What It Takes (155 page)

Gephardt—he’s for American workers and farmers.
Who’s against them?

Or Simon—“We caaarrrre!”
Who cares? What are you going to DO?

That’s why this debate, January 15, was Hart’s great chance: he knew what he wanted to do. He was preparing his own fiscal ’90 federal budget—a blueprint for taxes and spending, so people could
see
what he would do. Hart had printed a campaign booklet, his sole piece of literature—ninety-four pages, cheap paper, solid type. (Hart was fond of saying, as he waved this chunky volume at his crowds: “My brochure is not three or four glossy folds, like other people’s; it’s printed in one color, black-and-white; there are no pictures of my family here, or of our dog, MacArthur.”)

This debate would offer his one chance to wave those positions at all the voters of Iowa ... and the
nation
: this was coast-to-coast TV, all the big-feet were in Des Moines for the night; the networks had bought out whole floors of hotels, there were satellite trucks from thirty cities—the plaza in front of the Civic Center was
hidden
by satellite trucks, side-by-side, nose-to-tail, like buffalo on the prairie, before the white hunter showed up with his gun.

Free media
, the Priests of the Process called it. For Hart, it was manna.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in Iowa ... probably wouldn’t have competed, without this debate to lure him. The Iowa caucus rewarded organization—Hart had none. What’s more, this wasn’t like a primary—the flick of a finger in some booth, behind a curtain, in privacy, anonymity. ... No, each caucus voter had to show up (and stay for hours) on a Monday night ... to publicly name his candidate of choice ... and then
defend his vote to his neighbors
.

Hart’s was a candidacy that presented a voter with problems. And while there were thousands of Iowa voters (and maybe millions in the nation) who could resolve, or ignore, those problems for themselves ... it was quite another matter to have to explain. Could you tell your neighbors (say, your wife’s friends from church) that you really didn’t give a damn if Gary cheated on Lee?

Hart was aware of this problem. He could read a poll as well as any pol, and “negatives” of forty-some percent were not negligible. Somehow, he had to make a vote for Hart
simpler
. He had to put the questions to rest. He had to give his supporters something to say, something clear, direct, of overriding moment. It would help, of course, if they could talk about his issues. But no one was writing about Hart’s issues. They wrote about
Hart
—psycho-investigations.

Richard Cohen, the columnist for
The Washington Post
, wrote about Hart’s apology for his “mistake” with Donna Rice ... the very
word
revealed Hart’s character, or lack. “By characterizing the Donna Rice episode as a ‘mistake,’ Hart shows that we have learned more about him than he has about himself. He persists in his Presidential race as if behavioral patterns were slips of the tongue or blunders made at the end of a long and tiring day. They are nothing of the sort. What he calls ‘a mistake’ is representative of who Gary Hart is. His real mistake is not realizing that.”

Ellen Goodman, the columnist for
The Boston Globe
, examined the “talisman” and “key” to Hart’s campaign—Lee Hart. “Why does she do it? Why does she shake hands every day with people who are often uncomfortable in her presence, people who shared her public humiliation, who see mental images of Donna Rice on her husband’s lap when she comes into a New Hampshire hall? What makes Lee run?”

The Leader of the Pack, David Broder, weighed in with a stunning reexamination of Hart’s campaign debt. “The problem is,” Broder wrote, “that as long as voters have known Hart, and for years before that, he has exhibited a pattern of ‘walking away.’ He left behind in Kansas the family’s name and church affiliation. He left divinity school for law school. He left his marriage twice and twice returned. He left the Senate to seek the Presidency. And he left the Presidential campaign, only to return to it again.”

Broder noted with a sniff that Hart talked “constantly” about issues. “But he answers only rarely and reluctantly the questions that go to his consistency and his character.

“He leaves it to the voters to judge whether all that is past—or whether he is, once again, just walking away from himself.”

When Hart came to Iowa, he didn’t know about Broder’s psycho-insight. The column hadn’t appeared. But, clearly, copies were available to subscriber papers. Hart had a crucial meeting with editors and reporters for
The Des Moines Register
—he had to put to rest as many questions as he could ... and one woman at the table kept asking:

“Aren’t you just walking away?”

Hart didn’t know what she was talking about.

Well, uh ... your marriage—for one thing?

Wait a minute! Gary and Lee had problems, but they stuck it out—twenty-nine years! Ronald Reagan walked away. That’s called divorce.

Yeah, well ... Hart could not deny that he walked away from his campaign, in May.

And Hart, without awareness of Broder’s epiphany, had not the information—or the bad grace—to suggest that he didn’t “walk away.” Broder’s newspaper hounded him away!

Hart did discuss what the
Register
called his “personal failings.” Broder’s certainties notwithstanding, Hart invited all the character questions they could muster. He called himself an adulterer (and said he wouldn’t be the first in the White House). He said that in May, “I let myself down, I let my family down, I let my supporters down.” He admitted that he hadn’t been able to pay all his ’84 debts (but pleaded for fairness—at least acknowledgment that his problem was not unique).

At that point, Lee Hart joined the rumble in Gary’s defense—reminded the
Register
pooh-bahs that Gary had run McGovern’s campaign and two Senate campaigns without one dollar of debt; she talked about all the work Gary did to whittle that ’84 debt from four million to one; she talked about the nights he’d spent away from home, to raise money, how the family hated that, but they understood, duty came first ... how everyone in the family understood, now, that they’d let themselves in for a cudgeling—but that
did not matter
, compared to the nation’s future; she told them about the letter from the parents who were going to buy a crib, but sent the money to Gary instead ... then, Lee started to cry. And Gary was thinking, as Lee spoke—how could they say he always “walked away” ... when the easiest thing in the world would have been, simply, to walk away? But
he could not
—he thought of his kids, their faith ... and Gary started to cry.

The next day, of course, there was a front-page picture of Hart in tears ... as he talked about “his failings” ... and it went
so perfectly
with the Broder column. ... In sum, Hart had answered questions for an hour and a half, and it didn’t make anything simpler.

There was a rule for this debate—no more than six cars in the motorcade that brought each candidate to the hall. That was five cars more than Hart required. He got the biggest dressing room. (Rooms were awarded in order of standing in the Iowa Poll.) But Hart had no use for the extra space. Lee and Sue Casey sat in the dressing room. Hart and Billy Shore made for the stage.

Hart brought a copy of his campaign booklet. He had it rolled into a cylinder, which he carried in his right hand like a sceptre of office. At last, his rivals would have to face him
on the issues
... they would have to discuss the
future of the nation, and the planet
... while the voters watched. And Hart, at last, would have a chance to show why he was still ahead where it mattered, though his campaign was without money, media, pollsters, staff ...

It was strange without staff—inconvenient, tiring ... but it was easier to stay clear, on the things that mattered. Big ideas did not come from staff.

That was Hart’s strategy, as far as it went—big ideas. He knew the other candidates would try to nickel-and-dime him with detail. It was Hart’s job to show that niggling would not suffice. “That’s not the issue,” he would say. “There are broader questions that have to be addressed ...” Hart would have to haul the discussion up to the level where a President must operate. He would steer the talk to foreign affairs—that was his strong suit, a weakness for the rest. He knew he would have to be forceful. But he was ready, confident ... cocky, more like it.

Backstage, the candidates held last-minute huddles. Billy Shore whispered to Hart: every one of those staffers had worked for Gary. They were all his people! ... Hart nodded, lips pursed. He’d insisted they must move on ... now he felt they’d abandoned him.

Well, he would show, the issues were his, still. ... He took his seat on stage, between Dukakis and Jackson.

First question, from the editor of the
Register
, Jim Gannon:

Last week, in his interview, Hart said he wouldn’t be the first adulterer in the White House. ... Did that mean voters should just ignore questions of character and trust?

Before Gannon finished, Hart’s head was twitching—probably meant to be a nod. He looked grim as he tried to respond. “I’ve made mistakes. I probably should have said in that interview that I’m a sinner. My religion tells me, all of us are sinners. I think the question is whether our sins prohibit us, or prevent us, from providing strong leadership. ...

“I think there’s another level of morality at stake here, and that’s the morality of an administration which is really bankrupt in terms of its commitment to public ethics. ...

“I would never lie to the Congress or the American people. ... I would never shred documents. I would never sell arms to terrorists. And I would never condone anyone in my administration who breached the highest standard of the sacred trust of the public duty.”

As Hart concluded, there was only a scatter of applause from the crowd. Hart settled back into his seat, trying to look unconcerned, trying not to stick out. ... And that was the problem. After Gannon finished with him, Hart didn’t look oversized, at all.

The awful part was, Hart knew what he had to do. And he knew—probably better than anyone there—what a President had to do. He had the same ideas and proposals that had attracted such praise eight months before ... in fact, now they were better refined, they fit together like a Lego set. He’d been thinking hard, for eight months.

What he hadn’t been doing was debating every week, or twice a week, like the rest of those fellows. Once Hart got himself together after Gannon’s question, he had still to get up to speed on the picky stuff. It’d been a long time since he’d formed his two sentences on rural telephone policy or Medicaid extension for catastrophic care.

So he’d take a second or two to think about his answers, then he’d say his piece—he did nicely—and then he was supposed to say:
But the broader issue that has to be addressed is
...

Meanwhile, the yellow light would flash on, which meant he had ten seconds. It happened three times in a row. ... Hart would settle back again. ...
Well, I missed that question
.

Second and third time, he started to remind himself
he wasn’t doing what he had to do
! ... He started pressing himself to be faster, more forceful ... he couldn’t take time to consider an answer. Then he couldn’t clean the question with a couple of sentences. He had to add another ... and then—time’s up! ... Dukakis and Simon had to ask him questions, and they both pinned him with detail on health-care costs—same stupid question! What about America’s place in the world? Her promise to a new generation of citizens? ... Hart’s cheeks were showing an unhealthy flush—he looked too pink, hot, as he edged forward on his chair, and his hand jerked up a couple of times, like he wanted to break into the discussion ... but he couldn’t—he just ... didn’t have the moves.

By the end, Hart’s mien was grim ... as Jesse Jackson reached over and touched Gary’s arm, whispered to him—consolation ... everybody could see.

And when everybody stood for pictures, then walked off the stage, Hart was shaking his head, looking down. He didn’t want anyone to tell him he’d done fine—he knew he hadn’t done
anything
. ... Lee was in the holding room, and she was saying—No! It really went fine! ... But Shore and Casey were silent, trying to keep disappointment from their faces—little smiles.

Hey, it’s just ... no big deal.

Of course, it was a big deal, as the spin doctors insisted, in the pressroom gang-bangs after the debate. Hart didn’t have any spinners. He went to dinner.

“Big loser’s Hart ...” breathed Simon’s Iowa Campaign Manager.

“He didn’t do anything,” said one of Gephardt’s road crew.

“Six guys tied and one guy lost,” said Dave Nagle, an Iowa Rep who cast himself as neutral. “The candidate of New Ideas might have shared just one of them tonight.”

That comment took prominent place in
The Washington Post
analysis, next day, under the headline:

HART FAILS TO DOMINATE IOWA DEBATE

Hart, meanwhile, had moved on to Kansas—Ottawa, to be precise—where he once again returned to his roots, and made a speech to a Chamber of Commerce dinner, to reveal for the first time his federal budget.

This was a document that would reorder the entire federal government: it covered every subject—defense, space and technology, agriculture, energy, natural resources and environment, infrastructure, housing, education, health, welfare reform. ... Hart would propose major new investments ($67 billion over five years) in research and development, new technologies, education, retraining, and social services. He would cut several defense programs (which he named) to save $45 billion, rebase Medicare payments to hospitals (to save another $28 billion); he would retain the thirty-three percent income-tax bracket for the highest earners (which would bring in $57 billion); he would tax capital gains at death (which would bring another $22 billion); he would tax Social Security payments for families with incomes over thirty-two thousand dollars a year (which would yield another $21 billion); and he would institute or increase taxes on major polluters, on imported oil, on cigarettes and liquor (which would yield another $150 billion, over five years) ... and with those new sources of revenue, Hart’s budget projected a deficit of $41.5 billion, instead of the $150 billion predicted by the feds for fiscal ’93 (which would actually turn out to be more than $300 billion), which meant a savings on federal interest payments of at least $66 billion, all of which would be available for investment in the economy.