Blind Allegiance to Sarah Palin (21 page)

Hoping that it
was
legal for us to initiate contact with the RGA, on August 23 I wrote Sarah:
“RGA wants to give $250k for starters than up to $750k. . . . Want to set up 3rd party? 601c4 . . . can only fundraise and advertise for 60 days . . . wants to get started right away.”

Sarah replied in no uncertain terms:
“Our campaign can have NO participation in any 3rd party campaign efforts.”

I'd had a feeling my first instincts were right. I wrote back:
“ya know . . . i knew that was the case for 527's, but he mentioned some other third party (601).”

Suddenly the closed door and hushed conversation with Stoltze made more sense. Contact with the RGA in this context was prohibited. I felt disappointed in Stoltze and wasn't sure why an experienced sitting lawmaker didn't realize this type of coordination was forbidden.

To my dismay, several days later, Stoltze phoned. “My people at the RGA haven't heard from you, or Sarah, or anyone at the campaign. To be honest, they're getting frustrated and wondering if we really even want their help.” His voice had that “What the hell is wrong with you hayseeds?!?” tone.

Equally annoyed, I thought to myself,
You think
they're
frustrated? How about me having to deal with
you? “I don't know what to tell you, Bill,” I said, as politely as I could. “We can't do that, and I'm getting really uncomfortable with this.” Stoltze said something
about not knowing what the hell I was talking about before I cut him short. Afterward, despite the conversational heat, I felt relieved knowing that I'd ended this particular debate. Windfall money was nice, but not at the expense of sabotaging the campaign. Not for us, in any event.

Unbelievably, only days later, Stoltze stopped by the office yet again. “Frank, have you made that call?” It didn't sound like a question. My discomfort had now reached the saturation point.

“Bill, I can't be doing that,” I told him firmly. “My understanding is that it is positively illegal!” This time I didn't hide my frustration.

Against a red face, and with a dot of spit forming in the corner of his mouth, the man's eyes flashed. “Don't you lecture me on what's f**** illegal! I'm a lawmaker! I know the rules!”

Wasn't I right about the ethics of this matter? There was no question in my mind that Sarah was on my side, totally committed to running a fair, legal campaign. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Stoltze lifted his beefy five-foot-ten-inch frame and awkwardly spun around. Without so much as an
adios
, he stormed out, pushing shut my office door with the back of his hand. I had a feeling this time I would not be hearing back from him.

Unfortunately, that's not to say the matter was put to rest.

Two days later, a message came from Palin warrior and fellow campaign worker Ivy Frye:
“I talked to Kris
[
Perry
]
—we have Sarah meeting with Gov Romney and Gov
[
Roy
]
Blunt
[
of Missouri
]
on Tuesday.”

Reporter Kyle Hopkins of the
Anchorage Daily News
had gotten wind of this meeting, and on August 29 he provided readers an explanation of the potential relevance:

While working for Frank Murkowski in 2004, Kris Knauss, the man identified by Stoltze as our RGA go-between, attended an RGA conference to lobby for opening the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to oil drilling. Apparently he maintained enough contact to become the RGA intermediary with Sarah Palin. As far as I was concerned, as a former confidant of the ethically challenged Frank Murkowski, Knauss was radioactive for our campaign due to his lobbying efforts for VECO. No way did I want this sort of association to tarnish our spotless candidate.

Unfortunately, it seemed, I was alone in that conviction.

As if the August RGA meeting, of which Sarah never disclosed specifics, was not damaging enough, Knauss volunteered additional unhealthy suggestions:

Gentry Collins, then political director for the RGA (and current political director for the Republican National Committee, described the oppo research referenced by Knauss as follows:

Sharing this opposition research with our campaign made me nervous. I didn't know if such an action represented a violation, but we'd sworn it was always better to be safe than sorry, and I was already feeling very sorry about the whole affair. I didn't need a law degree to understand that the word
scheduling
in the context of coordination with the RGA was pushing the boundaries of legality. Even if it was within the letter of the law—which seemed unlikely—in politics, the appearance of impropriety can be as damaging as reality. And the specifics of Knauss's mentioning “(scheduling/TV/etc.)”? This was blatantly suggestive of working together. Knauss's email to me went unanswered. Unfortunately, ignoring the problem didn't make it go away. A few hours later, campaign coordinator Kris Perry wrote:

While it wasn't particularly convenient to be scraping in a dollar here, a dollar there, we did
not
break laws. Again I heard her words in my head: “It's better to lose than to win unethically.”

No matter our previous faults, I knew that Sarah's ethical limbo bar would never drop that low. So I rationalized the sudden turn of events this way: obviously, in agreeing to meet, Sarah was merely extending a courtesy to the RGA bigwigs; the meeting was no big deal. If Romney, Blunt, Knauss, and Stoltze underestimated Sarah Palin, they did so at their own peril.

Against these RGA concerns, the campaign—money woes notwithstanding—was proceeding nonstop. The final weeks before the election were a blur of signs and fund-raisers and debates. Adding to our stimulus overload of constantly ringing phones, last-second schedule changes, and sleep deprivation, our candidate lacked focus and required constant attention. Being tugged in a million directions, Sarah had difficulty delegating assignments and ordering priorities. She wanted to be everywhere, for everyone. As she'd done before the primary, she consumed gallons of Skinny White Chocolate Mochas, lost weight, and shrunk before our eyes. Any little ripple, and she could slip into a depression or grow irritable. We feared that her lack of impulse control might result in an outburst within earshot of the media. It wouldn't take many public tirades to tarnish her reputation. We did our best to shorten the leash, but with Sarah, there was always the risk that any tether might break unexpectedly.

Growing more diligent in those final weeks, we controlled information and shared regular alerts—often beginning with the morning call from Todd as she left for the office—regarding her state of mind on a given day. We were her shield, and our mission was to keep her happy, shaking hands, kissing babies, and smiling for cameras. At every opportunity, we solicited donations and held benefits, doing our best to get her from one money-raising opportunity to the next. As far as I knew, we had turned our back on the RGA serpent's offer of a financial apple.

One of those eleventh-hour fund-raisers on our calendar featured Dino Rossi, the Republican candidate for governor of the state of Washington. The benefit was to be held at former governor Wally Hickel's Hotel Captain Cook. I was running behind, as usual, and I hustled the half mile to the hotel.

I showed up slightly out of breath and saw the first guests arriving. Gripping the oversized carved oak handle and opening the glass outer door, I entered the hallway and immediately noticed Kris Perry heading across the lobby toward me. Sarah walked briskly a few steps behind. Kris grabbed my arm and said under her breath, “Walk with me and act normal.”

Act normal?
Those words struck me as humorous, since nothing
in this now-crazy life was ever normal. I did as asked, assuming that someone important was about to arrive. Kris pulled me along, all the while glancing around nervously as if she were a Secret Service agent protecting a dignitary. We coasted to a stop at the front door. Kris peered through the glass window, searching outside for something or someone, while Sarah stood behind, waiting for us to make a move.

“Okay, come with me, and don't look at the camera,” Kris instructed. I could see that there was indeed a camera set up across the street. On a silent count of three, she said, “Let's go.” We headed out, turned left, and made our way up the street. I wondered why we were doing this while guests and their checkbooks were trickling in. Our PR firm of Walsh & Sheppard frequently filmed campaign stops, but surely somebody could have picked a more opportune time and place.

As I had little to do with public relations, I put my reservations on hold. A half block later, we came to a prearranged stopping point, turned around, then retraced our steps and reentered the hotel through the same door we'd exited only moments earlier. “Wait here,” Kris ordered, again staring intently out the window. She spotted some kind of signal from across the street and whispered, “Again, Frank. This time, walk slower . . .” Out we went like before, with Kris and me in front and Sarah behind us.

“Am I dressed okay for this?” I asked, still trying to “act normal” and wondering if my jeans and sweater were appropriate.

“You're fine,” Kris said, not caring that her tone was dismissive. We reached the same spot on the sidewalk, stopped, spun, and back we went. I thought of asking Kris what exactly we were doing, but she and Sarah each wore that “I don't have time for chitchat” look I'd come to respect. As if in a revolving door with no exit, we went around and around, over and over. In and out, back and forth, five, maybe six times.

“Okay, just you this time,” Kris said to Sarah. Out went Sarah, down and back, down and back, down and back. Dressed more formally than usual in a woman's suit, she'd screwed on her practiced, determined expression. All business, she marched ahead, looking as if she were deep in thought about vital issues in advance of a crucial
meeting. Each trip the same. For whatever the intended purpose, she did a fine job of looking, as she once said, “governor-ish.”

By now the weak showing of barely a hundred guests were funneling into the ballroom just off the lobby. After completing the filming outdoors, we assembled to hear the speakers. This time, the mysterious cameraman who'd documented those nutty round-trip marches up and down Fifth Avenue, had set up in the ballroom to capture more footage.

While striking me as silly, this slice of campaign life would have passed as just one more curiosity, except for an unexpected revelation a couple of weeks later. Having arrived home late at night yet again, I was slumped on the couch in sweats and socks, munching on a slice of reheated pizza and watching the news, when a new Palin commercial came on. It was sponsored by the Republican Governors Association, despite my noncooperation, had decided that Alaska was a worthy battleground state.

This particular spot opened with upbeat music and an inspiring shot of Sarah against a background of saw-toothed mountains blanketed in snow.