Authors: Ralph Reed
He looked around the table, making eye contact. “Gentlemen, I wouldn't be in this office if it were not for the help of the folks in this room. Don't think I don't know it.” It was a remarkable statement of Long's debt to the evangelicals. Twenty-eight eyes were glued to him. “But it doesn't do a lot of good to put me in this office if I can't move my agenda. Confirming Marco Diaz to the Supreme Court is critical to restoring respect for the rule of law and ensuring that the courts interpret the law rather than legislating from the bench.”
His opening statement finished, Long paused, his eyes soliciting questions. “So thanks for coming. With that I want to open it up for questions, comments, and discussion. Please speak freely. You can't say anything the press hasn't already said.”
Everyone chuckled at the sideswipe at the media. The others hung back, waiting for Andy to speak first. In a room full of big fishes, he was the whale shark.
“Mr. President,” said Andy, “I truly believe we are here for such a time as this.”
“Amen,” seconded several of his colleagues.
“I've been beating the drum for Diaz three hours a day on radio and an hour a day on television for weeks. You've given us a truly outstanding nominee, and the second Hispanic, which is important as the country becomes more diverse.” He paused. “We had a few hiccups along the way, but that's within the family.” Long remained poker-faced at the reference to Majette, who Andy opposed. “But you came through. Now we've got to live up to our end of the deal and make sure the Senate hears from our supporters. Most of us have big audiences and constituencies, and we can mobilize them.”
“Absolutely,” said Long. “If they don't see the light, make them feel the heat.” Chuckles rumbled up and down the boardroom table. People began to loosen up, reaching for some of the hard candy in crystal bowls in the center of the table. Hanging out in the White House and strategizing with the leader of the free world was fun!
“Mr. President, we appreciate your leadership so very much,” said Jerry Patterson in a syrupy, soothing baritone. “Not only the courage of your convictions but your witness for Christ. We pray for you every day, sir.”
“Amen,” several of them said in a chorus.
Long nodded and smiled. “I feel your prayers. I really do. So does Claire, by the way.”
Jay sat against the wall, watching the proceedings like an anthropologist observing a tribal ritual. It was always the same, he thought . . . everyone groused and complained until they came into the president's presence, then turned into blubbering sycophants.
“What I'd like from your staff, Mr. President,” continued Patterson, “is a list of the targeted senators I can call. The Southern Baptist Convention has 18.3 million members. If 10 percent of them contact their U.S. senator, we can have a major impact. I will call all of them myself.”
“We'll have that list for you before the end of the day,” said Long, pointing his index finger at the head of public liaison. “Let's circulate it to everyone here.”
“Mr. President, I just have one request of you,” said Paul Parker, the president of Trinity University, the largest evangelical college in the nation. All heads turned. “We will go to the wall for Judge Diaz. Whatever happens, sir, don't let him withdraw. Make the Senate vote. If we lose, we lose. We need every senator on the record so we can take them on next year at the polls.”
“Hear, hear!” the pastors said, a few of them rapping knuckles on the tabletop.
“We're not only gonna make 'em vote,” said Long, his eyes flashing, punching the air with his hand like a blade. “We're going to win. By God's grace and your hard work, Marco Diaz is going to be on the Supreme Court when it hears the California marriage case this fall.”
The evangelical leaders broke into spontaneous applause. Long had the eye of the tiger. He was up for the fight.
The White House arranged for conservative radio and television hosts to broadcast from the grounds that day, reaching an audience of millions with the message that Diaz was the victim of a liberal smear campaign. Administration stars like Jay, Charlie Hector, Phil Battaglia, Lisa Robinson, David Thomas, Vice President Whitehead, and even the president were granting interviews throughout the day. It was the Jerry Lewis telethon meets Court TV.
Lisa caught the president's eye, signaling she was bringing the press for a quick photo, known as a “spray.” No questions allowed.
Long leaned over to Andy. “I asked them to sit you next to me for a reason,” he whispered. “This is going to drive Joe Penneymounter up the wall.”
Andy laughed. “Anything to help, Mr. President.”
Lisa limited the pool to AP,
Politico, USA Today,
and Fox News. Once they were in position, Long made a brief statement.
“I've just finished meeting with faith-based leaders from across America representing tens of millions of my fellow citizens,” said Long, jaunty and confident, his arm stretching to the evangelical leaders in a sweeping motion. “I reiterated to them the quality and caliber of Judge Diaz. He is
superbly
qualified. He is a good man, a man of integrity, and he has the wisdom and temperament to be an outstanding justice.” He looked directly at the reporters, pounding the table with an open palm. “It is now the Senate's responsibility to give Judge Diaz a fair hearing and a vote in the full Senate with all due and deliberate speed.”
“Thank you all very much!” shouted Lisa.
“Mr. President, why didn't your vetting team know about the purchase of Wildfire stock by Mr. Diaz's trust?” shouted
USA Today
. “Isn't this an embarrassment after having two nominees withdraw?”
Lisa glared at the reporter. The faces of the evangelical leaders were twisted with contempt.
Long shook off the question. “Judge Diaz followed the appropriate guidelines required of federal judges,” he replied. “He had no involvement in and no knowledge of the stock transactions to which you refer.” He leaned forward, his face animated. “This is one of the things we need to change about Washington, playing âgotcha' with people's lives, and turning the personnel process into blood sport. The confirmation process has become a search-and-destroy mission, and it is discouraging good people from serving. I'm tired of it, and the American people are tired of it.”
“Thank you!” shouted Lisa.
The reporters filed out, looking sullen. Their disdain for the evangelicals (and Long for sucking up to them) was boundless.
As the meeting broke up, Andy clasped the president by the arm and pulled him into a power clutch. “Mr. President, I want you to know we've been praying for Claire. She looked great the other day when she came home.”
Long's blue eyes misted. “Thank you, Andy,” he said. “I think the good Lord has answered those prayers. She is doing well, and our marriage has never been stronger.”
“I heard she has come to the Lord,” said Andy. “Is that true?”
“She did,” said the president, his face lighting up. “Hope Ranch has a faith-based counseling program, and God used it to touch her heart.” His voice caught. “She gave her life to Christ while she was there. It's a major answer to prayer.”
“Please give her my love,” said Andy. “Tell her that if she ever needs anyone to talk to, I'm just a phone call away. We love her.” With that, Long broke away to greet the others before heading to another meeting.
Ross Lombardy, who accompanied Andy to Washington, sidled up to Jay. “You got a minute to talk?”
“Sure,” said Jay. “Follow me.” He led Ross out the door and down the hall to his office, which was next to the president's private dining room. Once used by George Stephanopolous under Clinton and David Axelrod under Obama, its proximity to the Oval declared its occupant's power. Jay closed the door. “That was a good meeting, don't you think?”
“Home run,” said Ross. “Jay, I've been in meetings with politicians trying to engage in God talk for twenty years. I've never seen anybody better than Long. Ever.”
“He's unbelievable,” agreed Jay. “It's like watching Ted Williams take batting practice every single day.” He shifted to the topic at hand. “So what's up?”
“We're launching a two million-dollar television buy in six targeted states on the first day of the hearings.”
“Fabulous,” said Jay. “Where?”
“Louisiana,” Ross answered. “We're going after Rhoades.” Rebecca Rhoades was a DLC, centrist Democrat and a Roman Catholic from the Bayou state who was still undecided.
“She's vulnerable,” said Jay. “She's up next year. Good. Where else?”
“Pennsylvania, Ohio, Colorado, North Carolina, Virginia. We're bypassing Minnesota. We're wasting money targeting Penneymounter.”
Jay nodded. “Totally. Stick with red-state Democrats and squishy Republicans. Start with Judiciary Committee members. Coordinate with David Thomas. He's the one driving the target list with coalition groups.”
“Will do,” said Ross. “Listen, I have a business matter I need to take up with you.”
“What is it?”
“The IRS has been auditing New Life Ministries for seven years.”
Jay nodded. He knew about it. He seemed to know about everything.
“They have agents camped out on campus. Andy finally moved them to a trailer with no air conditioner. The general counsel of the IRS is totally hostile and keeps moving the goalposts,” said Ross, his voice lowered. “We don't think he's going to revoke the ministry's tax-exempt status, but he may hit Andy with a big fine. Can anything be done to restore some sanity to the process?”
“Let me look into it,” said Jay ambiguously. He walked to the door, putting his hand on the knob, then stopped. “We've been hearing about problems at the tax-exempt division from a lot of people. It's a mess we inherited, and it's taking longer to fix than I would prefer.”
“Andy's at wit's end,” said Ross. “He said he's being harassed more under Long than he was under the Democrats.”
“On the case, pal. Check back in with Thomas in a couple of weeks for a status report.” Jay opened the door and coincidentally nearly ran into Andy, who was standing in the hall holding court with the other preachers. Jay held up his wrist and tapped his watch, then pointed dramatically at Andy. “Dr. Stanton, I believe you're due in the radio studio!”
Andy grinned. “I wonder what I'll be talking about?” Everyone laughed.
THREE BLOCKS AWAY, IN a cavernous room at the National Press Club, reporters jockeyed for position at a news conference sponsored by the Pro-Choice PAC. The room's temperature rose from the swelling crowd, the walls lined with those who arrived late; others spilled into the hall, unable to get in. Tempers were short and everyone was drenched in sweat. Fire marshals ordered the doors closed.
The ostensible purpose of the press conference was for female victims of employment discrimination and sexual harassment to voice opposition to Marco Diaz. But the reason for the mob scene was the first public appearance of Nicole Dearborn, former girlfriend of Jay Noble and campaign spy for Senate Majority Leader Salmon Stanley, since Michael Kaplan's indictment for perjury and obstruction of justice the previous January.
Nicole kept a low profile for six months. Her flowing black hair feathered at her shoulders, she walked to the podium to flashing strobe lights of dozens of still photographers. In a smart Dior black dress with a gold belt accentuating her waist, legs sheathed in lace hose and Ferragamo stilettos, she did not disappoint. Christy Love stood to the side, fairly beaming. Hiring Nicole was a hat trick . . . among the credentialed press attending the press conference were
People
magazine and
Us Weekly.
It took an unusually savvy leader to step away from the limelight; Christy was no garden-variety DC hack.
“Good morning and thank you for coming,” said Nicole, her head barely reaching over a mountain of microphones. “Pro-Choice PAC is dedicated to protecting the right of all women to make choices in their lives, including career, marriage, family, and reproductive health.” Cameras clicked and whirred. “The nomination of Marco Diaz to the Supreme Court is a dagger aimed at the heart of women's rights. Today we will hear from women who have been victims of discrimination and harassment of the worst kind: victims whose plea for justice has fallen on deaf ears before Judge Diaz.”
Nicole called the women to the podium one at a time. Each recited their own tale of gender discrimination or lewd conduct by superiors. All opposed Diaz because of his ruling upholding the statute of limitations on filing sex discrimination complaints. Ten minutes into the proceedings, Nicole called an attractive Hispanic woman to the podium.
“My name is Dona Cruz,” she said. She had dark hair parted down the middle, black tresses framing her long, narrow face, and wore a form-fitting red dress. “I came to America eleven years ago and got my green card. I worked as a receptionist for an engineering firm in Richmond, Virginia. At first I liked my job, but then the head engineer began to make sexual advances at me.” She spoke in a quiet, tentative voice. “When I reported this to my boss, I was moved to a clerical position that paid less money.” The press corps fell silent. “By the time I realized that I had rights and found an attorney, the period to file a complaint had expired. The wrong done to me can never be made right. And Marco Diaz is the reason.”
She folded up the paper on which she had written her remarks. Her almond eyes were dark with pain. “As a Latino and a woman, it is not easy for me to oppose a Hispanic nominated to the Supreme Court,” she said, her voice quavering with emotion. “But Marco Diaz's hostility to the rights of the poor, women, and minorities is more important than our shared Hispanic heritage. Thank you.” She stepped away from the podium.