Authors: Karin Tanabe
The photos were taken from outside the Bull Barn cottage by
Capitolist
reporter Adrienne Brown, a resident of Middleburg, Va., who used personal funds to
stay at the Goodstone Inn from March 23 to 24.
When the
Capitolist
obtained the photographs of Sen. Stanton and Campo, the relationship was presumed
to be purely sexual. But sources in Arizona confirmed more than a physical connection
between the two.
Sen. Stanton divides his time between Washington and Phoenix, Ariz., where his family
resides. Campo, who was raised in Texas, is a native of Ajo, Ariz., a small border
town that has made headlines for border-related violence and drug arrests.
Campo lived in Ajo until 1993, the year after her mother, Joanne Reader, died. Newspaper
reports implied, and sources confirmed, that the cause of death was suicide. Following
Reader’s death, Campo lived briefly with family before entering the U.S. foster care
system. South Texas residents Jesse and Laura Campo adopted her in 1993.
In 1989, three years prior to Joanne Reader’s death, her husband and Olivia Campo’s
father, Drew Reader, was killed in a machinery accident at the John F. Stanton & Company
meat processing and wholesale plant. According to a 1989
Arizona Republic
article, Reader, who was employed as a custodian and worked the overnight shift,
accidentally switched on a meat grinder while cleaning it and was sucked inside.
The John F. Stanton & Company meat processing and wholesale plant was founded by Sen.
Stanton’s father, the late two-term Governor of Arizona, John Farley Stanton, in 1952.
Sen. Hoyt Stanton, a former lawyer for the family company, served as counsel at the
time of Drew Reader’s death.
The Occupational Safety and Health Administration investigated Drew Reader’s death
in 1989 and declared it accidental. Joanne Reader was awarded $15,000 in financial
compensation.
According to a source in Ajo, Arizona, there was another death at John F. Stanton
& Company in 2008 that went unreported. The source said a night worker was killed
when a forklift fell on him. The
Capitolist
is currently investigating safety standards at the John F. Stanton & Company, including
Reader’s death and the 2008 accident.
When reached for comment in Jakarta, Indonesia, where she was serving as the White
House pool reporter, Campo admitted to the affair and immediately resigned from the
Capitolist
. Campo confirmed to the
Capitolist
that the senator was unaware of her personal connection to John F. Stanton & Company.
During his last year as a lawmaker, Sen. Stanton has become a vocal supporter of foster
care and the U.S. foster care system, championing significant legislation to better
the lives of thousands of American children. The president is expected to sign the
Foster Care Empowerment Act, a bill originally introduced by Sen. Stanton, in the
next month. Stanton and his wife, Charlotte McBain Stanton, adopted three of their
six children from the U.S. foster care system.
Olivia Campo has written extensively on Stanton’s foster care legislation for the
Capitolist.
The paper is investigating her work for any ethics violations due to the nature of
their relationship and expects the Senate will look into Sen. Stanton’s proposed bill.
Stanton, 61, has been married to Charlotte McBain Stanton, 59, since 1973. The two
met as undergraduates at Arizona State University and along with six grown children,
have two grandchildren. He serves as chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee and
is also a member of the Appropriations Committee and a member of the Health, Education,
Labor and Pensions Committee.
Campo, 28, has been married since 2005 to Sandro Pena, 29. The two began dating at
Texas A&M and were married during their senior year. Pena is currently employed at
the Organization of American States in Washington, D.C.
Until Brown brought news of the affair to the
Capitolist
this week, the paper had no knowledge of Campo’s relationship with Sen. Stanton.
When reached by phone, Sen. Stanton’s office chose not to comment on the story.
“And the photos?” I asked when I finished reading. I was wondering if Olivia’s naked
body was about to be splashed on our front page.
“We’re cropping one,” he said. “And we’re using one full photo of them together, at
the window.”
Right. The PG-rated one. The one that showed Olivia’s incriminating happy face but
looked more like an Edward Hopper painting than a nudie mag.
“We’re keeping your language, of course, about all the other ones, as you just saw.
The description, the detail. But we can’t run those photos. We’re . . . not that kind
of publication.” He looked up at me with a smile. “I admit, that just for a second,
I considered it. Running them, that is.”
When the story broke online a few minutes later, Olivia had been out of a job for
over an hour. Talk of Stanton resigning began immediately.
And so did talk of my success.
Just a few minutes after the story went live, my phone started to ring. Too flustered
to answer the majority of the calls, I picked up only the ones that were from my Style
section colleagues.
“Five minutes ago I was asleep,” said Isabelle. “Then my mother called and said, ‘Get
to the Internet immediately, Adrienne just wrote a huge story.’ Of course, I didn’t
think it was you,
Capitolist
Adrienne. But it was! It is! You fucking photographed that wench Olivia Campo having
sex with Senator Stanton. You suck for not telling us but it’s insane that you broke
this. It blows my mind. How did you have any time? I mean, I barely have time to shower.
It’s all so crazy. Who are you? You’re not the reporter I thought you were. You’re
the kind of person who follows people around in hotels at two
A.M.
in subzero weather. You’re like the
National Enquirer
.”
After giving Isabelle the three-minute version, I answered a call from Julia.
“How did you do it? Tell me everything. What does Olivia look like butt naked? Does
she have any weird moles or a huge tattoo that she hides under her ugly little suits?
And why didn’t you tell me? I would have happily done a little naked spying with you,”
Julia pressed.
I laughed, apologized for keeping it all so quiet, and told her I would explain in
person tomorrow.
On my way to Upton’s, I fielded a joint call from Libby and Alison, who had been covering
an event together. Both of them started yelling questions at me. “Did you really follow
them around like a paparazzo? I can’t believe you saw them screwing. I can’t believe
you didn’t tell us! We’re your
Capitolist
family. But whatever. You saw that old lunatic naked and with Olivia Campo. Naked
Olivia Campo! Does she have fur? She’s actually part dog, right? Like a
Twilight
creature? Weren’t you terrified of getting caught? And more importantly, why didn’t
you tell us anything?”
When I woke up the next morning on Upton’s couch, I had a long congratulatory email
from Payton, ten voice mails from my parents, three from Elsa that were mostly just
screams, and twenty-five more from different media outlets wanting to talk about the
story. I checked my inbox and saw that it was overflowing with more media requests
and a lot of hate mail. Before I could start replying, my phone rang again. It was
Hardy.
“Good morning. Don’t worry too much about the Style section today. Obviously your
priorities are elsewhere. We’ll be okay without you.”
After I thanked him, he said, “Was it a good idea to go to Upton?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “He’s not that bad.”
“And neither are you,” said Hardy, managing to not sound condescending. “But I knew
that before you broke this story. Some of your other colleagues might be a little
surprised that it’s your name in the byline, but I’m not.”
He didn’t wait for my reaction to his compliment. He just hung up and kept on being
a very motivated twenty-two-year-old whom I no longer despised.
• • •
Stanton scheduled a press conference in Phoenix on Friday, two days after the story
broke, not very far from the coffee shop where Victoria had helped me bring my story
full circle. I hadn’t heard a word from her, and I imagined I wouldn’t. Like I promised,
I didn’t use her name except to Upton in confidence.
“Do you want to travel to Phoenix for the press conference?” Upton asked me the day
before Stanton was scheduled to talk to the world. He had, we had, made headlines
all over the country. Even the international press was covering the story. Another
American political sex scandal, this time with a few soap opera twists.
“Phoenix? What do you think?” Upton repeated. “You could report it for us. Watch him
give his resignation. You’ve certainly earned it.”
I suppose I had. The majority of the other
Capitolist
reporters traveled for their jobs. But I was getting to a point where I could no
longer formulate sentences. Instead of sitting with the Style girls, I had spent the
last forty-eight hours camped in Upton’s office as he coached me for media appearances
and we planned out potential follow-up articles.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think it could lead to a bit of a media circus if the
woman who brought his affair to light was sitting in the room with him.”
“We like a media circus around here, if you haven’t noticed,” said Upton.
“I think I would be happier covering from here. I could co-write with someone in Arizona,
if that would be better.”
“Whatever you think,” said Upton. “Let me know by noon.”
I didn’t go to Arizona. Christine Lewis did. Instead I stayed in the newsroom for
a few more hours, having heaps of praise piled on me by reporters and editors who
used to look down at their phones when I walked by them. Just like I wanted, they
now looked me square in the eye. A few even hugged me. This was, they all agreed,
the biggest story we—and now it was a we—had ever run.
I had media hits all evening. People were requesting sit-down after sit-down with
me. “And with Olivia,” Jenny from the media team told me when she came to ask me if
I could do HLN right after CNN. “But she’s not answering her phone. No one from here
has talked to her since Upton broke the news to her.”
I already knew she wasn’t answering her phone. I had tried to call her. I had tried
to call Sandro. I wasn’t surprised that they were ignoring me and everyone else.
My first media appearance of the ten I had scheduled that night was with Fox News.
I put in the earpiece, smoothed down my hair and my conservative red Brooks Brothers
dress, and tried not to look exhausted as the blond host fired up and then peppered
me with a series of questions.
“What are your thoughts on a possible replacement for Stanton?” she asked. “Many down
there in Arizona are saying the governor won’t pluck a sitting representative because
it would mean a special election for that seat. Who do you think the front-runners
are?”
“As far as I know, Stanton hasn’t resigned yet,” I said.
“But he will. You know as well as I do that he will resign
tomorrow. Let me ask you the question again,” she pressed. “Who do you think will
fill his seat?”
“Well, the law in Arizona states that Stanton will be replaced by a member of his
own party, so we know that it will be a Republican. There are a lot of strong members
of the GOP in the House. I do think that’s where we’ll see the governor looking for
a replacement. A similar thing happened when then governor of New York, David Paterson,
plucked Kirsten Gillibrand from the House to fill Hillary Clinton’s seat. Of course,
the circumstances were quite different.”
“To say the least.”
In my ear a producer’s voice told me to wrap up for commercial.
“I just hope that the man or woman the governor chooses can bring ethics, accountability,
and honor back to the seat,” I said. “I’m sure the people of Arizona and the Arizona
Republican Party want the same thing.”
As expected, the senator did resign the next day. I watched with Upton from his big
office, and he put his hand on my shoulder when Stanton said the magic words. He never
referred to Olivia by name. He just called her the young woman he was involved with.
He said he was completely unaware of her past ties to his family company and mentioned
the court case from 1989. All had been just, he said. He said that he and “the young
woman” had found common ground on their passion for foster care reform, a cause he
would continue to champion even out of office. But his recent actions were not appropriate
for any man, especially not a man representing the great state of Arizona.
So, with his wife, Charlotte, standing next to him and his kids sitting in the audience,
he let his once illustrious career go. The tongues that wagged about a future Stanton
presidency or vice presidency stopped moving. People who had been hyping him
up as the next GOP leader with a chance at the White House distanced themselves from
their past comments and Stanton’s name started to get wiped from the history books,
his past accomplishments now replaced by a sex scandal.
On Saturday, the boiling July day after he resigned, I went to New York to do morning
shows. ABC paid for my plane ticket, and I had chauffeurs on either end. On the crisp
fall day I drove out of Manhattan last year, I had already been imagining my return
as a conquering hero—a journalist of substance and importance who exchanged daily
text messages with Nancy Pelosi. My fantasy had almost come true—but I expected it
to feel differently. I didn’t feel like a conquering hero, or a girl who had done
anything to merit a chauffeured ride. I just felt exhausted.
On the way back to Washington, I called Payton from the car. We had been emailing
almost hourly since the news broke. She had said she was proud of me, was glad she
could be involved in some small way, even if I was the one getting all the fame.