This Town (21 page)

Not long after Election Day, I visited Kurt on Capitol Hill. We escaped the crowded cubicle environs of Issa’s office and headed to a vacant hearing room that was in the midst of a noisy renovation. Over the summer, I had mentioned to Kurt that if Republicans won the majority, I might be interested in depicting Issa as a character for this book. That was a nonstarter, Kurt said. And just as well, I figured, because I was really more interested in Kurt, an emblematic super-staffer who was making Washington work for him and trying to move up in The Club. He was a kind of will-to-power orphan who was feverishly devising his persona on the fly. I loved the sheer unabashedness, even jubilance, of Kurt’s networking and ladder climbing and determination to make it in The Club.

Clearly enamored of his own narrative, Kurt was intrigued by my proposition. Actually, if I was reading his face correctly, he had already been thinking about who would play him in the TV treatment. But Kurt said he also believed his was an important story to tell. He could be an instructive vehicle for showing how Washington works in the twenty-first-century information carnival.

He also saw a higher purpose to his story. Kurt viewed himself as the truth-teller type, which is of course a dangerous breed in On-Messageville. The notion carries an inherent vanity—
that
my
story is important
—that staff-level aides are trained to subvert from day one.

Kurt said he needed to check with his bosses. They approved, provided that Kurt’s involvement did not hurt Issa or interfere with the work of the committee. Kurt assured them it would not.

I told Bardella that I would visit with him periodically in the ensuing months and encouraged him to send along random thoughts and observations by e-mail. Even better, he would copy me on occasional e-mail correspondence that was, he believed, reflective of how he was spending his days and how he interacted with The Club. I don’t remember whose idea this was, mine or his, but Bardella thought the notion made sense. “My e-mails can basically be read as a diary of how I do my job in this crazy world,” he told me. It was a perfect virtual window into “how Washington works.” True enough. And of course, for my purposes, e-mail is the kind of documentary source material to help tell a story in real time. For his part, Kurt did not appear to think twice about sharing correspondence from people who did not know their e-mails were being shared—a group that sometimes included actual members of Congress who e-mailed him directly (since he was kind of a big deal). In his view, e-mail was not significantly different from digital media tools such as a Facebook page or Twitter account. The e-mails were mostly innocuous, he felt, and most people know better than to share anything truly sensitive in an e-mail.

For instance, Kurt did not think Congressman Jason Chaffetz would mind him sharing a pissed-off e-mail about an article in Yahoo! News that the congressman had stumbled upon. Chaffetz, who was the chairman of the Subcommittee on National Security, Homeland Defense and Foreign Operations, was not pleased that he was not informed about the story, which dealt with his area of jurisdiction:

I would appreciate a review of how the Committee and the Sub-Committee are going to work with our office. Did I ever get a heads up on this? I don’t think so, but perhaps I am wrong. I believe I am the Chairman of the Sub-Committee with jurisdiction on this matter. Some how, some way we are going to have to be better coordinated on this stuff. I find it unacceptable and potentially embarrassing for all involved. Also, why is this not even on the list of potential items given to me by the Sub-Committee staff?

At the end of my discussion with Kurt about him forwarding e-mails to me, I recall mentioning that this was a bit unusual—that it was something maybe he should think about. He reassured me that he did not think it would be a problem.

Kurt concluded this conversation with a favorite phrase among hard-charging Washington types who glory in pushing boundaries: “I’ve always thought it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission,” he said.

Bardella would be asking forgiveness soon enough. But the year started well. Congressman Issa spent the first Sunday of the year, January 3, appearing on three Sunday interview shows—an impressive showing and another sign of Issa’s surging property value. (In local slang, three Sunday show appearances on a single morning was known as a “triple Ginsburg,” an exploit named for Monica Lewinsky’s personal lawyer, William H. Ginsburg, who on the Sunday of February 1, 1998, haunted all five shows in what became known as a “full Ginsburg.”)

•   •   •

M
e
et the Press
wanted Issa for the following Sunday. He would be appearing after Senate Leader Harry Reid, who was already booked on the same show. Kurt turned
Meet
down because Issa was planning to spend time with his wife in California after a stop at the annual Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas.

“
Meet the Press
is not what it once was,” Bardella observed to me after mentioning that David Gregory himself had called and appealed to him to put Darrell on. Sorry, not possible, Bardella said to Gregory—or “David,” as he called him.

“Maybe,” Bardella joked to me, “I should have just said, ‘I would do it if Tim was still here.’”

Republicans formally took over the House that Wednesday, January 5. Outgoing speaker Nancy Pelosi relinquished the gavel to her Republican successor, John Boehner, who pounded the 112th Congress into session. Such benchmark days in the institution mix a sense of slight renewal with a hammering sameness. Former members and sparkling lobbyists and musty perennials wander the wide halls past lost newcomers. Voters might have turned out the old and the entrenched in the wave election of 2010. But one of the palpable messages of a day like this is that Club membership is for life.

In a single hallway, I saw the former Pennsylvania senator Rick Santorum (voted out in 2006), former New Hampshire senator John Sununu (sent home in 2008), and former vice president Dan Quayle (beaten in 1992). And who knew that the hearts of former House Republican leader Bob Michel and long-ago Nevada senator Paul Laxalt still beat? Both are still here, too, chugging along, slapping shoulders. There, on Independence Ave., strode the superlobbyist and former senator John Breaux, his eyes fixed on his BlackBerry as he entered a premium cab, hitting his head on the edge of the roof on the way in.

Bardella spent much of that afternoon moving into his new big office. His stately digs compared roughly to the size of a hotel room—a major expansion from the crowded cubicle bullpen Kurt inhabited in the minority days. He placed on the shelf a photo of himself between former boss Brian Bilbray and former speaker Dennis Hastert, and another of himself sandwiched by Bilbray and Newt Gingrich.

News that Robert Gibbs would be stepping down as White House press secretary was breaking on all three televisions. This is Kurt’s dream job, as we know from his Facebook page. I asked him, absurdly, what he would say if Obama called asking the young mouthpiece to replace Gibbs—to be
his
Mini-Me. Bardella actually seemed to consider the question for a second. “If the president calls, I would have to take it seriously,” he said solemnly before catching himself. “But I don’t think the president will be calling.”

Kurt largely avoided the pomp and parties that rung in this latest new era in Washington. I did go with him to a B-list reception honoring the 112th Congress at the L’Enfant Plaza Hotel a few weeks earlier, at which he rarely looked up from his BlackBerry. Representative Debbie Wasserman Schultz, a Florida Democrat, was addressing incoming members, reporters, lobbyists, and various party crashers. “I hate her,” Kurt muttered into his BlackBerry, and then Wasserman Schultz shared that when she first came to Congress, “I was able to pass substantive legislation about Jewish-American heritage.” (Kurt: “Substantial legislation about Jewish-American heritage. Give me a fucking break.”) Wasserman Schultz concluded by urging everyone not to succumb to the “temptations” of Washington.

Bardella’s BlackBerry trance was broken by Karin Tanabe, an attractive reporter, who was then working for Politico and came over to introduce herself. Kurt’s swoon was rather egregious. They spoke for several minutes. I heard Kurt tell Tanabe that he “worked in oversight,” which sounded like a surefire Washington pickup line to me (“Is that a subpoena in your pocket?”) until Tanabe broke the mood with “Oh, my boyfriend works in oversight,” and the discussion ended soon after.

Issa had a full docket of interviews to ring in day one of the 112th Congress. He and Bardella headed down Pennsylvania Avenue for a scheduled appearance on Fox News with Neil Cavuto. The interview was held at the Newseum, halfway between the Capitol and the White House and fast becoming a seminal monument to The Club. Tim Russert’s iconic
Meet the Press
set is displayed here.

Issa and Kurt headed up to the seventh floor of the Newseum to await their Cavuto hit. They were joined by a pastry tray of green room leftovers: Trent Lott, Dennis Kucinich, Ralph Nader, Republican congressman Paul Ryan of Wisconsin, and Republican congressman Mark Kirk of Illinois, who had just been elected to the Senate.

Kurt’s eyes bugged, taking in the marquee scene of People on TV before him. Issa swept in and joined the green room Thanksgiving table, which instantly devolved into a bipartisan blur of backslappy banter.

Trent Lott, walking up to Kucinich and Nader: “All right, which one of y’all is going to run for president this year?”

Laughter.

Kirk, to Kucinich, his now ex‒House colleague: “You need some makeup, Dennis. Heavily need it.”

Kucinich is unamused.

•   •   •

T
he downward spiral began for Bardella during a trip with Issa to Vegas, where the congressman was attending an electronics trade show. Bardella went ostensibly to babysit an interview Issa was doing with Ryan Lizza of the
New Yorker
, who was writing a profile of the congressman. Bardella spent much of his time unburdening himself to Lizza, showing him how smart he was. Lizza wrote a lot in the article about Bardella, whom Issa referred to as “my secret weapon.”

“My goal is very simple,” Kurt was quoted in the
New Yorker
. “I’m going to make Darrell Issa an actual political figure. I’m going to focus like a laser beam on the five hundred people here who care about this crap, and that’s it. We’ve been catering more to that audience, so Darrell can expand his sphere of influence here among people who track who is up, who is down, who wins, who loses. Then we can broaden that to something more tangible afterward.”

Representative Elijah Cummings of Maryland, the new top Democrat on the Committee on Oversight and Government Reform, sent a letter to Issa. “A profile of you posted yesterday by the
New Yorker
reports that you are using committee staff and taxpayer funds in an effort to transform your public image ‘from an obscure congressman to a fixture of the Washington media-political establishment.’ According to your aides, Issa Enterprises is ‘a highly organized effort to manage his image,’” Cummings wrote.

“It is difficult to understand how any of this relates to the official activities of our committee,” the Democrat continued.

“In addition to characterizing the committee’s work as ‘crap,’” Cummings continued, “your spokesman openly disparaged the media.”

Yes, you could say that.

“Some people in the press, I think, are just lazy as hell,” Bardella told Lizza. “There are times when I pitch a story and they do it word for word. That’s just embarrassing. They’re adjusting to a time that demands less quality and more quantity. And it works to my advantage most of the time, because I think most reporters have liked me packaging things for them. Most people will opt for what’s easier, so they can move on to the next thing. Reporters are measured by how often their stuff gets on Drudge. It’s a bad way to be, but it’s reality.”

Lizza also quoted Bardella as saying there was a new twist in his dealings with the media. Now that Issa had been elevated to chairman of the Oversight Committee, he said, “reporters e-mail me saying, ‘Hey, I’m writing this story on this thing. Do you think you guys might want to investigate it? If so, if you get some documents, can you give them to me?’ I’m, like, ‘You guys are going to write that we’re the ones wanting to do all the investigating, but you guys are literally the ones trying to egg us on to do that!’”

In the bland tundra of Talking Point Land, this was some radioactive stuff. And largely true, in many cases, but never mind that. Kurt was in big trouble. The Republican leadership team was furious over Kurt’s bloviating. Top aides to House Speaker Boehner and Republican whip Kevin McCarthy wanted Kurt fired. They left the final decision to Issa. “I felt like I had disappointed my dad,” Kurt told me.

Half of Issa’s office wanted him gone, Issa told Kurt. Kurt had been called into a meeting with the congressman, the committee’s staff director, and its communications director. It was agreed that Kurt, in his words, “came off like a pompous jackass” in the story. Issa told Kurt his job was in jeopardy. Issa told Kurt he would make a decision on his fate within twenty-four hours.

“I went back to my office, closed the door, and opened a Coke and thought, ‘Holy shit,’” Kurt said. Clearly, he said, Darrell didn’t want him to leave. The boss didn’t even seem mad, Kurt thought, but he knew the “optics” might dictate that he whack Kurt. In truth, Issa was indeed not terribly mad. He knew Kurt could be immature and needlessly combative. He could be that way himself, especially when he was younger. He also knew that Bardella was an unusually vital member of his staff.

He decided to keep Kurt. Because, well, why not? Maybe he would catch some heat from colleagues for a few days, but Kurt was an ass kicker. His payoff was worth the trouble.

“Boss,” Kurt told him, “I want to make this right. I am so sorry for putting you in this position.”

•   •   •

B
efore the
New Yorker
fiasco, Bardella had been feeling a bit done with the Hill, he told me. He reached out to some big PR and government relations consultancies about possible jobs. He was making a base salary of $90,000 in Issa’s office and ready to “monetize his government service” for an upgrade into the private sector.