before the other guys started lining up.

Clark Perry, a high-energy, redheaded high school friend who worked for the state’s Department of Corrections, came to the house the day I kicked off my campaign. His wife, Kris, had been president of the Wasilla Chamber of Commerce when I was mayor,

Clark told me he liked my common sense politics.

I liked him because he is one of the funniest and nicest guys I know, and because he was smart enough to marry Kris, who is one of the sharpest women in America.

Clark helped get everything off the ground. He would drive 120 miles round-trip every day from his worksite at the Palmer Correctional Center in Sutton to our campaign office on Fifth Avenue in Anchorage-prime real estate most commuters had to drive by every day. My friends and I spent our Thanksgiving vacation paintingthe int.erior Warrior red and painting the Alaska flag on the main wall. Besides coordinating the early work, Clark was in charge of cool things like handing out warm red “Palin for Governor” headbands at high school football games and community road races, as well as red wristbands that could be seen all over the state.

In the primary, I was tunning against Governor Murkowski, of course, and his friend Randy Ruedtich was

the state GOP

chairman-a bad omen to some but to us a motivating challenge. To win the primary, I’d have to go through both of them, It also meant we’d have no backing from the state party. I found my underdog status and the outsider label quite liberating. If there were only a few politicians bold enough to hook up with us, that was •

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Going Rogue

fine too. We built a network of nonpolitical, hardworking Alaskans who wete tired of politicians bending with the wind. Our friends volunteered, adamantly believing it was time to put state government back on the side of the people. As the campaign expanded, Ktis did what a lot of strong women do: she kindly asked het husband to step aside on this particular venture and she took over the leadership role. Never having been involved in a campaign befote, she succeeded because she has good instincts, works tirelessly, and was there for the right reasons. Kris had grown up in Wasilla but was younger than I. We’d had babies at the same time who’d grown in school and sports

together. Her active community volunteetism proved her servant’s heart. At twenty-two she had become general manager of the local cellular service provider. Kris had about as much patience as I did for political nonsense, Both of US held high-pressure jobs. And we were

to handle that pressure through faith in Providence and our knowledge that, at the end of the day, we could only do our very best. As long as our kids were healthy and happy, everything else could melt away and we’d march on just fine. Those similarities-and the fact that Kris is a kick-butt, tell-it-like-it-is soccer mom-helped us forge a deep bond during the campaign, and she became my closest confidante.

Our campaign would focus on cleaning house in government and facilitating the private-seceor development ofenergy resources, specifically ramping up production of America’s energy supplies and building the 3,OOO-mile, $40 billion natural gas pipeline that other administrations had been promising to build for decades. It could ultimately go from the North Slope to hungry Midwest markets out of a Chicago hub. No more time wasted recycling the same old arguments and excuses as to why it couldn’t be done. I was determined that Alaska was going to start contributing more to the nation.

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SARAH

PALIN

We promised ro shine a bright spotlight on ethics reform and ro clean up the favor facrory known as the Capirol Building. An undercover
FBI
investigation of the Alaska State Legislature was bubbling ro the surface. In the week after the primary election, federal agents served more than twenty search warrants, many of them at the offices of state legislarors-five Republicans and one Democrat. It turned out that the feds had been investigating links between some lawmakers and VECO Corporation, the oil field services giant. The warrants authorized agents ro search computer files, personal communications, and official reports, as well as any items emblazoned with the phrase “Cortupt Bastards Club;’ or “CBC.”

The CBC had started as a barroom joke after a newspaper opinion piece highlighted eleven lawmakers who had received large campaign contributions from VECO and who appeared ro cast I

votes according ro the corporation’s demands. The name stuckand some of the lawmakers thought it was so funny they had hats printed up that said “CBC.”

It wasn’t so funny after the feds showed up.

Alaskans were disenchanted and felt disenfranchised from theit own government. We were going ro change that. Of course, the minute you start campaigning on ethics reform, critics start trolling to see what kind of ditt you’ve got under your fingernails. During the primary campaign, I temember one teporter heading down that road with me. I invited him ro dig deep and even offeted to help. “Look, I got a D in a college course once, and I yelled at the wrong kid this morning for not raking out the trash;’ I said. “You gOt me. Those are the skeletons.” My campaign theme of “change” was palpable and sincere, and we walked the walk every day of the race. While never ptetending to have all the answers-which of course is a change in itself.-I made it cleat ro vorers that I would gathet the information I needed
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