Going Rogue: An American Life (73 page)

SARAH

PALIN

She noted that an Alaska station was willing ro spend whatever it took on a trip ro Minnesota so a local reporter could report on the VP candidacy. Meg kept trying to negotiate with the campaign staff She pleaded with headquarters to let me answer just
three questions
for the guy: How do you feel? What is it like?

What’s your message ro Alaskans’ Not only was this guy a decent person whom we knew well, bur these were simple, softball,
scripted
questions. It was tough for her, even as my Alaska spokesperson, ro get in rouch with the VP of the campaign. But when we finally connected, the answer came back from headquarrers: No. Not allowed. Too dangerous. The national media might pick up the interview.

Well, exactly, we thought. Wasn’t that okay? Meg and I agreed that the better strategy would be ro
let
the national media pick up information about me from journalists who knew me and had been reporting on me for years. Maybe that would help counter the negative spin of so many other srories.

It was not ro be. As the weeks wore on, Meg kept reaching out ro the McCain people, bur she couldn’t ger anywhere close. Ultimately, this hurt the campaign ro a degree the “experts” could never grasp. By that time people from across the country were busily inventing reasons to label us “unethical.” And slowly but surely, the Alaska press decided that I was ignoting them and maybe thinking I’d grown roo big for my britches. Back in Wasilla, my friend Kristan Cole spoke often on my behalf, hosting many reporters in her home during my time on the trail. Her job would have been a lot easier if headquarters had embraced the idea of local reportets getting to cover theit governor’s efforts.

I temembet one day walking into an event ro speak with other governots from across the country. They were standing behind me, cheering-“This is good! We’ve got a fellow governor who’s

Going Rogue

out there fighting for the little guy on the national ticket.” Afterward, I walked into a press availability and saw that Anchorage reporter. He’d made it Outside to track us down!

I thought,

finally here! Right on!

I moved ro go speak with him, but a campaign handler grabbed my elbow and said, “No, no, no … this way.” A few minutes later on my way out of the building, I saw the same reportet and photographer back behind a rope line. He yelled out ”Alaska!” But as I tried to holler back, different pairs of hands hustled me into the campaign’s Suburban. It was not a respectful thing to do. I had turned my back on our own local press. Right then and there, I knew it wasn’t going to be good.

It wasn’t. In a televised report about the campaign, rhat reporter wrapped it up this way: the Sarah Palin we once

knew, is gone.”

I wasn’t. But I couldn’t blame him for thinking so. By the third week in September, a “Free Sarah” campaign was under way and the press at large was growing increasingly critical of the McCain camp’s decision to keep me, my family and friends back home, and my governor’s staff all bottled up. Meanwhile, the question of which news outlet would land the first interview was a big deal, as it always is with a major party candidate.

From the beginning, Nicolle, pushed for Karie Couric and the
CBS Evening News.
The campaign’s general strategy involved coming out with a network anchor, someone they felt had treated John well on the trail thus far. My suggestion was that ‘

we be consistent with that strategy and’start talking to outlets like FOX and the
Wall StreetJournal.
I really didn’t have a say in

• 255 ‘

____

SARAH

PALIN

nightmare that became our half of the ticket, but het hands wete tied by othets higher up.

In my quest to connect with reporters, I did find that I had a tiny little press ambassador, and her name was Piper Palin. The

loved her, and whenever they, would pass her seat

on the plane, they’d ask how she was doing. Ar first she was a little shy, but as days passed and reporters’ friendly faces grew more familiar, she started asking if she could go back and visit with them.

One day, Jason took an orange and wrote on it, “Hi, How are you? From Piper Palin:’ Then he rolled it down the aisle to where the press was sitting. One of the reporters picked it up, inked a reply on the orange, and rolled it back: “Come visit us! Please!” Jason showed it to me, and I said, “Of course!” So Piper and Willow both went back with Tracey and introduced themselves. After thar, it became a bit of a routine that the kids would go back and chitchat with the press. From where I was sitting, it seemed like a win-win. The kids enjoyed getting to know new people, and the got to be around at least two

smiling, unguarded human beings who weren’t stressed out and suspicious all the time. Sometime early in the campaign, Piper must have asked someone if they could print up special stickers with hearts on them. They did, and then whenever we’d get a new batch of reporters on the plane, she would go back and pass out stickers that said, “Vote fot Piper’s Mom.” In New England and other parts of America, fall foliage burns in the colors of fire, but autumn in Alaska shimmers in white and gold. By mid-September, the birch leaves have turned from bright green to rich yellows and golds, and the mountaintops are powdered with “tetmination dust,” the first snows that signal sum-