Bob Ellsworth set up a confidential structure to assist Dole in selecting his vice-presidential running mate. First, Ellsworth planned to hire a senior New York lawyer, bound by a permanent attorney-client privilege, to conduct the background checks of those seriously under consideration. That would get it out of Washington, and he hoped to protect the names and information from surfacing in the media. Second, Ellsworth asked Ann McLaughlin, the former Labor Secretary in the Reagan administration and the 54-year-old ex-wife of television political talk show host John McLaughlin, to help him review prospective candidates for what Ellsworth called “political suitability.” McLaughlin agreed to take the job, and Ellsworth swore her to secrecy about all phases of the process.
Ellsworth and Scott Reed initially worked up a list of 15 possible running mates. Ellsworth realized it was too long, and contained some clunkers and too many Republican governors as well. Dole had told Ellsworth that there were many Republicans who had helped him through the primaries. “I do owe a lot to some of these guys,” Dole said, adding that the political debt would be a factor in his decision if all else were equal. Dole also said that he did not want to pick someone who would alienate conservatives. “Don’t give me someone who would send up the conservatives,” he said.
By the end of June, Ellsworth hoped to have the list reduced to five or six whom Dole would approach to see if they would agree to be considered. Those interested then would be interviewed and their backgrounds would be checked by the New York law firm. Ellsworth and Reed agreed to conduct polling in late July and early August before the Republican convention to determine the possible impact of the various potential running mates.
“To see who would help the most,” Reed said.
No, Ellsworth said. “We’ve got to get someone that would harm the least.” Vice-presidential candidates normally did not help. It was a matter of inflicting the smallest damage, he said. Ellsworth believed that a brilliant pick could be found occasionally, such as John Kennedy’s decision in 1960 to select Senator Lyndon Johnson. Johnson helped carry some key southern states, including his home state of Texas. But such an opportunity for a politically adroit move was rare. They had to search. The goal would be to give Dole two or three candidates that he could consider ten days before the San Diego convention, which was to begin on August 11. Then Dole would have time to make his decision unless circumstance, opportunity or necessity forced him to choose earlier.
Secrecy was the key, Ellsworth felt, to give Dole the maximum maneuvering room. He told Reed and McLaughlin that their discussions, thoughts, ideas and information had to be kept private. “As far as we are concerned the structure doesn’t even exist,” he said.
At the top of the list of 15 was Colin Powell. Much would hinge on Powell’s actions and attitude before the selection process got under way. Would he make campaign appearances with Dole in late spring? Would he go out on his own for Dole? Would he help develop campaign positions on national security and defense issues? Dole planned to set up a private meeting with Powell soon.
On paper the most qualified governor on the list was perhaps Pete Wilson, but he was damaged goods in his own state, and his fumbled try for the Republican nomination made his selection almost impossible. No one could argue that most of the other governors would be manifestly ready to step into the presidency, which was Dole’s first requirement. None ranked an obvious “10” on Dole’s scale. But there was one remote, sleeper possibility—Tom Ridge, 50, the Republican governor of Pennsylvania. Ridge had graduated from Harvard and served as an Army sergeant in Vietnam. He had Washington experience as a member of the House of Representatives for ten years, and was a pro-choice Roman Catholic with a tough-on-crime reputation.
The Senate offered two possibilities—Senator Richard Lugar, 64, the Indiana Republican who had been mayor of Indianapolis and had extensive foreign policy experience. Though Lugar had done poorly in his own bid for the Republican nomination, he had not embarrassed himself. The other was Senator Connie Mack III, the 55-year-old Florida Republican who had won reelection in 1994 with 71 percent of the vote.
Three other real prospects—men who could be credibly presented as ready for the presidency—had made their names in the Republican foreign policy establishment. Dick Cheney, the former Wyoming congressman and Bush Secretary of Defense, who decided not to seek the Republican nomination in 1996, was widely admired in the party for his cool leadership. He had strong conservative credentials, and had served as President Ford’s White House chief of staff at the age of 34. Cheney had suffered three heart attacks but in 1988 had undergone a successful quadruple coronary bypass operation.
Another was Donald H. Rumsfeld, 63, who had one of the strongest résumés: former Illinois congressman, NATO ambassador, Ford’s White House chief of staff and later his Secretary of Defense, and then for eight years chief executive officer of the drug company G. D. Searle. Dole had known Rumsfeld since the early 1960s, when they had both been in the House of Representatives.
The third was James A. Baker III, the former Treasury Secretary and Secretary of State. Baker, 66, had been Reagan’s first-term White House chief of staff. He had managed Reagan’s 1984 reelection, Bush’s successful 1988 presidential campaign and Bush’s unsuccessful 1992 reelection effort. Though Baker was often suspected in Republican conservative circles of being a moderate, his identification with Reagan was probably sufficient to immunize him. No one was Baker’s match in terms of combined heavyweight government and presidential campaign experience. His tenure at the center of the Reagan and Bush administrations had convinced him he would know what to do as president, and he had told associates he would love to be president some day. Baker had written Dole a note saying he was ready to do anything to help him win.
Rumsfeld and Baker offered real possibilities as somewhat younger versions of Dole with many of Dole’s strengths. They were experienced, solid and knowledgeable about Washington. Both had accomplished records in foreign and domestic policy and were intimately familiar with the White House and presidential power.
Dole believed that he alone would have to make the decision on his running mate. Reed, Ellsworth, Elizabeth and many others might help, but he would have to consider all the factors, give them appropriate weight in his own mind and then decide. The big decisions required solitary work, he had come to realize more and more.
Months earlier a seed had been planted, something that had nagged at Dole since the Republican primaries when he was being beaten up as this creature from Washington, “Beltway Bob.” Buchanan, Forbes and Alexander regularly had aimed their most pointed attacks at his longtime service in the Senate. Dole knew that people didn’t like Washington, and his opponents had effectively wrapped the entire political culture of the capital around his neck. As he started winning the primaries, he dismissed the problem. But over the Easter break he had eight days of rest in Florida, a record for him. The negative interpretations of his total identity with the Senate gnawed at him. He was pretty sure that 90 percent of the people in the country didn’t know what the title majority leader meant. To them, it meant just another politician making deals, raising their taxes, spending more money. That was what Washington conjured up out there. That’s what he conjured up out there.
In Florida, Dole had time to walk and sit in the sun, look around, think. He thought about his late parents. He thought about the frustrations of average people. He thought about his mail, the nasty letters, many of which had a common theme, “You’re like everybody else. You’re like all the rest of’em.” He had to be different, but he wasn’t. He had to break through the Washington noise and expectations, many of them of his own making.
Dole decided he would quit the Senate completely, not just give up the Majority Leader’s Office, but resign his Senate seat. He then had to live with the decision and work through it. He wanted to feel good about it, so he discussed it with no one for weeks, including Elizabeth or Scott Reed. “You can’t have everybody else make up your mind,” he told himself. Politics was too much of that. “Some things are so important that they shouldn’t be made by a committee.” He found he was sleeping well and having no second thoughts.
The last full week of April, after Dole had returned from Florida, Mark Helprin, 48, the novelist and an occasional contributing editorial writer for The Wall Street Journal, paid a visit to him. Three months earlier, Helprin had written an adoring column in the Journal praising Dole as “a conservative of both heart and mind, of conviction and of practical effect.” Helprin had urged that Dole, “a master of legislative tactics,” adopt the strategy of sending Clinton bill after bill to balance the budget, thus forcing the president to veto everything. In his meeting with Dole, Helprin noted that Dole’s current strategy was obviously not working, as the White House and Democrats tied the Senate and Dole into knots.
“One thing you ought to do is get out of here,” Helprin said two minutes into their discussion. “Leave this place.”
“I’ve been thinking, and I’ve decided to do it,” said Dole, who had the hardest time keeping secrets. He still hadn’t discussed it with Elizabeth or Reed. “Will you help me put together a statement?”
Helprin agreed, and Dole pledged him to secrecy and then outlined what he wanted to say.
Two days later Dole asked Reed to his Majority Leader’s Office, and the two sat in green stuffed chairs.
“I’m going to get out of here,” Dole said. “I mean resign.” Just stepping aside as leader wouldn’t get them anything, he said.
Reed was at first shocked, then amazed, and quickly pleased. It would be the ultimate way to get away from the shackles of the friggin’ Senate, Reed said. The best way to get in sync with the Senate staff was to eliminate it.
Dole said he was convinced that if he didn’t give up anything, his campaign wouldn’t mean anything. He could hang on, farm out the Senate power to the other Republicans in the leadership. “But I’m still Bob Dole, Washington senator,” he said disparagingly of himself.
Reed had received dozens of memos and a great deal of phoned-in advice about Dole’s need to get away from the Senate. Republicans also were saying that the talk among the money people was real bad, that many were saying that Dole was another Bush, who in 1992 didn’t getit, wouldn’t engage the real-life issues, wouldn’t get out from behind the shield of Washington.
“Have you talked to anyone else about this?” Reed asked.
“No,” Dole replied. “I can’t.” Only Mark Helprin, the writer, who was working on a statement.
Dole waited another week before telling Elizabeth.
“I’ve decided the only way to do this is just a clean break,” Dole finally told his wife. Maybe it was unfair to her, but he felt that he had to make the decision before trying it out on Elizabeth. If he didn’t feel pretty firmly about it, she or somebody else might dissuade him.
“Give up the leadership,” she said.
The whole Senate, Dole said, resign, a clean break.
Elizabeth said she thought there might be some value in still being a senator, that it maybe would make a difference to people.
No, he said, he wanted to chuck the power, the trappings, the comfort and the security.
“Let me think about that,” she replied.
Dole had spent lots of time on the decision, and he felt she was entitled to think about it for a while also.
Elizabeth consulted confidentially with her brother, and soon had a three-or four-page memo for her husband discussing the possible downsides. Some would say it was politics, even desperation. He had already said he could do both jobs—lead the Senate and run for president—though she had from the beginning raised questions about it, the memo noted. If he resigned, it would be a big deal and he could not just get up there in public and wing it. He would need a carefully crafted and practiced speech with a TelePrompTer.
Dole and Reed referred to it as their “secret project” on the phone over the next several weeks. Helprin kept sending in new drafts of the announcement. Dole worried about what would happen to his staff in the Majority Leader’s Office and his regular Senate office, 40 to 50 people who would lose their jobs. Most really needed them, he knew.
“Senator,” Reed said, “your staff, your colleagues, we love them. They love you. This is about you. They’re going to love you a lot more if you get elected president.”
Dole was taking a serious pounding because he couldn’t move legislation through the Senate. The Clinton White House was winning the daily tactical skirmishes on everything from health care to the minimum wage.
Sitting through Republican leadership meetings and listening to his colleagues try to get bills and votes scheduled, Dole thought, “Boy, two more weeks and I’m out of here. Free at last.”
After considering an earlier date for the announcement, Dole set it for Wednesday, May 15.
On Monday, two days before, Elizabeth called. She was going out to campaign for him.
“Are you sure this is it?”
“This is it,” Dole said. “I feel good about it. I don’t have any second thoughts. I’m not looking back.”
Was he certain?
“Listen,” he said, “I’ve thought about this day after day.”
Okay, she said. His instincts were as good as anybody’s in politics.
She left him a private message. It was the single-spaced text of a speech she occasionally gave about her religious convictions. She yellow-highlighted important passages on the fifth page.
Dole read his wife’s words, “I’ve had to learn that dependence is a good thing. That when I’ve used up my own resources, when I can’t control things and make them come out my way, I’m willing to trust God with the outcome.”
In her near-perfect penmanship, Elizabeth wrote at the bottom: “Bob, I believe God has prepared you for such a time as this! Pray for strength, wisdom, and discernment—and trust God with the outcome. I love you so much, E. See you 10:30 p.m. Tues.”
That Tuesday night, the media was reporting that Dole would announce he was giving up some of his responsibilities in the Senate. Reporters staked out the front of his campaign headquarters. Dole entered through the basement so he could practice his speech with the TelePrompTer. The element of surprise was what would make it. Reed didn’t trust anyone. Reed had learned how to run the TelePrompTer himself, and threw everyone out of the room while Dole practiced. Dole ran through the speech, now in its 15th draft, several times. He eliminated any mention of Clinton or even the message of his own presidential campaign. This had to be personal.
The next morning before the announcement, set for 3 P.M., Reed looked at five newspapers. They all had somewhat different stories about Dole giving up the Senate leadership in some form, but none had the story about Dole resigning from the Senate. When Dole came over, Reed showed him the newspapers. “We got them totally confused,” Reed said.
At 9:41 A.M., Tim Russert of NBC went live to report that Dole would resign from the Senate entirely.
Dole saw Gingrich on television saying that Dole was not going to resign from the Senate.
“Oh,” Dole said, “I’d better get Newt on the phone.”
He reached Gingrich. “I wanted to get to you earlier but I just hadn’t. I’ve been over here working on my speech and practicing on the TelePrompTer and getting ready.” Dole said he was going to resign completely.
“That’s more than I would have counseled you to do,” Gingrich said. Later he came to realize it was a bold and necessary move.
About 12:30 P.M., Dole called Clinton.
“Mr. President,” Dole said, “you may have heard rumors, but at three o’clock today I’m going to sort of pull the plug and leave the Senate.” He noted how legislation was tied in knots. “If I’m going to be a candidate, I’ve got to get out and work at it.”
“I’m surprised,” Clinton replied. He was appreciative but formal, thanking Dole for his service of so many years.
Dole called former President Ford, 82, and explained what he was doing.
“You’re giving up the Senate?” Ford asked, somewhat baffled.
“Yep.”
“Giving up the Senate?”
Dole said yes.
Ford said such a move hadn’t occurred to him. “Well, whatever you decide, I’m proud of you, and I’m 100 percent behind you.”
Dole reached former President Bush on a golf course in New Jersey.
“You may have heard rumors,” Dole said.
Bush said he hadn’t heard anything.
Dole told Bush what he was about to do.
Bush seemed to hesitate a second, then got it. “I agree with you totally,” Bush said sincerely. “Well, I’m playing golf with Quayle and I’ll pass it on.”
Dole’s last call was to Nancy Reagan. Dole asked about President Reagan, but she ignored his question, making it clear that she did not want to talk about her husband’s condition.
Dole said he felt he owed it to the party and everyone else to be a full-time candidate.
Nancy said she agreed, and said she was very pleased to be informed.
Dole met privately with the Senate Republicans and then at 3 P.M. went to the Hart Senate Office Building for the announcement, covered live on all four networks. Reed had hoped to have the dome of the Capitol showing through a window as Dole’s backdrop, but the Republican leadership packed in behind him. Gingrich’s face was present at even the closest camera angles.
“My time to leave this office has come,” Dole said, “and I will seek the presidency with nothing to fall back on but the judgment of the people, and nowhere to go but the White House or home.” He said he would resign within four weeks, by June 11. “And I will then stand before you without office or authority, a private citizen, a Kansan, an American, just a man.” His voice broke and he held back tears. He looked down and then back up, slowly shifting his head between the two TelePrompTer screens. “But I will be the same man I was when I walked into the room.” He regained his composure.
“I trust in the hard way, for little has come to me except in the hard way, which is good because we have a hard task ahead of us….
“This is where I touch the ground, and it is in touching the ground in moments of difficulty that I’ve always found my strength. I have been there before, I have done it the hard way, and I will do it the hard way once again.” He was speaking more slowly now, and his voice was strong.
“I have absolute confidence in the victory that to some may seem unattainable.”
The election was 174 days away.