Blind Allegiance to Sarah Palin (47 page)

Friday, November 7, 2008, the first day Sarah arrived back to work as governor, the ladies working in the Anchorage headquarters decorated her nineteenth-floor office with balloons and signs that read We Love You, Welcome Home, Girl, and We Missed You. The local media swarmed the lobby, pressing forward in competition to ask a question that would later be played back for a public infused with Palinmania. Just outside her door and away from the cameras, I waited, shifting from one foot to the other, fidgeting with keys and change in my trouser
pockets, wondering if she'd hug me in welcome or dismiss me as the man who added to her Troopergate crap cluster.

Sarah arrived, dressed in a suit with her new signature color: black. After a grueling campaign, she appeared less perfect, a bit worn, but still able to command attention. Without someone to guide her through the mass of cameras and microphones, she looked less sure of herself than in the past, her eyes and head moving side to side as if trying to find a point of focus, some spatial balance. I detected a hint of vulnerability, a woman unaccustomed to having to explain defeat. In my own insecurity, I felt like a person weathering a troubled political marriage and, no matter the pain, needing desperately to keep the relationship alive. In the past, I'd have shielded her from embarrassing confrontations and, if necessary, guided her through to the sanctuary of her office. Now I watched, not sure on what ground the foundation of our relationship was built but certain it was not the firm rock of past years.

Reporters swarmed Sarah and launched into questions about her plans for 2012. She said, “My participation on a national level, it will all have to do with what it is that Alaska needs and how Alaska can progress and contribute to the US.” A few questions and answers later, she added, “Just being very thankful to get to hustle back to my governor's office here and get to work as the governor. I tell ya, this is the . . . this is the best job in the world, being the governor . . . You know, Todd and I both said this morning, it's going to take some getting used to not . . . not being I guess out and about and seeing a different city every few hours . . . We'll miss that.”

Reading her voice, a reporter asked, “Are you sad?”

“Not sad at all. In fact energized. I think certainly feeling like it's a little bit of a different level because of the perspective now that I have about what national politics are all about.” I recalled her recently writing me,
“pray that we win so we can all get out of that place.”

I'd also heard her say or write, “I hate this damn job.” I hoped she meant what she was now saying, that she had a new appreciation for the honor of serving her state as its governor.

Leaks from McCain's staff were being circulated, one of which indicated that in preparation for her vice presidential debate, a confused
Sarah thought Africa was a country rather than a continent. When a reporter asked about those rumors, I thought,
So what?
What did any of that have to do with Sarah's once-again job of running Alaska? In three years together, we'd never once spoken of Africa or Israel or any foreign country other than our neighbor Canada—and Mexico as a warm vacation destination. During the campaign for governor, when Mitt Romney was the Republican Governors Association, Sarah didn't even have a clear idea who he was. As she wrote after the gubernatorial election,
“I argued with Frank and others, as I insisted his name was MILT, not Mitt.”

Sarah needed to make a joke of this line of questioning and move on. Instead she lashed out. “If there are allegations based on questions or comments I made in debate prep about NAFTA, about the continent versus the country when we talk about Africa there, then those were taken out of context. And that's cruel, it's mean spirited, it's immature, it's unprofessional, and those guys are jerks if they came away with it taking things out of context, then tried to spread something on national news. It's not fair, it's not right.” It was Sarah's reaction, calling people jerks, that became a future sound bite at least as much as the original Africa gaffe. Long before this Q&A, I'd come to believe she'd never learn that lesson.

It did not get much better when asked about the legislature and her reputation as a polarizing figure. She seamlessly borrowed two year-old talking points and spoke angrily, “My ability to work with Democrats, Independents, and Republicans all together has never changed. So if there's criticism that I've changed and all of a sudden become an obsessive partisan, then it's not accurate criticism.”

For Sarah, her run for national office had not been in the least bit partisan. With the hypnotic power of words, she'd say over and over she had run a positive campaign and fully believe it.

When finally the inevitable question about Troopergate was raised, Sarah said, “I don't know. I'm just happy that Troopergate truth was revealed there also and, in fact, I'm going to keep on calling it ‘Taser-gate,' as a matter of fact.”

A follow-up question about Monegan's conflicting recollections was danced around as the press conference ended. To applause, Sarah
turned away, the reporters trailing her as if being pulled by invisible strings. Sarah rounded the corner and headed toward me and a handful of staffers. Forcing a half-lipped smile, she spread her arms, shuffling down the line, one embrace after the other. I stood back as loyalists pressed to Sarah. She then said to each, “Bless you, thanks for all your hard work, thank you, thank you, thank you . . .” She approached me last. “Thanks for what you're doin', Frank,” she said, patting me on the back as she gave me a hug that felt refrigerator-magnet cold. With that, Sarah headed to her office, once again the everyday governor of seven hundred thousand Alaskans. Only from here on, the once-open door to the governor's office would remain closed, and once-welcomed intrusions were no longer welcome—for the next weeks, the least-welcomed visitor being me, the Troopergate millstone.

Sarah hadn't ever really been a full-time governor before being nabbed by McCain. All of us, including Sarah, juggled our paid positions around the need to counter criticism. In my case, I had additional duties as Tonto to Todd Palin in his quest to destroy Trooper Wooten as well as filling in as family travel agent, opposition researcher, and occasional designated Sarah Palin punching bag.

For her return engagement, Bruce Anders, long-time consultant and speech and op-ed writer, sought to address some of the issues Sarah would now face. He decided she needed a well-constructed organizational plan to facilitate reentry. At my encouragement, he wrote a blueprint in mid-October and updated it just prior to Sarah's return. Bruce proposed a sound strategy to work with the legislators in Juneau so Sarah might build a record of success that would further her national aspirations for 2012 and beyond. There was talk about Sarah possibly running for a US Senate seat in 2010 against Lisa Murkowski. Having trounced Lisa's father in the governor's race, this Palin versus Murkowski challenge, if successful, would mean that she had taken down two Murkowskis. The thought of double payback was an attractive inducement. Furthermore, a seat in the Senate seemed a logical launching point for Sarah's future career and would quell the cries of critics who said she lacked the experience necessary for higher office.

The offset—a big one for an ego now a bit more than outsized—was that a Senate run would feel like a step down after believing she was going to be a heartbeat away from the presidency of the entire nation.

Bruce addressed all these issues in his plan. Naturally, he received no indication from Sarah that she understood or even read his work. Bruce then did what I often did: he tried going through Todd, hoping the governor's husband might see the wisdom of planning ahead. In mid-November, Bruce told me about those efforts. Todd's reaction was, “She can't kiss up to those jerks, [Democratic legislators] Les Gara and French. Don't you understand they are trying to kill her?” State Senator Hollis French had, after all, initiated and managed the Branchflower investigation. Other so-called leggies from both sides of the aisle had voted 12 to 0 to proceed with that same witch hunt. Compromise and working together with them were no longer conceptually possible.

Bruce suggested it was important for Sarah to rise above this and play politics at a sophisticated level. He then asked, “How's she going to handle the expert snakes in DC if she can't intelligently handle Juneau lightweight politicos?”

Todd, in classic brush-off, told Bruce, “Write out your thoughts and forward that plan to me.”

Bruce did so, listing among other things that Sarah should not seek a Senate seat because “Alaska needs her as their Governor—badly. There is so much she needs to get done here, not as a candidate for higher office. Further, if she intends to be a contender in 2012 (or even 2016), she needs to have a strong record of achievement as an executive, as a leader—not a freshman cog in the US Senate.” While Bruce agreed with Todd by saying that “Gara and French want to ruin Sarah,” he suggested that “this is what politicking is all about . . . Use it. Play them. Make them help without even realizing it. Look at how Clinton co-opted Gingrich: played him like a fiddle . . . So as painful as it is to write, I honestly believe that she needs to reach out to exactly the people she doesn't want to.”

Bruce Anders was only suggesting what Sarah always swore—even as recently as her statements to the press the day she returned to Anchorage—that she was a uniter of all parties. There was no question
in our minds that she had the skill set to charm anyone. However, ability and desire did not often meet when it came to embracing those who might be plotting behind her back or speaking ill of her. What Bruce suggested was a political chess game: a difficult and focused battle to win by applying our avowed goals of sound fiscal and social policies wrapped around lofty ethical standards. In this, he was implying we go back to square one and start over. Unfortunately, Sarah was not interested. Her schedule was now overflowing, but not with cabinet meetings or discussions about appointments or strategy conferences with deputies and commissioners. There were literally hundreds of requests for appearances, interviews, and invitations to travel around the country. Political celebrities phoned nonstop. One call Sarah spoke about with pride came from former president Bill Clinton. Sarah described it as a thirty-five-minute discussion in which Clinton had words of encouragement and told her that his home state of Arkansas did not vote Obama. She suspected from this discussion that Clinton did not support the president-elect.

Even Todd was getting requests from the
Wall Street Journal
, the
New York Times
, and the television show
Extra
to be interviewed for a story about his participation in the Iron Dog snow-machine race. With so much important celebrity, when groups and commissions in Alaska needed to meet to discuss business and budget, many were told that wouldn't be possible.

She didn't need local and state allies, not with Newt Gingrich regularly emailing advice like suggesting she not answer difficult questions but instead “reframe it into the question she wishes they asked,” or better yet, “When your opponent has posed a question designed to put you on defense, the right strategy is to destroy the very legitimacy of the question and pose a new question of your own.” Loyal legal advisor Wayne Anthony Ross, who defended Sarah against numerous attacks both formally and informally, became irritated he was being snubbed. Ivy Frye forwarded me a message from him saying,
“I haven't heard from Sarah at all, so I presume that is bad. I have written her at least 4 times asking for 15–20 minutes of her time and you said you even told her of my request. I am beginning to get concerned. Annoyed even.”
WAR had yet to learn that one minute you're in, the next you're out.

If he was still around for minute three, he might find himself landing right back in Sarah's good graces.

Tyndale House Publishers, a Christian book publisher, wanted her to write a book. In normal times, Sarah might have jumped at that, but such a small publisher—Christian message notwithstanding—held no interest. These weren't normal times, and Sarah had plans to have others, including me, assist in writing a book that would paint a glowing picture, settle old scores, and sell millions of copies. “Thanks, but no thanks” to Tyndale, WAR, and state commissioners.

For all the “new best friends,” as Sarah referred to those who had recently joined her army of admirers, the number of angry detractors at home grew. Many voters noticed they had a distracted governor. Despite Sarah's strong support nationally, the great majority of letters to the editor in the
Anchorage Daily News
were unfavorable. As a result, the tattered remnants of Sarah's Rag Tags were remarshaled to deal with the fallout. Ivy Frye, always ready for action, was the first to suggest firing up the mothballed letter-writing team. To those on our old list that still remained (a dwindling crowd) and those new best friends: