Down & Dirty (28 page)

At 7:10
P.M
., a Socialist vote is noted.

“I think Fidel would be interested in knowing that,” says Kuehne.

Another ballot is noted, one with something of a tri-chad, one corner being almost kinda sorta punched out. The board rules
against it, though clearly they would have ruled for it earlier in the day.

“Changing the rules halfway through is not fair to the public,” Kuehne says.

LePore says that they weren’t quite halfway through the count of 193-E when they scrapped the sunshine rule.

“Changing a quarter of the way through is not fair to the public,” Kuehne clarifies.

Sitting up front is Bob Montgomery, a wealthy local personal-injury lawyer who is taking the lead with Rogow in representing
LePore. Three years ago, he was an attorney for no less than the entire state of Florida in its lawsuit against big tobacco,
which resulted in a $13 billion settlement—$3.4 billion of which went to Montgomery and his team, though for various reasons
they have yet to see dime one.

Montgomery’s also a big Democrat, having given thousands of dollars to Democratic candidates over the years. Just in the past
couple years he’s given $1,000 to Sen. John Edwards of North Carolina; $500 to losing congressional candidate Elaine Bloom;
a grand apiece to Florida’s new senator, Bill Nelson, Sen. Max Cleland of Georgia, California representative Tom Lantos, Bill
Bradley, a soft-money PAC for Hillary Clinton, the Democratic Leader’s Victory Fund 2000, the Democratic Senatorial Campaign
Committee; Sen. Ted Kennedy; Rep. Alcee Hastings; $10,000 to the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee, and on and on.
And though he originally backed Bradley, there were no hard feelings from Gore, especially after Gore himself came to Montgomery’s
Palm Beach home after the primaries for a $10,000-a-plate fiesta.

Roberts holds up a card.

“Be careful not to flex the card!” says Wallace.

“I’m not flexing it,” says Roberts.

The count of precinct 193-E finally ends at 7:38
P.M
. Burton needs a smoke. With him, Roberts, and Carpenter, the front of the room now smells like an ashtray.

They begin precinct 193—about 70 percent of the voters from which are registered Democratic.

Sigh.

It’s all over at 11:14
P.M
. Gore picks up 33 votes, Bush 14, Hagelin 2, Constitution Party candidate Howard Phillips 6, Socialist Party candidate David
McReynolds 1. More relevantly, it’s a net gain of 19 for Gore. Roberts extrapolates this to mean 1,900 possible uncounted
Gore votes in the remaining 99 percent of the county. Burton says that’s faulty math. You can’t take the 19 new net Gore votes
from three of the most Democratic
precincts in the world and apply their voting standards to the rest of the county. But Roberts doesn’t care. She points out
that the whole county is Democratic, if not necessarily
that
Democratic, and she wants a hand recount, and that’s that.

In Tallahassee, Gore spokesman Doug Hattaway is also using appalling dishonest math. “When you multiply it out, one hundred
percent of the vote would lead to a gain of nineteen hundred votes for Al Gore, an amount that could well change the result
of the election,” Hattaway has the nerve to say with a straight face. In Palm Beach, Democratic consultant Mark Steitz turns
to Whouley. “That’s fine that they’re saying that,” he says, “but let’s not believe our own spin.” Steitz figures the number
to be closer to 300 votes or so. Still, the Gore people can’t help but feel things are moving in the right direction, though
clearly they feel the need to lie to nudge them along.

At 1:45
A.M.
, in front of the cameras and the crowds and everyone, the board announces the results.

“I move that this board conduct a manual recount of all the ballots for the presidential election!” Roberts says, to much
cheering. But Burton is hesitant. “I believe we have the authority to request of the secretary of state or department of elections
an advisory opinion, and it would be my intent as chair to do that,” he says.

Roberts disagrees. “I’m asking for a vote,” she says. “I don’t believe we need an opinion on what we should do, because we
are here in Palm Beach County. I represent the people of Palm Beach County. I move that this board conduct a manual recount
of all the ballots for the presidential election for the year 2000!”

The crowd goes wild.

Burton is pissed. She never told him she was going to do this! And the crowd is cheering like they’re in the middle of a Gore-Lieberman
pep rally! Burton would prefer that Gore win as much as the next Palm Beach Jewish Democrat, but that’s not what their job
is!

“All right,” Burton says. “We have to take the remainder of our meeting inside if we can’t conduct our meeting out here in
full public view.”

The crowd quiets down a tad, but Burton still feels uncomfortable. They’re not supposed to be politicians; they’re not supposed
to be partisan. He’s just a county court judge in the criminal division; he has no idea what the election law is. And while
Roberts is a county commissioner and has been on the canvassing board before, Burton doesn’t think that she really knows either.
And LePore’s never had a recount like this before her!

“Quite honestly, this is a situation that I think is new to everyone,” Burton says. He thinks about what Kerey Carpenter has
been telling him all day. “I believe we have the authority to request of the secretary of state, or the department of elections,
an advisory opinion.”

“I don’t believe this is, and I’m not giving an opinion, I’m asking for a vote,” Roberts says. “I don’t believe we need an
opinion on what we should do, because we are here in Palm Beach County. I represent the people of Palm Beach County, and I
believe the people of Palm Beach County deserve—I represent all the people in Palm Beach County, and I believe all the people
in Palm Beach County deserve to have—as well as the people in the United States deserve to have—an answer, and this is the
way I see best fit to get that answer.”

The crowd cheers.

Burton’s mood darkens further.

“I’d like to call for a vote!” Roberts says.

Burton asks Roberts—who clearly has more familiarity with Robert’s Rules of Order (or at least Carol Roberts’s Rules of Order)—what
he can do if he wants to make a motion. Does he make a modified motion? She tells him he can make a substitute motion.

He does so. That before they vote on a full hand recount they “request an advisory opinion from the secretary of state.”

LePore pauses. She’s still in a state of shock from the Attack of the Butterfly Ballots. Then she says softly: “I’ll second
the motion.”

Montgomery approaches her, whispers in her ear. No no no. LePore looks down on the ground.

“An advisory opinion on what, Mr. Chair?” Roberts asks Burton. She thinks the law is pretty clear. “What are we asking for
advice on?”

Montgomery asks Roberts what she’s doing.

“I believe that his motion was seconded,” Roberts says. She turns to LePore: “Did you second the chair’s—”

“No no no,” Montgomery says to Roberts. “
Your
motion was seconded.” Montgomery is acting as if LePore’s not even there.

Roberts is confused. “Well I thought… ? Let’s clear it up.” She turns to LePore. “Did you second the motion of the chair also?”

“I seconded your motion for discussion,” LePore says to Roberts. “And,” she says, turning to Burton, “I second
your
motion—”

“No no no, you don’t want to second his motion!” Montgomery says to LePore, cutting her off, telling her what to do, instructing
her what to think.

“No,” LePore says to no one in particular.

“You did not second his motion,” Montgomery instructs her in a loud whisper. “Say, ‘Excuse me, I misunderstood you, I misspoke.’
So no, you withdraw your motion, you withdraw your second.”

Wallace, Burton, and others watch the spectacle, appalled.

“I withdraw my second,” LePore repeats. In the coming days, LePore will drop Montgomery. She’ll start to think that he has
his own agenda. But she’s shell-shocked right now, and she trusts him.

“All right,” Burton says. “I’d feel better making an informed opinion rather than a rash opinion.”

“I don’t think we need an opinion!” Roberts says. “Can I call for a vote now?”

GOP lawyer Jim Higgins “entreat[s] the board to seek an opinion.” Burton calls on Carpenter to speak. She says that they simply
can’t do a countywide hand recount, since those are only permissible if there’s something wrong with the machines.

“What we found today was not an error of that type, but instead was voter error, and that caused the machine to not properly
read the ballot,” she says. At least wait until Harris gives them an opinion, she says.

“When can we receive an opinion?” Burton inquires.

“You can receive it tomorrow,” Carpenter says. Once again, Carpenter neglects to tell Burton that such an opinion would be
binding.

“I would like to call the vote!” Roberts says. “I would like to call the vote!”

All in favor?

Roberts votes aye.

“These people don’t have a clue what is involved in going through half a million ballot cards,” LePore thinks to herself.
She doesn’t know what to do. The presidency is involved here. But she still wonders about what the law says, whether the recount
is allowed unless something has been proven to be malfunctioning with the machines. Then again, she feels horrible about the
butterfly ballot.

She votes aye.

All opposed?

Burton votes aye.

And it’s 2 to 1, LePore and Roberts for the hand recount, Burton against. The crowd cheers. Except for Democratic chair Friedkin.
He’s yelling. At Burton. “You’ll never get elected in this county again!!” is what he cries.

When the three of them walk inside to the counting room, Burton lets loose.“I can’t believe you fucking sandbagged me!” he
yells. Roberts tries to explain about Florida’s sunshine law mandating that all government business be done in the open air,
in front of everyone. “Bullshit ‘sunshine rule’!” he spits. She, Burton argues, should have let them know she was going to
do that!

When he gets to his West Boca home that night, he vents to his wife. “This is unbelievable!” he tells her. “This is bullshit!”
Then, thinking about the task he has before him and the partisan politics that entered the arena so annoyingly today, he says,
“This is gonna be a nightmare.”

Once again, Judge Charles Burton would prove to be a prophet.

K
en Mehlman, Bush’s field director, was in his room at the Marriott Dade-land in Miami when he saw Carol Roberts’s little power
play on TV, and he couldn’t believe it. First Palm Beach has this 600-vote surge for Gore during the machine recount—which
Wallace, Johnson, and Murphy told him the canvassing board couldn’t fully explain—and now this, Roberts pushing through a
countywide hand recount. This process was totally becoming political, he thought.

So Sunday morning Mehlman gets up and he runs.

Normally he runs twenty-five to thirty miles a week, but with the election and all, he hasn’t done so, and now he needs to.
But there’s no place to run around here, certainly nothing like his two favorite running trails—the Tow Path in Georgetown
and the Reservoir in Central Park. There’s not even anything like the trail he would tear through when he lived in Austin.

So Mehlman runs twenty-seven laps around a mall parking lot. Which in a sense is a lot like what all of Florida will be doing
for the next few weeks.

After he’s done, Mehlman screams up I-95 in his rental car, on his way to Palm Beach. He’s been overseeing all the different
people in all the different counties—Wallace, Johnson, and Murphy in Palm Beach; Bill Scherer and Ed Pozzuoli in Broward;
Bobby Martinez, Miguel De Grandy, Kevin Martin, and all the rest in Miami-Dade. Broward’s not doing anything ’til tomorrow;
Miami-Dade has its hearing on Tuesday; Palm Beach looks like trouble. But there’s hope. Wallace, Johnson, and Murphy have
been calling Mehlman, telling him about the weirdness, the chad falling on the floor, the Democrats trying to get standards
loosened up. The good news, Mehlman thinks, is that Florida has this sunshine law, requiring that all
official government activities take place in public. And that, Mehlman has realized, is his secret weapon. If these Democratic
canvassing boards were allowed to quietly count without the public knowing that they’re counting dimples and such as votes,
that would have been trouble. So Mehlman’s going to make sure the shades are up and his guys are there to watch. He’s going
to set up a system where Republican volunteers are trained to observe. There are things they need to pay attention to—any
irregularity, any ballot counted that shouldn’t have been. Attorneys will be set up to interview observers to keep track of
any weirdness. The system Mehlman sets up will then be able to be transferred to Broward, Miami-Dade, and anywhere else they
need it.