The Rogue: Searching for the Real Sarah Palin (17 page)

New term limits prevented a Wasilla mayor from serving for more than six consecutive years, so Sarah felt free to be bold in her second term. Not long after she pushed the City of Character resolution through the council, she had police chief Fannon boldly criticize a new state law that ensured that rape victims would not have to pay for the kits needed for forensic medical exams. The chief said the new law would “further burden taxpayers.”

Sarah continued to expand her horizons. She traveled to Washington several times to lobby for increased federal aid to Wasilla in the form of earmarks. She even hired a congressional lobbyist, Steve Silver, former chief of staff for Alaska’s U.S. senator Ted Stevens. Very much the Washington insider—with close ties to both Stevens, who was chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee, and to Alaska’s lone congressman, Don Young, a senior member of the House Transportation Committee—Silver soon got the federal tap flowing.

During Sarah’s last four years as mayor, Wasilla received $26.9 million in federal earmarks, or more than $4,000 per resident, based on Wasilla’s 2002 population of 6,700. It was an impressive haul for someone who later would complain loudly and frequently about big government, and who would speak so stirringly about the need for self-reliance.

Knowing that her second term would be her last, Sarah wanted to do something big to be remembered by. She decided on a multimillion-dollar sports arena. Despite her supposed aversion to big government, big spending, and taxation, she pushed through a half-cent increase in the city sales tax to finance the project.

First estimates were that the 102,900-square-foot sports complex would cost $14.7 million. It would contain a 17,000-square-foot artificial
turf field, an 835-foot rubber jogging and walking track, and the centerpiece: a National Hockey League regulation-size indoor ice rink, surrounded by bleachers with seating for more than 1,500. Spending $15 million to build a sports arena when the entire Wasilla city budget was only $20 million? The hockey mom was thinking big.

Too big, thought some Wasilla residents. In March 2002, Sarah’s plan squeaked through by only twenty votes in a citywide referendum. In April the city council had to approve a $14.7 million bond issue to pay for it. Unfortunately, in her eagerness, Sarah authorized construction of the facility on land the city did not own. “Sarah was very focused on the sports complex,” a Wasilla council member says, “but the city forgot to buy the land before they started building.”

Her handpicked city attorney, Ken Jacobus, advised the council to approve construction despite an ongoing court fight over title to the land. Sarah wanted a monument to her tenure as mayor, but building the sports complex on land to which the city did not have clear title turned out to be a monumental blunder. A parcel of land Wasilla could have bought for $125,000 eventually cost the city more than $1.5 million in judgments and legal fees.

“It’s unbelievable that they built a $17 million stadium on land they don’t even own,” said Gary Lundgren, the developer who did own the land. “The whole thing has been a comedy of errors.” In the end, said the
Frontiersman
, “The moral of the story, if there can be anything moral about a story like this, is that competence can be an elusive thing.”

Competence? Sarah took a city that had no debt and $4 million in cash reserves and in six years turned it into one that had piled up almost $20 million in long-term debt. During her tenure, the cost of debt service increased by 69 percent. She increased the sales tax from 2 to 2.5 percent to pay for the sports arena. While Wasilla’s population grew by 37 percent during her tenure, total government expenditures rose by 63 percent, spending on salaries for city employees
by 67 percent, money spent on office furniture and equipment by 117 percent, and administration spending on outside professional services by 932 percent.

On August 9, 2002, with only seven weeks of her mayoral tenure remaining and with the Republican primary for lieutenant governor looming at the end of the month, Sarah suddenly fired the first person she’d hired—and the one who’d done the most to help her during her six years as mayor: John Cramer. “This isn’t a controversial thing,” she said. “We’re just wrapping things up and moving forward.”

Cramer was stunned by his dismissal. Asked if there was a specific reason for it, he said, “Not that I’m aware of, no. Not that I can put my finger on. I honestly can’t say what it would be.”

He couldn’t say because even after having worked for her for six years, Cramer couldn’t see the obvious. She fired him because she didn’t need him anymore.

Also, because she could. It was as if Sarah didn’t feel her tenure would be complete without one last gratuitous exercise of her power, without hurting just one more person who had helped her.

I
’M INVITED to a home in Palmer to meet a group of professionals who’ve had dealings with Sarah over the years. Half a dozen show up, but three or four who were expected do not. Their friends make various excuses for them, but what it comes down to is that they are afraid to meet me—or, rather, they are afraid to have it known that they met me—because Todd and Sarah might find out.

“And what do they think would happen then?” I ask one of those who did show up.

There’s no way to know, I’m told, but Sarah is vicious and vengeful. “Don’t think for a minute that just because she’s no longer governor she doesn’t still have dictatorial power in this state.” Someone’s husband could lose his state job, I’m told. Someone’s nephew might not get that university scholarship. Someone’s incipient political career could be nipped before it buds. The message: Sarah is omniscient and omnipotent, and Todd has eyes and ears, too, as well as a propensity for hiring private detectives. Sure, I can be brave by moving next door to them, but I don’t have to earn a living in this state.

More and more I discover that fear of the Palins is endemic throughout the Valley. I hear repeatedly that they’ve always been bullies.

“But we’re not in tenth grade anymore,” I say.

“Maybe we’re not,” is the response, “but they are.”

The atmosphere of anxiety and trepidation is palpable. And these are Alaskans, traditionally known for their backbone. They don’t choose not to speak to me out of loyalty to Sarah and Todd, as Todd’s father, Jim Palin does. These are people who despise Sarah, who laugh at her and patronize her among themselves, but who then won’t risk even being seen in my company.

Fortunately, the fearful comprise only a small minority of the people I want to talk to. But even some who do answer my questions insist on anonymity. I don’t like it—Sarah is quick to denounce any comments made about her by unnamed sources—but it’s the reality I’m faced with in the Valley in the summer of 2010; it’s the legacy Sarah has left behind.

A HANDYMAN comes to the house to replace some defective smoke alarms. He calls me from the Best Western parking lot. “You can take that chain down,” he says. “I’ll be there as soon as I get my car ready.”

I take down the chain and wait for him at the end of the driveway. His battered sedan lurches slowly down the potholed road. I see that he’s duct-taped pieces of cardboard over both his front and rear license plates.

“That’s what I meant about gettin’ my car ready,” he says. He points toward the Palin house. “I don’t need any bullshit from those paranoid fuckers next door.”

NEWSWEEK
PUTS Sarah on the cover with a halo around her head and calls her “Saint Sarah.”

She tweets: “Gulf disaster needs divine intervention as man’s efforts have been futile.” I wonder how much a Palin administration would budget for “divine intervention.” Undoubtedly, more than for science and the arts.

IRL STAMBAUGH pays me a visit on June 17. It’s another chilly, drizzly day. After a glorious spring, the weather began to turn sour while Nancy was here and has worsened since her departure. Whole Alaskan summers can pass this way. It’s not a day for the deck, so Stambaugh and I sit in the armchairs that Dewey Taylor delivered.

Unlike handymen and locksmiths and certain people I’ve invited for lunch and dinner, Stambaugh is not afraid to come to my house. “She’s already done all she can do to me,” he says with a shrug. He’s sixty-two, a burly, balding man, just retired from a private security job on the North Slope. He has no interest in peering over the fence.

In late February 1997, Stambaugh filed suit against Sarah and the city of Wasilla on grounds of contract violation, wrongful termination, and gender discrimination. His complaint alleged that Sarah had fired him because of his support for John Stein, and his opposition to the 5:00
AM
closing hour for Wasilla bars and proposed expansion of concealed weapon privileges.

It also stated, “Plaintiff Stambaugh is a male, standing well over 6 feet tall and weighing more than 200 pounds … Stambaugh had been informed that Mayor Palin felt intimidated because of his size. Stambaugh, being sensitive to the Mayor’s concern regarding his sex, size and height, made particular efforts to sit in a chair whenever discussing matters with Mayor Palin and talk in a quiet soothing voice … Stambaugh’s size is a result of his sex. Stambaugh was terminated because of his sex … an unlawful employment practice.”

Sarah’s interpretation of Stambaugh’s demeanor, expressed in writing, was that, “When I met with you in private, instead of engaging in interactive conversation with me, you gave me short, uncommunicative answers and then you would sit there and stare at me in silence with a very stern look, like you were trying to intimidate me.”

During the course of the litigation, Sarah showed how dirty she could fight. When Stambaugh was deposed, according to court documents,
Sarah’s lawyer asked him about possible extramarital relationships. The judge who presided over the case noted, “Defendants essentially seek to establish that Stambaugh engaged in numerous extramarital relationships during the course of his marriage to Cindy Stambaugh … Defendants have filed a motion for an order compelling Stambaugh to testify as to why he was considering separating from his wife … and a motion seeking an order compelling Cindy to provide similar testimony regarding her knowledge of Stambaugh’s extramarital affairs.”

Sarah’s message was clear: If you try to stand up to me, I will drag you and your family through the gutter.

The deposition she gave in that lawsuit, on the morning of August 27, 1998, was the first time she’d ever answered questions under oath. The 291-page transcript makes for enjoyable reading.

Asked about her education, Sarah says, “I graduated from the University of Idaho with a degree in journalism.”

“Did you seek any further education?”

“Yes, seeking a—working—hopefully will be able to someday work further for a master’s degree.”

I’ve been deposed. It’s no fun. A good lawyer will instruct you to keep your answers brief and not to volunteer information. But Sarah took this to an extreme. Pages eight and nine of the transcript show that six times she answered questions by saying, “Um-hum.” Finally, her own lawyer interrupted: “Excuse me, Sarah, you may want to say ‘yes’ rather than ‘um-hum’ so he’ll know when you say it.”

Sarah was asked about her duties as mayor. “Is there a city manager?”

“In Wasilla? No.”

“So the mayor is the administrator?”

“Right.”

This would have come as news to John Cramer.

“Do you read the newspapers a lot?”

“Yes, sir.”

But the lawyer didn’t follow up by asking which newspapers she read, thereby missing the chance to scoop Katie Couric by ten years.

There are other highlights. Sarah was asked if she understood what the word
notwithstanding
meant.

“
Notwithstanding
means unless there is something that says otherwise,” she said.

She described her first one-to-one meeting with Stambaugh. “It wasn’t a friendly meeting. I felt that Mr. Stambaugh was pretty disappointed that I was going to be his boss.”

“How did he manifest this disappointment?”

“Just very unfriendly and unenthused about the questions I was asking … not very cordial. Very short with answers.”

“Did you find that offensive?”

“Not offensive, but a little bit like pulling teeth to get any kind of answer … It wasn’t any kind of personal communication between the two of us. It was me asking a few questions and he responded.”

“Did Mr. Stambaugh not respond to any question you asked?”

“I don’t recall.”

She did recall another meeting with Stambaugh a few days later at which he again failed to display the level of enthusiasm for her leadership that she expected. Asked to characterize his demeanor, she said, “Just, I guess, very benign.” Apparently, she considered
benign
to be a synonym for
unenthusiastic
.

As to wanting Wasilla bars to remain open until 5:00
AM
, Sarah said, “I don’t think it’s government’s role to tell private enterprise when they can open and close their doors.”

“Do you feel there’s a correlation between bar hours and drunk driving?”

“No.”

“Do you feel there’s any correlation between bar hours and domestic violence?”

“No.”

Nor did Sarah feel there was any correlation between the $1,000 campaign contribution she received from Bernice and Mike Lohman, owners of the Wasilla Bar, and her support for allowing bars to remain open until 5:00
AM
.

“Prior to the election [did] either Bernice Lohman or Mike Lohman come to you and ask that if you became elected you would fire Irl Stambaugh?”

“No.”

“After the election did either of them ask you to fire Chief Stambaugh?”

“No.”

Stambaugh does not believe that Sarah’s answers to those questions were truthful.

Sarah had lunch with Bernice Lohman after her election, but all she could recall of that meeting was that Bernice “was happy to see development happen in Wasilla.”

“Anything else that you recall?