Living History (85 page)

Here was living proof that America’s foundation was stronger than individuals and politics, and that while Presidents, Senators and House members come and go, the continuity of the government remains unbroken.

In the end, Al Gore won the popular vote by over 500,000 ballots but lost the presidency in the Electoral College. The Supreme Court voted 5-4 on December 12 to stop a recount of votes in Florida, effectively sealing the victory for Bush. Seldom if ever in our history has the people’s right to choose their elected officials been thwarted by such a blatant abuse of judicial power.

Even before the merits of the appeal were heard, justice Antonin Scalia telegraphed the irrationality of the partisan decision to come by granting a stay which abruptly stopped the counting of ballots in Florida on December 9, 2000. Continuing the recount, according to Scalia, might cause “irreparable harm” to Governor Bush. Scalia wrote that counting the ballots might “cast a cloud upon what [Bush] claims to be the legitimacy of his election.” His logic seemed to be: Counting the ballots must be stopped, because the ballots might show that Bush did not win after all. The decision in Bush v. Gore turned the normally conservative Supreme Court on its head. Instead of deferring to the highest court of Florida on pure matters of Florida state law, the Court reached out to find federal issues on which to overrule it. And rather than continuing its narrow view of equal protection claims, the majority went out of its way to find a violation of equal protection.

The majority said Florida’s recount standard, requiring any ballot to be counted if it reflected the clear intent of the voter, was not specific enough because it could be interpreted differently by different vote counters. Their solution was to deny the right to vote to all citizens subject to the recount, no matter how clearly their ballots were marked.

Amazingly, the Court carefully warned that “[o]ur consideration is limited to the present circumstances, for the problem of equal protection in election processes generally presents many complexities.” They knew the decision was indefensible and had no intention of letting its reasoning be applied to other cases. It was just the best argument they could come up with on short notice to achieve the result they had already decided to impose. I have no doubt that if Bush, rather than Gore, had been behind in the incomplete count, the five conservative justices would have joined in a decision to recount all the ballots.

Americans have now moved beyond that controversial election and accepted the rule of law, but as we look to the next elections, we must ensure that every citizen is free to vote without fear, coercion or confusion at polling places with modern equipment and trained poll workers. We can only hope that the Supreme Court exercises greater restraint and objectivity if it ever handles a disputed presidential election again.

Bill and I were dismayed by the outcome of the election and concerned about what a return to the failed Republican policies of the past might mean for our nation. My only comfort was that I would soon begin my new job and have the opportunity to use my voice and vote on behalf of the values and policies I thought best for New York and America. Finally, the day arrived. Since only members of Congress and their staff are allowed on the Senate floor―with no exceptions for Presidents―Bill had to witness my swearing-in from the visitor’s gallery, along with Chelsea and other family members. For the past eight years, I had watched from above as Bill shared his vision for our country in this same building. On January 3, 2001, I stepped onto the floor of the Senate to swear to “support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic … and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter.”

When I turned and looked to the gallery above me, I saw my mother, my daughter and my husband smiling at the newest senator from New York.

Three days later, on a rainy Saturday afternoon, we held a farewell party under a big tent on the South Lawn for everyone who had worked or volunteered in the White House over the previous eight years. People showed up from all over the country to see friends and reminisce about their work in the Administration. It was a spirited reunion that gave Bill and me the opportunity to say one final “thank you” to hundreds of men and women who had endured long hours and made personal sacrifices to join Bill’s Administration in service to our country. From the twenty-three-yearold office assistant to the sixtysomething cabinet secretary, these were the men and women who helped advance Bill’s agenda and his vision of America.

As our staffers toasted each other, Al and Tipper Gore joined Bill and me several hours into the party.

“Here is the candidate who won the most votes in the presidential election,” I said, introducing Al to a cheering ovation. Al asked for a show of hands for everyone who had found spouses or had babies during their time in the Administration. Hands shot up throughout the crowd. And then, in a surprise that Capricia had arranged, the curtain on stage rose and Fleetwood Mac emerged from the wings. When the band broke into the opening chords of “Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow,” the anthem of Bill’s 1992

campaign, the crowd erupted in a loud, joyous and off-key chorus wailing the refrain.

I had taken those lyrics to heart. It may have been a cliché, but the phrase that best summed up my political philosophy was: “It’s always about the future,” about what must be done to make America safer, smarter, richer, stronger and better, and how Americans can prepare to compete and cooperate in a global community. As I thought about my own tomorrows, I was excited about serving in the Senate but also overcome by nostalgia for the people who had been part of our journey, especially those who were no longer with us.

For the next two weeks, I wandered from room to room taking mental snapshots of all my favorite things in the White House, marveling at the architectural details, gazing at the pictures on the walls, trying to recapture the wonder I felt when I first arrived. I lingered in Chelsea’s rooms and tried to hear in my mind the laughter of her friends and the sound of her music. She had grown from a child to a young woman in this place. Many of her memories growing up in the White House as the daughter of a President were happy. I was sure of that.

Every morning and every evening I found myself sinking into my favorite chair in the West Sitting Hall, a comfortable retreat where for eight years I had welcomed Chelsea home after school, met with staff, gossiped with friends, read books and collected my thoughts. Now, I reveled in this extraordinary time and this extraordinary place, watching the sunlight stream through the glorious fan-shaped window.

Many times over the last few weeks I thought back to Bill’s first inauguration in 1993, an event that seemed as vivid as yesterday and as remote as a lifetime ago. Chelsea and I took one last walk down to the Children’s Garden, hidden by the tennis court, where the grandchildren of Presidents left their handprints in the cement. Outside on the South Lawn, Bill and I looked out over the fence to the Washington Monument as we had countless times before. Bill threw tennis balls for Buddy to chase, while Socks kept his distance.

The White House staff busily prepared for the arrival of the new First Family, who would join us for coffee and pastries on January 20 before we all drove together to Capitol Hill for the swearing in. For the forty-third time in our nation’s history, Americans would witness the peaceful transfer of power, as one Presidency came to a close and another began. When we entered the Grand Foyer for the last time as occupants of the People’s House, the permanent residence staff had gathered to say farewell. I thanked the florist for the flowers she artfully placed in every room, the kitchen staff for the special meals they faithfully prepared, the housekeepers for their daily attention to detail, the grounds crew for their careful tending of the gardens, and all the other dedicated staff whose hard work graced the White House every day. Buddy Carter, the veteran White House butler, received my last goodbye embrace and turned it into a joyous dance. We skipped and twirled across the marble floor. My husband cut in, taking me in his arms as we waltzed together down the long hall.

Then I said goodbye to the house where I had spent eight years living history.