Newt Gingrich Rewrites History

With a new novel hitting shelves, the former Speaker of the House takes a minute to talk Obama, McCain, and the state of the Republican Party

By Wil S. Hylton

Stefan Zaklin/EPA/Corbis

*****

Ten years ago, Newt Gingrich fled the House of Representatives in a haze of ethics scandals and waning influence. Since then, he has spent much of his time rewriting history—literally—by authoring five historical novels that examine how a single change in history might have, well, changed history. The latest, Days of Infamy (out April 29th), explores the aftermath of Pearl Harbor. Here, Gingrich speaks to GQ's Wil S. Hylton:

What do you want readers to take away from this book?
The idea that surprise can be extraordinarily painful. I think the reaction to 9/11 should have been vastly deeper and more complex, like the reaction to Pearl Harbor.

Why did you choose a novel to talk about these issues?
Well, first of all, writing novels is fun. But part of the goal is to get people to think about history as an active process, not just dates and facts that you memorize. History could have been different.

How does your background in history influence your political ideas?
If you think about the current situation, it helps to remember Harry Truman running in 1948, or even Sarkozy in France. Sarkozy distanced himself from Chirac without being hostile. That's what McCain has to do with Bush. And what McCain is trying to achieve by explaining the dangers of the world to the public is like what Lincoln had to do in the Civil War.

McCain doesn't exactly have Lincoln's rhetorical skills.
In style he's closer to Truman, who did not have the rhetorical skills, but had passion.

Do you think that's enough against somebody like Obama?
If you mean three weeks from now, I'd say no. But over the next eight months, I hope so. I think it'll be a question of whether people think McCain has the better argument. I f the issue is who's the better performer, Obama will win. If the issue is who is right, McCain will win easily.

Do you really think people vote based on a deep analysis of who's right?
No, they vote based on summary judgment.

And you still think McCain beats Obama?
Look, I expected Senator Clinton to be the nominee. And I thought last August that McCain was gone. So getting my insight on the future isn't going to be very helpful.

Okay, back to the past. What happened to your party over the last eight years?
They went off the rails. That's it. They took a majority that took 16 years to build and they destroyed it.

How?
There was a fundamental misunderstanding about how to govern. The concept of red versus blue is a tactic, not a strategy. In the long run, in order to mobilize your base, you tend to become more intense and your positions become more vitriolic, and you drive away the independents. Then you are no longer a majority.

What does the party have to do to come back?
We have to remember that we are the party of reform. The Democrats should defend the bureaucracy because it's theirs. Republicans want the bureaucracy changed, not defended. Nothing we have seen on the border, nothing we have seen after Katrina, leads people to believe that this government can do anything effectively. People profoundly distrust this government. Republicans should remember that.

*****

Judas Speaks

Bill Richardson on loyalty and betrayal, what he really promised the Clintons, and why he fell in love with Obama

By Lisa DePaulo

Photograph: Danny Wilcox Frazier/Redux

we flew to santa fe to find out if Bill Richardson was really Judas, as James Carville so famously dubbed him. Actually, that's not the only reason we went. We wanted to talk about all sorts of things (NAFTA, even!) with the current governor of New Mexico and former presidential candidate. But it became pretty clear what Richardson really wanted to talk about: the Clintons. Specifically, whether he'd betrayed them, who was more loyal, and on and on. And on. The man had a message, and he wanted to put it out there. We interviewed him on the afternoon of Thursday, April 10, in his office at the state capital. He was serious, low-key, a little edgy, not the Mr. Happy Backslapper that Americans had come to know and love. Was it the beard—or the implosion of his decades-long friendship with Bill Clinton?

I love all your tchotchkes. What a great office.
Oh, go ahead. Look around.

You collect pens?
Yeah, I do. I'm a pen collector.

They're beautiful. What's this? [It's a boxing glove, signed.]
Oh, that's from Oscar De La Hoya. I like boxing.

And I see you have a picture with Bill Clinton.
Yeah, I still do. [laughs nervously] You know, I had all my—If you go to the governor's residence, we have a bunch of pictures with me and my wife and Bill. And we're not taking them down. You know, he's a part of my life. But he's a little pissed off.

The Obama endorsement had to be kind of painful.
Yeah. I did it because it was the right thing to do for the country, really. It is painful. But it's done.

We'll get into all the reasons why you did that, but first I want to ask you: How weird is it to not be running anymore?
Well, it's, um… I miss it. It was an incredible opportunity to test your ideas. You learn a lot about yourself, good and bad. You learn about the country. You feel—You know, I ended up feeling very good about the country. I miss it.

What don't you miss about it?
The fund-raising. You know, getting on the phone an hour a day and calling people. I just hated that. I hated it. But I did it. And we ended up raising $22 million. Incredible. Nothing like the phenomenon, Obama-and-Clinton, but…

If you were to say the one thing that made it impossible to go on—
Money. Yeah. We ran out. You need money. You need TV ads. And it started drying up after we came in fourth in Iowa.

When you drop out of a race, is there a big emotional letdown? I mean, it must be very strange.
For me, uh, it was, yeah. It was a letdown. But it was—I immediately moved into the next phase of my life. I mean, I, as a human being, I think I'm fairly secure. You know, it didn't work out. I miss it, but I love what I'm doing as a governor. I'm gonna resume my international missions. I had a feeling, even though I miss it, of…liberation? I grew a beard.

I see. You said it was—what was it? A decompression?
Yeah. It was a time of decompression, liberation. I remember every morning listening to my aides tell me to comb my hair and tuck in my shirt and get my makeup on. And I said, you know, "I'm gonna do what I feel like."

Does your wife like the beard?
No. No. Most people don't like it. I mean, we get e-mails—

Why?
I think it's a perception that politicians who wear beards are hiding something.

I've heard and read everything you've said about why Obama. But why then? There must have been something that put you over, that made you pull the trigger.
It was an accumulation of talks that I had with him.

With Obama?
Yeah. When he was calling me to urge me to endorse him. It was a two-month period. It was almost every third day he'd call. Himself, on the phone. And we got to know each other, even though I'd started to get to know him during the campaign and debates. We seemed, in the debates, to connect with each other—probably because we in many cases sat next to each other. We would, you know, trade glances. Like, if some other candidate was making an outrageous statement. I like to point out once that I was asked a question in one debate, and I wasn't listening, and I turned to Obama, and he went like that [cups hand to mouth], and he said [in a whisper], "Katrina. Katrina." So he could have thrown me under the bus, but…that was nice! I mean, most politicians would say, "Well, I'm not gonna tell you." I liked the fact, at the debates, that he was very much like me, in that I always feel it's important to shake everybody's hand no matter who they are. I think you gotta show respect to people, whether they're a custodian or… He did the same. And then, during the course of the phone calls, I found him to be very genuine. And if I can put my finger on it, this is what it is: I think there's something very good about Obama. Something around his ability to bring people together and to excite people.

Okay, you're having these conversations. He clearly had to know what a difficult thing this would be for you, given your history with Hillary and Bill. Did he acknowledge that? Would he bring that up?
Yeah, yeah, oh yeah. Every time. He says, "Hey man, I know this is tough for you. I understand loyalty." But you know what he said that I liked? He said, "But this is about the country. This is about the future."

When Hillary was calling, was she saying things like that?
No. Oh, no. Hillary and Bill were always very proper and… The discussions were more tactical. You know, "If you endorse us now, maybe we win Texas, because you're Hispanic."

I see.
And the approaches were different. With Obama, he called himself. Never "Okay, Governor, Senator Obama on the line."

Like a Hollywood agent?
Yeah. I'd pick up the cell, and he'd say, "Hey, Guv, this is O-ba-ma."

That's how he said it?
Yeah. "O-ba-ma calling." We connected well.

When you speak of these phone conversations, a few things strike me. They sound like a male-bonding kind of thing. Hillary probably couldn't have done that, right? I mean, a woman running for president probably couldn't call you up and say, "Hey, man, it's Clinton." Do you agree with that? And do you think that's fair?
Yes, it's bonding. But I joke this way with many of my friends and acquaintances, both men and women. It has nothing to do with gender. It's my sense of humor.

But you liked him more?
Yeah. Well, I knew Senator Clinton, but you know, my relationship was always with Bill. And I think it's very hard to transfer a loyalty. And I like to tell people, "I ran against Hillary, when I was a candidate myself. So I wanted somebody else. Me."

Do you remember the last conversation you had with Obama, when you hung up the phone and thought, That's it, I'm doin' it!
Yeah. It, um… I said to him, "Well, listen, I'm moving your way. I'm moving your way." And he says, "Hey, you know, that would be huge, if you endorsed me." And I said, "You know, I don't think endorsements mean much." And he says, "Yeah, it would. Yours would." And he said something to the effect, "You and me," he said, "we really can change this country." And he said, "Both of us represent something different. Because of our backgrounds. And our histories."

That got to you.
And he said, "By the way, do you mind if I keep calling you?" He'd always say that. "No, no, I don't mind. You know I don't mind. We're in this business of politics. But I don't think my endorsement will mean anything." He says, "Yeah, it would."

You mentioned that, with Hillary, it would often be the surrogates calling. Like who?
Well, there were—I don't like to get into names, but it was—I mean, yeah, it was ex-cabinet members, ex-ambassadors, and ex-funders that are funders that help her and me. It was prominent Hispanics. It was prominent—I mean, I like to contrast: With Obama, it was laserlike focus by himself. With the Clintons, it was she'd call, he'd call, and a whole bunch of surrogates would call. I'd average about eight calls a day from Clinton types, urging me to endorse. So I felt there was a little campaign going on. With Obama, it was just him.

Before you made the decision, were there people whose advice you were asking?
Well, my immediate staff. People that I relied on in my campaign—my campaign manager, my TV [person], they were all for Obama. But they knew how tough it was for me to do that. My wife wanted me to stay neutral.

Really?
And I listen to her a lot. And that was a factor.

Would you do it any differently? Was there something the other side did to piss you off?
No.

Was there anything more to it?
Well, a couple of times they pissed me off, yeah. I mean, there were a couple of surrogates that said, "You owe him" and "You're being dishonorable by not endorsing." I said, "Well, how do you figure that?" I served him well. I was somebody before I was in the cabinet; I was rescuing hostages and bringing peace before. He gave me two great opportunities. I was loyal to him during Lewinsky. You know, when he needed friends, I was there. I've always been there for him. I helped him get elected in '92. I was elected governor without him. You know, I'm Bill Richardson.

It seems like you're saying there were loyalty tests, which you'd passed before, in your career with Bill Clinton. Would that be accurate?
Yeah. I was always there for him. He was there for me, too. But you don't transfer loyalty to another person. This is about loyalty to the country. The public wanted change.

I assume that if Hillary got the nomination, you would still—
Oh, yeah, I'd support her. But the friendship has been…frayed.

When was the last time you saw Bill? Watching the Super Bowl on your couch?
Yeah. That I saw him? Yeah.

And how did you part?
I think on very good terms. But I'd made it very clear that I wasn't gonna endorse, and his people wanted that. I said, "No, you know, I'm not ready yet, but he's my friend." Um, he wanted to get away, too, from his campaign. So he wanted to spend time with a friend.

So what did you do?
We just watched the game. As two fans. And there was a, you know, a couple times when we talked politics. And he put her on the phone.

And what was good-bye like?
It was very friendly.

Did he ask you for—
Yeah, he said, you know, "We need you." I said, "Well, I'm not there yet. I just—I'm trying to deal with this."

Do you think there's anything you owe him?
Yeah. I mean, I owe him. He gave me two wonderful appointments. U.N. ambassador. Secretary of energy. But he was paid back. And I think the country was paid back. Because I served well. And I was loyal to him as a person, just as he was loyal to me. And I think there's a—When you make a decision like who you endorse, the loyalty is to the country, not to the individual, not to the past.

Now, I don't want to get too much more into this. I want to move on. But it was reported that Bill said you told him five times to his face that you weren't going to endorse Obama.
I don't know where he gets that. I only saw him once, first of all. But there was a point, after he left—after the Super Bowl—that I was on the verge of endorsing Hillary. Because of his persuasive powers. I was on the verge. I was about to. But I said, "I'm not there yet."

You said that?
Yeah. "I'm not there yet. Please."

But you never said—
No, I never said, "I'm gonna endorse Hillary." No. Absolutely no.

The other thing that's been said, and I want to know: Did you or Hillary, in any conversation, ever say that Obama can't win?
That's a private conversation I can't talk about.

Okay. But you've described that last call to Hillary as both "heated" and "gracious." Can it be both?
Well, it was heated, and she was very gracious, but she was—you know, she was unhappy.

That had to be hard.
It was. I dreaded making that call. It was tough for me.

Was it one of those things where you walked around and said, "Ugh, five more minutes." How hard was it?
Uh, no. I, uh—we wanted to make it so that it wouldn't leak. My people said, "Look, something like this happens, it gets out." So I placed the call about 6 p.m. and was not able to reach her till 9. She called me back.

And did you get right to it? Or did you—
I said, "Senator, you know, I just wanted you to know I'm gonna endorse Senator Obama. And this is painful. But here are my reasons." And I, you know, I went back and forth. And she was gracious and proper, but she got a little heated.

Over anything specific?
I don't want to get into that.

Which was harder? Your call to her or your call to Bill?
Oh, I never talked to him. I placed a call to him, and there was no answer. But I felt the call was to her. She's the candidate.

Because he's made comments that you didn't even call him—
I called her. She's the candidate. That was the protocol.

You know him probably better than a lot of people. What is it? Is he just emotional about this now?
Well…I think he feels very strongly about her campaign. And he's invested a lot himself. So I understand why he's so emotionally involved. Um… But I—I—I've been very disappointed by their reaction. I mean, I just—you know, it's just… [heavy breath]

Put yourself in the Clintons' shoes for a minute. Can you understand why they might be livid?
I can certainly understand why they might be disappointed.

If you ran into them today, what would you say?
I'd say hello.

Did you ever feel they were disloyal to you?
The Clintons? No. But I remember in— Well, it wasn't disloyalty, but in 1992, I was supposed to be named, according to his staff, secretary of the interior. And in a last-minute switch, I wasn't. So I was unhappy then. And this is after I'd worked very hard to get him elected in '92.

Who was—
Bruce Babbitt got the job.… That wasn't disloyalty. He just—I wasn't happy about that. But it was the best thing that happened to me.

Earlier on, you mentioned Monica Lewinsky. You were asked to find her a job. Did you do that out of loyalty? Would you do it again today?
Well, see, at the time, I was responding to the chief of staff, John Podesta, who said, "There's this young woman we'd like you to interview. And she's got friends here in the White House, and I can't remember her name." This is Podesta. I've testified to that. And so I interviewed her, and you know, I offered her the job, but she didn't take it. [laughs] Thankfully.

Okay, so then Carville calls you Judas.
You know, I've been through this before. It didn't bother me. But it bothered my mother, who's 94 and lives in Mexico. Very Catholic. She was very upset by that, because, you know, Judas…

Yeah.
To a Catholic. And she… You know, it's interesting how mothers are. She was upset at—She thought Clinton had said it. And she said, "How could he say that, after all you've done for him?" You know how moms are. They take their sides.

It does bring up this notion of friendship in politics. When is it—how does it go from colleagues to friendship? I assume there are many people you consider friends that are politicians.…
I think there is friendship in politics. You know, you have shared experiences. But sometimes friendships and political interests collide. That's the nature of politics. But I think it's important that you— I think loyalty is important. Honoring your word is important. Being honest is important. I felt that by my showing my support for Obama, I was being loyal to the country. I think he's the best candidate.

Do you miss Bill?
Bill Clinton? Well, you know, here's another factor. We have been friends. But you know, were we close friends? I wouldn't say so. I hadn't seen him—prior to debates, I hadn't seen him for like three, four years. I mean, we're friends. Obviously, the friendship has been frayed. But it's not as if, like… See, one of the problems with the Clintons is they have this sense of entitlement, that if you work for them that you're automatically part of their family. There are larger issues, broader issues that affect the country. So I think the fact that the endorsement had such a political impact is why they're mad.

When you look back, how do you rate Clinton's presidency?
As a very strong, good presidency. And I was very proud to be part of it.

I was trying to find if there was ever a time where you really hit Obama. And really the only thing was what you said about his position on Iraq—that it was "inadequate."
Yeah.

Has your opinion changed?
On policy? [thinks] You know, I, uh, we disagree very little.

But right now, his position on Iraq is consistent with yours?
Well, no. I still believe that we need to set a timetable for withdrawal.

Total withdrawal?
Total withdrawal. Of all forces. All American troops. And he still, I think, is of the view that over fifteen months you leave some behind. So there's mild disagreement over that.

Tell me about your first meeting with Obama. Do you remember what your impression was?
Let me see. The first time I met him… [thinks] The first time I met him was at the Democratic convention in 2004. I was backstage, and he came up with his wife. Uh, he was very gracious, and I remember I noticed—and I thought at the moment—This guy's the new phenom. I found him to be—he struck me as being very, uh, very gracious and very polite, almost too nice to be a politician. He introduced me to his wife.

What's his biggest weakness? What's the one thing you wish—
You know, I'm not trying to— But right now I see no weakness in the guy. I think this is why he's so special. His judgment, his temperament.

And what do you make of this attempt to cast him as arrogant or—
Not at all. That is so wrong. Oh, that is so wrong. Arrogant?

Elitist is the other word being thrown around.
No. Here's a guy that—I mean, we talk basketball, we've talked sports, we joke with each other. And I'm not a close friend. Not at all. I mean, here— One thing I remember. Right before we went onto the stage for a debate, we were in our dressing rooms. We came out and said hello. And there was a number of police, custodians, volunteers that were there, as we headed towards the stage. And instead of, like, the entourage leading the candidate, he went and shook hands with every person there. Said, "Thank you…thank you for your help…thank you for your help…thank you for your help." And there was one lady that was cleaning in the back. And I remember he waved at her. And then he walked over there. And it was more than just "I want every vote." It was: "You're worth something."

What do you make of Gore right now? Why isn't he making his wishes known?
Well, I think, you know, Gore is, rightfully, exercising the potential role of senior statesman. As somebody that might broker towards the end a potential end to the bloodletting. So I think he is conscious that he has the stuff to do that. And you know, I don't fault him for not endorsing. I think he probably, you know, is somebody that, uh… I don't know if he's torn. I know Gore pretty well.

Do you talk a lot?
Not a lot, but we talk maybe once every two months or so. He called me after I got out of the race.

So you're saying you think he's torn, or you don't think he's torn?
Um, I don't know if he's torn. I don't know if he's torn.

Because, I mean, he's made no secret of the fact that he didn't have the greatest relationship at the end with the Clintons.
Yeah. Yeah. It got frayed, too. You're right, you're right.

What did you think of the Bosnian-sniper-fire thing?
I thought it was an innocent mistake on her part. I think that was innocent, I really do. Having been through those before, I don't think she was trying to convey that she's been in dangerous situations. I think she honestly felt that on one of those trips, to that region, that there were some security issues.

Immigration is so important to you. What are the candidates not getting about it? What's wrong with the debate?
Well, I think both Barack and Hillary, and McCain, have good positions on immigration. Where I disagree with all three on immigration is all three have voted for a wall between Mexico and the United States. I think that wall's a big mistake. However, I believe all three would deal with immigration more realistically than this administration has or this Congress has. Where you have a combination of increased border security but not a wall. A legalization program. A stronger relationship with Mexico. And penalties for those that knowingly hire illegal workers. I think you have to have that realistic position, where you combine improving border security, keeping those from coming in, but also dealing realistically with the 12 million that are here. And I think that the debate, if anything, has demonized immigrants, and I think it's wrong.

When you look at NAFTA, and Hillary saying she was really opposing it way back when—do you believe that? And do you think it's realistic that both would like to overturn it or amend it or change it?
With NAFTA, the best you can do… First, with NAFTA, you can't change it, because it's been approved by legislatures in Canada, Mexico, and the United States. It's a trade treaty. What you can do is, there were side agreements—on improving the environment, on worker safety and job security—that you can strengthen, and should be strengthened. But you can't just unilaterally abrogate a trade deal. I think NAFTA has had its good moments and its bad moments.

But do you believe that Hillary is anti-trade agreement now?
You know, I do remember, when I was in the Congress—I was one of the Democratic whips—that I heard some buzz—I never heard it from her—that she didn't like the fact that NAFTA was coming up, and she felt that the White House should spend more time on health care. I did hear that, but I never heard her say that. I certainly never heard her say that she was opposed to it.

How do you think Obama would be received by world leaders?
When he takes the oath of office and an Arab in a souk in Egypt sees that image, along with a Nigerian in a market in Lagos, that singular moment will do more to transform American foreign policy in a most healthy way than anything else. The fact that somebody with his ethnicity and diversity and international background is sworn in, it's gonna be a huge signal to the world that America is changing.

Did that play into your decision?
Absolutely. And the fact that, you know, he's adopted my career… Not that, not because of me. He's adopted my foreign-policy credo, which is "You talk to the bad guys. You negotiate your differences with North Korea and Iran and Syria and Sudan instead of isolating them."

What non-Democratic politician do you most admire?
You mean like Republican or independent? Now?

Yes.
Well, I, uh…I admire Chuck Hagel. The fact that he's so independent. I admire Mike Bloomberg, because he, you know, he's a fixer. He's a doer. He's nonideological. I admire… [long pause] You know, I like John McCain, because I know him. We've worked together on Indian issues. We always are at the same boxing matches, you know [laughs], and he and I will go into the dressing rooms of the fighters before the fight, you know, with a little help from the promoters. Um, we both, you know, came into Congress the same year. And again, I'm not a close friend, but I've always admired his independence. And I've warned—I've said, you know, "Don't take this guy for granted." You know, he's gonna touch constituencies in the environmental field, with Hispanics, with Native Americans. I like him. Do I admire him? I think Barack will be a much better president. But you know, his service to the country—McCain's—has been very valuable.

What do you think of how Condi Rice has handled foreign policy?
I think she had incredible potential to be a real mediator in the fight between the moderates and the conservatives in the Bush administration…and she didn't exercise her strengths. She's had some success, like North Korea, but on the whole she could have done so much more to make Bush a moderate president, a moderate internationalist. Instead, he's gonna go down in history as a weak foreign-policy president.

Will she leave with a notable accomplishment to speak of?
Well, she— Her legacy is affected that she is an African-American intellectual who served eight years but could have done so much more. Unfulfilled potential.

So if Barack Obama were to win the nomination and he offered you the vice presidency…
What would I do? Well, I wouldn't preclude anything. [laughs] You know, I love my job.

Okay, but—
Well, you can't, you know, you can't, uh, turn your back on something like that. But I didn't endorse him because of that.

Or secretary of state.
You can't turn your back on something like that.

One last thing. Do you see that your beard is falling onto your shirt?
Well, today, because I had a beard trim, 'cause I did a TV ad, a PSA… You thought it was falling out? [laughs] What's he, sick or something? Who was it that their hair was falling and they were sick? Who was that? I'm thinking of Roger Maris—remember? Did you see the HBO movie? 61? Well, you're too young, but Maris was trying to hit the sixty-one home runs. He was so nervous because the press was badgering him, his hair had fallen, and he had hair all over him.

Well, I'm glad it's just a trim.
Take care.

lisa depaulo is a GQ correspondent.

Karl Rove Likes What He Sees

With his new gig at Fox and a seven-figure political memoir in the works, Karl Rove has officially crossed over from shadowy 'Wizard of Oz' territory to somewhat approachable public personality. But as Lisa DePaulo finds out, that doesn't mean he's any less…pointed with his opinions

Photograph by Gillian Laub

i can see karl rove standing outside the restaurant, on the phone, yakking, pacing, occasionally peering at me through the etched-glass window and sticking a stubby finger in the air to indicate that he'll just be just one more minute. Eighteen minutes pass. He enters brusquely, with apologies and a crack about my "bright red purse" but also with the clear message that he is in control. Uncomfortable in this position, somewhat wary, constantly checking his watch ("Gotta go soon… Gotta go… Couple more minutes…"), not diggin' it, but always in control. Karl Rove is not a guy who kicks back with a drink—even coffee's a stretch ("I'm a decaf guy," he says)—and shoots the shit for a few hours. This isn't about a charm offensive—he gives the impression that he's not even sure why he's doing this. But: To be with Rove is to listen to a man who is utterly articulate and insightful and at the same time utterly…what's the word? Plain? Normal? Caucasian? If you didn't know he used to be Bush's Brain, if you didn't know he is widely credited/blamed with leading the Republican Party to an era of total world domination, if you didn't recognize him (as numerous gawkers inside the Muse hotel restaurant do) as the man W. famously dubbed "Turd Blossom," you'd think he was a middle-management sales lackey in town to sell Ginsu knives or something. The nondescript gray suit and overcoat, the geeky glasses and bald-on-the-top-with-peach-fuzz do, the briefcase (in middle school, he was the only kid with a briefcase, which pretty much sums it up). In what ways is he cool? We can't help but ask. "None," he says. "I am the antithesis of cool." We should also point out that Rove is exceedingly polite and well-mannered and, at moments, as prickly as the little cactuses on his tie. He has the demeanor of a man who had more power than he'll ever admit but is never really far from the 9-year-old who once got into a schoolyard fight over Richard Nixon, and lost. To a girl.

karl rove: Sorry to be late. I have a lunch with the Big Boss shortly.

gq: The Big Boss?
Mr. Murdoch.

Ah, that big boss. Does that mean you'll be getting more money out of Fox?
No, it doesn't.

Do you like being a TV analyst?
Uh, it's odd. You know, it's weird for me. But it's interesting.

Do you think Fox News is fair and balanced?
I do. I think they go out of their way to be fair and tough in questioning. I'm really impressed with the people I've gotten to know. Brit Hume is a very bright person; Chris Wallace has got a lot of integrity.

You also sold a book recently.
I did.

What'd ya get?
A lot.

And you're doing speeches, too, right? I read that you just gave one at Penn—
I like speaking to the college campuses.

And the first question, someone called you a cancer.
Right. Oh, sure.

You must get that all the time.
Uh, I get it some. When I go to campuses. But did you hear what I did? I just let him rant. And when he was finished, he had no question, he just wanted to accuse me of undermining the Constitution and blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. And I said, "Thanks for your thoughtful rant." And he sat down. And I said, "Now do you feel better about yourself?" And he said, "Yeah." And I said, "Well, I want you to feel better about yourself." And everybody laughed, and we went on.

But is it hard when people—
No. No. Look, everywhere I go, people say nice things to me. I don't live for that. I appreciate it, and I'm grateful for their kind words, but I don't live for it. And similarly, when people say ugly things? It doesn't affect me. They want their words to affect me. And as a result, I'm not gonna let 'em.

But when people say, "You've created this climate of fear—"
I laugh.

You laugh?
Yeah. I laugh. Sure. How? What, exactly? I'm not apologetic about what this administration has done. It's protecting America. It has won important battles in a war that we as a nation better win or we will leave the future to our kids, a much darker and dangerous future.

What's the biggest misconception about your role in the Bush White House?
That it was all about politics.

If that's the misconception, what's the overlooked truth?
Look, I'm a policy geek. What I've most enjoyed about my job was the substantive policy discussions. Being able to dig in deeply and, you know, learn about something, ask questions, listen to smart people, and form a judgment about something that was from a policy perspective.

When you look back at your career, especially in the Bush administration, what's the worst thing you did?
I'm not gonna be good at answering that.

But is there anything you feel guilty about? Or wish you did differently?
[exasperated laugh] Off the record?

No! Don't go off the record.
Off the record.

Okay, let's look back, to the very beginning of the Karl Rove story, when you got handed the keys [from Bush the father, to deliver to Bush the son] until now. And you look at where the president's approval ratings are today—
Yeah.

What did you do wrong?
Oh, look, I did a lot of things wrong. But the main thing is, we're fighting an important but unpopular war.

You still think it was the right thing to do?
Absolutely. Absolutely. And you know, one of our biggest mistakes was, the first time Harry Reid got up and said, "You lied and you deliberately misled the country," we should have gone back immediately and hit back hard, and we didn't. We let that story line develop. In reality, you go back and look at what Bill Clinton, Hillary Clinton, John Kerry, Al Gore—I'd be happy to supply you the quotes—what they said about Saddam Hussein possessing weapons of mass destruction.

What are you most proud of?
Being part of a group of people I have a great deal of respect and admiration for in service of the country.

If you had to make a bet, can Hillary pull it off?
The odds are long, but improbable things have happened almost every month in this race. She wasn't supposed to win New Hampshire, and she did. So we'll see. You know, she's got a lot of strengths, and he does, too. We got two wellmatched opponents going at each other hammer and tongs. It's fun to watch.

If it's mathematically impossible for either of them to get enough delegates, how will this get resolved?
Somebody can get to a majority, but they're gonna have to get to a majority with superdelegates. Neither of them can win enough delegates to win it on just simply the elected delegates.

So if it comes down to superdelegates, doesn't that become a question of who can be more ruthless?
Well, you know, people will have to decide whether they're going to act as reflectors of the popular vote in their districts or states, or whether they're going to exercise independent judgment. I think this is the big dilemma the Democrats face: Are they going to choose a nominee who essentially is chosen, validated, by a minor aristocracy, by essentially an undemocratic group? Because, look. Does anybody think that Patrick Deval [sic], governor of Massachusetts, and Senator Ted Kennedy are gonna respect the wishes of their home-state crowd and go for Hillary Clinton, who won their state? No.

So how ugly is it gonna get?
Well, I—we don't know. We have geological ages that are gonna pass. It's not that ugly today. The wounds are fresh, but there's plenty of time for them to heal. The question is, will the wounds get deeper and more difficult to heal? We don't know. My gut tells me it happens, but I don't know.

If you could run one of their campaigns, which one would be the dream campaign to run?
Neither one.

Why?
Because I don't believe in what they say.

But just as a strategist, just to get in there and—
Yeah, well, see, for me it's not divorced from who they are and what they're all about and what they would do.

What did you think of the red-phone 3 a.m. ad?
It was a gutsy, dangerous move. She figured out that she had to do something to raise the issue of: Is he fit to be president? And this was a way to do it. I happened to be in Texas a week before the ad popped, and all of her surrogates were hitting him pretty hard on the thinness of his experience. They were pretty brutal. And this ad sort of fed into that.

Isn't that the kind of ad you would have done?
Uh, look, that's the problem. She can't run an ad—you know, the more powerful ads she can't run against him, because she's afraid of looking too moderate. He's got essentially… His argument is twofold. "Vote for me because I'll bring Republicans and Democrats together; we're not red states, blue states, we're the United States." And second of all—and he said this most passionately in the Wisconsin victory speech: "There are big issues facing the country, and it requires leadership and energy to solve them." Well, the two best counters to those are Hillary saying, "I've actually worked with Republicans and Democrats to get things done." Or McCain saying, even more pointedly, "On all the big issues where Republicans and Democrats have come together, I've been in the middle of bringing them together, and you've been way out there on the fringe. When we pulled together the Gang of Fourteen, you were out on the fringe. When we pulled together a bipartisan answer on the terrorist-surveillance program, you were way out there on the fringe. When Democrats and Republicans, regardless of where they were on the war, came together to give our troops everything they needed while they were in combat, you were way out there on the fringe." Now, she can do some of that, because she's actually tried to work with Republicans over the years. He has not since he got there. He's been coolly detached and sitting on the side. His fingerprints are on, at most, a couple of small items. And then, on the leadership issue, she can say, "Look, I've been in the middle of these big battles. I've been providing the leadership. Sometimes we won, sometimes we lost. But at least I've been involved." And McCain will be able to sharpen that even more.

It seems like you're talking about authenticity here. Are you saying Obama is inauthentic?
I'm saying that he has adopted two themes for his campaign that are not supported by his actions.

Do you think Obama would be easier to beat?
I try not to think about those things. Because that inevitably leads you to believe, I would like to have A or I would like to have B. You need to keep your mind open about both of them.

You've said—what was the phrase you used about Hillary? "Fatally flawed"?
Fatally flawed. I just thought her flaws would show up in the general election. I didn't know they'd show up as early and as strong as they have.

Which flaws?
Uh, calculating. You know, she went through the period where she had the calculated laugh, she went through the period where she had the calculated accents, and you build that on top of a person who already has the reputation that anything she says is calculating, you know…

Is calculating a terrible thing?
It is if people think it's phony. And that's what her problem is. That and the sense of entitlement. You know, the sense of "This is mine, I deserve it; we're the Clintons, this is ours." And I think that really caused a lot of people to say, "You know what? It's not yours." And do we really want to go back? The '90s were nice in a lot of respects, but do we really want to go back to all that drama?

There is something ironic about Karl Rove criticizing someone for being calculating.
Right. Look, it's one thing to calculate and say, "What's the best way for me to do this?" It's another thing to say, "What's the best way to do this, even if it means the sacrifice of my fundamental principles?" When she stood up there and said, "I'm in front of an African-American group in Alabama, so let me adopt a phony southern accent!" And when she sat there and said, "You know what? I need to warm myself up, so for the next weeklong period I'm gonna sit there and laugh and cackle at anything that is even remotely funny." You know, when both she and he, who are free traders by instinct, went to Ohio and said, "We're gonna renegotiate NAFTA," when they know that (a) there's no provision to renegotiate NAFTA, and (b) the Canadians and the Mexicans are not gonna want to renegotiate NAFTA, and (c) when both of them understand that trade liberalization, particularly with our neighbors, has been to our economic advantage, who are they kidding?

But when people call you calculating, do you take that as a compliment?
Look, what I'm charged with is, in politics, taking the material that I have to work with—which are the views and values, convictions and principles, of my candidate or client—and charting the best path to victory. That's different than saying, "How am I gonna take a fundamental belief or a reality of me as an individual and discard it?"

So there's good calculating and bad calculating?
Absolutely.

If Hillary pulls it out, will Mark Penn [her chief strategist] be considered a genius?
Mark Penn is a very smart guy regardless of whether or not she pulls it out. He's a very smart guy.

But don't you think there've been a lot of mistakes?
Sure. But if you have to lay them at the feet of one person, you lay them at the feet of the candidate. The candidate sets the tone.

Are you surprised at how Obama exploded?
You know, I want to be careful—I think we need to be careful about not getting carried away with a narrative that doesn't truly exist. Like the story this morning in The New York Times about "the Obamacans"—the Republicans who support Obama.

You don't buy that?
No. Do I buy that there are Republicans who support Obama? Sure, I do. But take a look at the last four polls on which there are cross tabs available. There are twice as many Democrats defecting to McCain as there are Republicans defecting to Obama. In the Fox poll, Obama takes 74 percent of Democrats and loses 18 to McCain. And McCain keeps 80 percent of Republicans and loses 10 to Obama. And in every one of the polls, it's nearly twice as many Democrats defect to McCain as Republicans defect to Obama. And against Clinton, it's three times as many. Know why? Well, there are a lot of different reasons why. There are Democrats, particularly blue-collar Democrats, who defect to McCain because they see McCain as a patriotic figure and they see Obama as an elitist who's looking down his nose at 'em. Which he is. That comment where he said, you know, "After 9/11, I didn't wear a flag lapel pin because true patriotism consists of speaking out on the issues, not wearing a flag lapel pin"? Well, to a lot of ordinary people, putting that flag lapel pin on is true patriotism. It's a statement of their patriotic love of the country. And for him to sit there and dismiss it as he did—

You're not wearing a flag pin, Karl.
Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. But I respect those who consciously get up in the morning and put a flag lapel pin on.

Do you see the elitist thing in other ways?
Obama is coolly detached and very arrogant. I think he's very smart and knows he's smart, but as a result doesn't do his homework.

So the Dems have two rattled candidates?
Right. Now, you got one candidate who's got an appeal to the blue-collar Democrats: Clinton. I call them the beer drinkers. And then you got the white-wine crowd, which Obama appeals to. There's a brilliant article by Ron Brownstein in the latest issue of National Journal in which he charts the change in the nature of the Democrat-primary vote, and it's becoming younger, more affluent, and more liberal. And that means that blue-collar Democrats, whatever's left of them, are on their way out of the Democratic Party.

What do you make of this whole thing where Hillary was talking him up as a vice president and he came back saying, "Wait a minute, I'm winning—why are you asking me to be your number two?"
Very calculating on the part of the Clintons, and a mistake for him on his part.

Why?
Because they wanted him to get down to their level. They want him to look like, you know, not the golden inspiring figure but instead, you know, like an average ordinary pol who's got three years in the United States Senate. So they lay it out there. And rather than having it be dismissed by a surrogate, instead he goes out there! And rather than having an inspiring, forward-looking message, instead he's out there as an ordinary pol saying, "Hey, I'm number one, I'm in first place! I won more states than she did. I won more delegates than she did. What the hell's she doing offering it to me? That's insulting." And he did it in an arrogant way that I don't think made him look that good.

So you don't think his response played well?
No. Take a look at the footage. Turn the sound off and look at it. You can tell that he is arrogant, and you can tell that he's a little bit angry, and you can tell he's very dismissive. He takes his hands and he sort of, you know, waves his hand like, "I'm dismissing something." That was the moment to say, you know, "Look, I know what my opponents are saying, but you know what? I'm focused on one thing and one thing only, which is to help bring Republicans and Democrats and independents together to move America forward." Instead of "Hey, lemme just remind you, I'm winning! I'm beatin' her!"

So he took the bait?
He took the bait.

Have you gotten to know Hillary or Barack to any degree?
Yes, I have.

What have been your dealings with them?
Well, you know, I used to have her office at the White House. And I got to know [Obama] because we have a mutual friend, Ken Mehlman, who was his law-school classmate at Harvard. And so as a result, whenever in the last three years he's been around at the White House, I've gotten to see him, and we sort of would hang around and chitchat about things. I'm actually in his book. He wrote that "people like Newt Gingrich, Tom Delay, Ralph Reed, and Karl Rove say we are a Christian nation." And I did not say that. I confronted him about it. At the White House.

And what did he say?
Well, first he denied that I was in the book! And then he denied that it said that I said that it was a Christian nation. And then when I pulled out the thing [he had a copy of the offensive page with him] and showed it to him, he sort of blah-blah-blah-blah-blah- blah-blah. And I thought, That's who he is. I mean, look, he may claim that he's for a different kind of politics, but that was a cheap shot. And I'm not certain if any of the four said it either. But it was like, you know, Let's just strap it in there and see if it goes someplace. Another example: Him saying, "We honor John McCain for his fifty years of service" was a cheap shot. He was going out of his way to say John McCain's old.

Is John McCain too old?
No.

Do you think Obama's gotten a free ride from the press?
Yes.

How so?
I don't think they hold him to the same standards. You know, look, his Web site is full of all kinds of proposals written by academics galore. But he's not required to defend them. He's not required to explain what it is he wants to do. Now I think that's changing. I think, when you have an editorial in USA Today that says, in essence, Where's the beef, what's the substance? When reporters start asking him tough questions about his relationship with Tony Rezko—you know, what was the value of the lot? What was the price that you paid? How many fund-raisers did he do for you? How much money did he raise at those fund-raisers? When they start asking him those questions, then it starts to change. I mean, the kind of questions that have been routinely asked of other candidates—about their background and associations and involvements—have only recently begun to be asked of him.

I get the sense you respect Hillary more than you respect Obama.
Off the record?

Please don't go off the record.
Off the record… [Yeah, it's good. Sorry.]

Damn! Now say that on the record.
No. Nope. Nope. Nope.

Let's try again, then: on the record. I get the sense you respect her more than him.
Uh, I know her better than I know him. And I just, uh—she has been around public life a lot longer and has demonstrated, you know, more involvement than he has.

Let's talk about Bill. You've gotten to know him better, right?
Yeah.

What do you think of him now?
He's a very entertaining rogue. He's a larger-than-life character. You can't help but sort of like him. But boy, he has made some missteps in this campaign.

Yeah, what's up with that? He's supposed to be this political genius. What's going on?
He's all wrapped up in it. He's lost his detachment. Sometimes you can be more detached about yourself than you can be about members of your family. He's all revved up about her and making mistakes.

Do you buy any of the pop psychology that there's a part of him that's sabotaging her?
I—I—that is way beyond. I have never… I don't have a couch that anybody could sit down on, and… I don't know, I don't know.

But you were surprised to see how he handled the South Carolina thing?
Well, it may have been calculated, I don't know. Maybe they made a calculated decision that, Hey, we need to send a message that all he can do is win states with African-American voters. But I don't think it played—even among Democrats.

Recently, in a meeting with some people from the Republican National Committee, you said, "Do not use 'Barack Hussein Obama.' "
Right, right. Um, in politics—

Is that because it's not right?
It's wrong. But not only that, it's counterproductive. In politics, there are arguments that are seen as not factual and not fair, or trivial, and they blow up in your face. And this is one that people look at and say, "You're trying to imply something about him that's not true. I think you're going a bridge too far, and I'm reacting negatively." I mean, he didn't pick his middle name, somebody else did. And he doesn't go out of his way, like Hillary Rodham Clinton to, you know, emphasize it.

You probably never thought, eight years ago, that John McCain would be the nominee.
You know what? In politics, second acts are either really bad or really good. And so the question was gonna be, Who might want to succeed Bush? McCain was always a possibility. He's always harbored a desire.

What do you think of him now?
I like him. We bonded in the '04 campaign.

Do you have to hold your nose to vote for him?
No, no, not at all. I enthusiastically voted for him. I just sent in my absentee ballot [in Texas], and I gave him $2,300.

So what's your life like now, Karl? Are you based in Washington still?
We're splitting our time between Washington and a place we have in the panhandle in Florida. And a little place in Texas. We're looking to be in Texas more permanently starting this fall. We've enjoyed Washington, but look, I don't wanna be like… I got a guy, lives around the corner from us in Washington, who had a prominent role for six months in the Reagan administration, and he's still living off of it twenty-some-odd years later. I don't intend to do that.

What do you intend to do?
I'm trying to figure that out. I've got a couple years between the book and the speeches and Fox and my Newsweek column and my writing for the Wall Street Journal and some things I'm doing in politics under the radar.

What do you do for kicks?
I read and go hunting. And travel with my wife.

Tell us about your wife.
She's a terrific, courageous person.

Is it hard being married to you?
Uh, I don't think it's hard being married to me. I think it's hard being married in public with me.

Let's talk about the last couple of scandals you've been involved in. Don Siegelman in Alabama [the Democratic governor whom Rove was recently accused of trying to sabotage by forcing U.S. attorneys to bring corruption charges against him prior to an election]. What happened?
[rolls his eyes] Will you do me a favor and go on Power Line and Google "Dana Jill Simpson" [the Republican lawyer who told 60 Minutes that Rove asked her to take a picture of Governor Siegelman cheating on his wife]? She's a complete lunatic. I've never met this woman. This woman was not involved in any campaign in which I was involved. I have yet to find anybody who knows her. And what the media has done on this… No one has read the 143-page deposition that she gave congressional investigators—143 pages. When she shows up to give her explanation of all this, do you know how many times my name appears? Zero times. Nobody checked!

Then how did this happen?
Because CBS is a shoddy operation. They said, "Hey, if we can say 'Karl Rove,' 'Siegelman,' that'll be good for ratings. Let's hype it. We'll put out a news release on Thursday and then promo the hell out of it on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday." And Scott Pelley—the question is, Did [60 Minutes correspondent] Scott Pelley say to this woman, "You say you met with him. Where? And you say that he gave you other assignments earlier. When did he begin giving you assignments, and what campaigns did you work with him in? What evidence? I mean, this woman, she said she met with him: Okay, you met with him—where? Did you fly to Washington?" Now she says that she talked to me on the phone and she's got phone records. Of calls to Washington and Virginia. But what's Virginia? I don't live in Virginia. And it's 2001. What is in Virginia? It's not the Bush headquarters; that was in Austin, Texas. What is in Virginia? So—but look, she's a loon.

What about the U.S. attorneys? Should you have had a role in hiring and firing?
[a little peeved now] What was my role in firing those U.S. attorneys?

Your position has been—and tell me if I have this wrong—that you basically relayed complaints?
To the counsel's office. Correct.

And that was an appropriate thing to do?
Oh sure. Sure it is. Sure it is.

What's your relationship with the president now?
Good. Really good.

Do you talk a lot?
Yeah.

Did you know that Laura called you Pigpen?
Yeah. [laughs] Laura Bush intimidates me. All the Bushes—well, most of the Bush men marry incredibly strong women, and they all intimidate me. Barbara Bush I've lived in fear of for thirty-seven years.

What's your goal with this book? You intend to set the record straight, as you see it?
Absolutely, absolutely. Sure. You bet. I intend to set the record straight.

I imagine you're going to have a lot to say.
Yeah, exactly. Available soon for $29.95…. I gotta go! I gotta go!

Wait, quickly: Do you believe Roger Clemens?
Um, yes, I do.

If he gets nailed on perjury charges, is that the kind of guy Bush might pardon?
I'm sorry?

Do you think if he got nailed, that would be the type of person Bush would pardon?
I'm not gonna answer that. I mean, he's done nothing wrong.

Should Scooter Libby be pardoned?
I'm not gonna answer that. Just not. Just not. But thanks for asking.

lisa depaulo is a GQ correspondent.

Raising McCain

Meghan McCain is a 23-year-old, socially liberal John Kerry voter who loves Superbad, Dita von Teese, Bud Light (see right hand), and campaign blogging. Trouble is, this self-described “Daddy’s girl” will do—and say—almost anything to help her 71-year-old father win the White House

By Greg Veis; Photograph by Jeff Riedel

Click to enlarge.

Meghan McCain arrives at the door to her apartment out of breath and wobbly in calf-high boots. It’s a seventy-five-degree February afternoon in Phoenix, and the 23-year-old daughter of the presumptive Republican nominee for president is wearing a black leather jacket over a scarf and gray scoop-neck T-shirt. I extend my hand to introduce myself, but she knocks it down and wraps me up in a bear hug.

“I’ve never had anybody fly across the country for me who I wasn’t dating,” she says. “I’m so flattered!”

Meghan’s parents, Senator John and Cindy McCain, bought her this loft around the time she graduated from Columbia
University last spring, and the interior looks like a spaceship furnished by West Elm. There’s a giant silver chimney that extends out of her fireplace into the ceiling about twenty feet above. Across the living room is a very stylish and very uncomfortable-looking pod chair. And then there’s Meghan’s prized tchotchke of the moment: a skull that, when you open its mouth, reveals a clock.

“You like it, right?” she asks, opening it for me. “Because I told my friends I’d throw it away if the GQ guy didn’t like it. I totally love it, though! It’s ironic!”

She leads me into the kitchen. On a perch above the cabinets, wooden block letters are arranged to spell indulge. Meghan then invites me to inspect her refrigerator, like the celebrities do on MTV Cribs. Inside are some Bud Light cans, a six-pack of Stella Artois, and twelve cups of Jell-O pudding.

Alas, the tour stops here. Meghan won’t show me her bedroom—it’s too messy, she says. Besides, she’s starving, and she really wants to take me to lunch at one of her favorite restaurants ever, Garduño’s Margarita Factory.

On the drive there, I handle the wheel and Meghan fills the silence. I learn the basics of her past few years: how she graduated from Columbia (“I loved it so much”); how she wanted to be a music journalist but doesn’t anymore; how she got prize internships at Newsweek and Saturday Night Live.

Meghan’s cultural tastes are pretty straight down the middle for a recent college grad. She went crazy for Superbad,  Knocked Up, and The Big Lebowski (“I fucking love that movie”). On TV she’s currently riveted by MTV’s A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila. “It’s a bisexual-dating show!” she cries. “It’s hilarious!”

When she ticks off a list of celebrities she’s into, she offers a surprising pick: the burlesque stripper Dita Von Teese. “I know she’s not someone you would expect the daughter of a Republican candidate to like, but I love her,” she says. “I love the way she dresses. If I could look like that all day, I would…in her day clothes, I mean.

“And, yes, I know she’s a fetish star, but”—she lowers her head for this—“I think that’s rock ’n’ roll.”

*****

Meghan has been given a prominent place in her father’s presidential campaign, most notably with her blog, McCainBlogette.com. Loosely inspired, she says—loosely!—by Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail ’72, McCain Blogette is a sometimes irreverent, sometimes overly rah-rah account of life on the Straight Talk Express (“Lindsey Graham is hilarious!”), with tons of photographs and even iPod playlists (favorites have included Wolfmother and Hot Hot Heat). Charming and self-deprecating, McCain Blogette often makes Meghan’s 71-year-old father seem less old, which is surely one of the reasons it exists, even if Meghan occasionally does something like refer to Barack Obama as “sexy,” which she did right before the New Hampshire primary.

Today Meghan doesn’t back off that observation at all. “He’s a rock star,” she says of the Illinois senator. “Everybody flipped out, but I think universally women find him attractive. Whatever.”

By the time we arrive at Garduño’s, the discussion has moved on to the Romney brothers’ dad, Mitt. It’s two days after he suspended his run, and we’re trying to puzzle out why voters never really got around to liking the guy.

“Mitt didn’t keep it real,” Meghan says, munching on a nacho chip.

At the time of our meeting, John McCain’s pretty much got it in the bag. His closest GOP competitor is Mike Huckabee, a former Baptist preacher who has managed to siphon off a surprising number of right-wing voters. Some have suggested that John McCain consider Huckabee as a potential running mate, to placate the Bible Belt.

“That’s not going to happen,” Meghan says firmly. “I don’t think they’d be a good match for a lot of reasons and am not even sure if that’s what Huckabee’s going for, anyway. I think he wants to be the head of the evangelical movement.”

Meghan’s dad, however, very much wants to be president. While she’s delighted to see her father out in front, Meghan sometimes misses the humbler days of the McCain ’08 campaign.

“Over the summer, it was like we were uncool,” she says. “We were the rejects at the other table that nobody wants to hang out with.”

Meghan recalls the day when actor Wilford Brimley, he of the Quaker Oats ads, called to offer his support. An operative got off the phone and grandly announced to the room, “We’ve got Brimley!” The phrase, she says, became a rallying cry for the campaign.

But now everything’s changed. Dad is on the cover of Time and Newsweek, and no one laughs when he talks about the White House, even as sworn enemies like Rush Limbaugh fret about his conservative credentials. Meanwhile, the media glare has intensified on everyone in the family. Dad would soon be batting off questions in The New York Times about an allegedly improper relationship with a female lobbyist. But as the daughter of a four-term senator, Meghan is hardly unfamiliar with the rumor mill.

“You want to hear a hilarious story?” she asks. “I guess you can print this if you want, but it’s not my finest moment. Once, this guy at Columbia was talking to his friends. He was like, ‘Meghan McCain this’ and ‘Meghan McCain that,’ going on, saying that he’d slept with me and that it was great. I just happened to be walking by at the time. I was like, ‘Hi, I’m Meghan McCain. I didn’t realize that we’d met.’ He turned ghost white, so I showed him my ID, and I was like, ‘I’m glad you were sharing our passionate love story.’ ”

Meghan confesses that her real love life hasn’t been especially active lately. She’s gone on only one official date since her dad’s campaign began, but she bowed out early with a “headache.” Then there was also the rumor that she’d been seen with—horrors—a Ron Paul supporter.

“That has been blown out of proportion in every way!” she exclaims. “What happened is that I dropped my coffee and he helped me with it and was like, ‘Do you want to go to Baja Fresh?’… Not that I would be against dating a Ron Paul supporter, but he turned out to be very strange. He collected Barbie dolls. I called my girlfriends after and was like, ‘That’s weird, right?’ ”

“I like bad boys for the most part,” Meghan adds. “In the past, I have liked tattooed guys who wear Converse. But I’d be open to anyone as long as you have a sense of humor. I have also dated totally normal guys who look like you, I guess—D.C.-looking guys.”

D.C.-looking guys?

“Journalist, yuppie, metrosexual guys. How’s that? You’re metro.”

“I’m an acquired taste,” Meghan says matter-of-factly. “I’m a daughter of a Republican senator. I started dating this guy, and he wouldn’t date me anymore because he found out who my dad was. He says, ‘I don’t agree with his politics.’ Isn’t that terrible? That’s why you’re dumping me? We only went on two dates, but still. Not everybody wants to go out with somebody so high-profile. If they do, they’re investment bankers. Seriously. Ugh! If you’re an investment banker, don’t hit on me. You can quote me. I’m not interested.”

Besides, it’s not like Meghan has ever toed the Republican Party line. It’s well- known that four years ago, when her father decided it’d be in his best interest to back George W. Bush’s reelection, she voted for John Kerry. “My dad actually outed me,” she says.

“I’m an Independent. Socially liberal, economically conservative. I believe in a lot of Republican ideals, with the war being the number one thing I completely agree with my dad on.”

Later on I hear from Meghan’s mother, Cindy McCain, who insists that the two simply “love the debate” and aren’t as far apart as they’ve often been portrayed.

“They’re very similar,” Cindy says. “They’re both very intelligent and very direct in terms of—I mean this in a good way—their knowing what they want and knowing how to get there.”

Meghan puts it more succinctly: “I’m almost incapable of bullshit. He’s the same way.”

Indeed, John McCain is nobody’s idea of ideologically consistent, and it’s tempting to interpret his daughter’s progressive positions as evidence that life in the McCain household isn’t exactly a revival weekend at Bob Jones University. But Meghan sees her father’s politics as common sense.

“My dad was tortured in prison; he doesn’t overreact to things. So if he starts freaking out, you know it’s time to freak out,” she says. “And I think he’s freaking out about the environment. He’s like, ‘I’m genuinely worried about climate change; it’s happening right now.’ ”

As for her father’s positive stance on stem-cell research, Meghan says, “He was on that in 2000, 2001. I remember he met with Michael J. Fox, and that was a big thing for him.” I ask her about Rush Limbaugh’s mocking of Fox during the 2006 congressional elections. “It was disgusting. Just gross. I don’t listen [to Rush]. I don’t really watch Hannity & Colmes and shows like that where I know they’re going to talk bad about my dad.”

It’s clear that Meghan inherited her father’s devil-may-care streak.

“Yeah, he was a little rebel when he was my age,” Meghan says. “I’d rather that than if he were boring.”

John wasn’t the original McCain hellion, though. Meghan mentions her grandmother, 96-year-old Roberta McCain, who occasionally joins her son on the trail. Meghan calls her grandmother “crazy in a good way.”

“Nana drives fast,” Meghan says. “She got pulled over for doing 112 in Flagstaff about a year ago.”

A couple of days after my meeting with Meghan, I get a telephone call from Senator McCain. He chuckles at the mention of his daughter’s modern tastes—“She knows how old-fashioned I am in both clothes fashion and music. I’m completely hopeless”—but says he’s a devotee of her blog.

By now, Senator McCain is well versed in talking about his daughter’s liberal side, and he’s ready when I bring it up. “I’m a little bit more conservative than she is,” he says. “The one thing about people who are your parents is they’re certainly not as well-informed as you are. I found that out when I was growing up. But the older I got, the wiser they got, you know.”

It’s a funny line, but it’s also true that by running for president, McCain is subjecting his daughter to more scrutiny than any kid should be forced to experience. When I ask the senator about FDR’s old quote—“One of the worst things in the world is being the child of a president”—he pauses momentarily.

“It’s very, very tough,” McCain says soberly. “You’re in the spotlight all the time, and there’s scrutiny, and young people are going to make mistakes in their lives, and we all understand that. It always presents some challenges to the children of presidents. Meghan doesn’t have to worry about that yet.” And with that, John McCain chortled loudly.

*****

there’s surely a side to her father that Meghan McCain would love to show us but can’t, because, well, you know. She hints at her parents’ interior lives only slightly and only when talking about her mother, Cindy, who often looks stoic and reserved on TV. “People ask me if my mom’s hot,” Meghan says. “That’s my mom! But what people don’t know is that she’s actually hilarious. She really liked Knocked Up and Wedding Crashers.”

Surely there’ll be a talk-show host somewhere who will flip out about these trivial revelations, as if the suggestion a presidential wife actually laughed at a joke in a movie starring a pot-smoking Seth Rogen might somehow send America over the precipice. Surely, Hannity and the boys are going to love to make hay over Meghan’s avowed love for bisexual-dating shows and Dita Von Teese, and for such admissions as “I have a pretty dirty mouth, normally.… I love swearing. Whatever.”

Win or lose, Meghan insists she wants to “properly commemorate the experience” by getting another tattoo at the end of the campaign. (She already has a star outline on the top of her right foot, a souvenir of spring break in San Diego last year.) She and her friends are batting around ideas. The only proposal that’s gained any traction so far is to have mccain written in Old English on the small of her back.

I ask her if she’s ever heard of a bull’s-eye tattoo.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m not going to do that one,” she says. “It’s overplayed, anyway.”

I ask her if she’s ever heard of a bull’s-eye tattoo.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m not going to do that one,” she says. “It’s overplayed, anyway.”

greg veis is a deputy online editor at The New Republic.

Trail of Tears

Iowa: Ouch. That four-letter word must send shivers down Hillary’s spine. How did things go so wrong for a campaign that had come to expect a coronation? On that infamous day, Lisa DePaulo rode shotgun with Tom Vilsack—Mr. Iowa himself, the man who was supposed to deliver the state for Team Clinton—and found a heartbreaking story

I’M SITTING in Tom Vilsack’s kitchen while the former governor of Iowa is upstairs napping. That would be Mr. Iowa—the guy who left office one year ago with a 69 percent approval rating, was a presidential candidate himself (for about three minutes), and is now charged with delivering Iowa for Team Clinton. (Ouch.)

It wasn’t supposed to be this painful.

After he dropped out of the race and signed on with Hillary last March—bringing much of his organization with him—she started to gain traction. The inevitability thing seemed plausible. That was then. But now it’s forty-five minutes before caucus time, and things “have gotten hairy,” as Vilsack put it, climbing the stairs to his bedroom and rubbing his eyes. This nap is the first chance he’s had to catch a few z’s in what seems like forever, seeing as he’s spent most of the past year in the all-out service of Hillary Clinton. He’s been to every corner of Iowa, every little town, every church and bingo hall. Usually, he travels with Hillary, and his wife, Christie, flies with Bill. (Hillary’s plane, he reports, has much better food.) It is said that the Vilsacks—who are not hired guns; they are doing this out of loyalty and, yes, love—would do anything for Hil. And we mean anything. Need proof? Just check out her Web site to see the poor guy dancing (badly) with his wife in an instructional video on how to caucus. (It’s easier than dancing! Get it?)

Sitting in the kitchen, waiting for him to wake up, I can’t help but wonder why they never replaced this hideous linoleum floor. (Governors don’t get paid much, but Jesus.) This is so Vilsack. Tom and Christie spent eight years in one of the most glorious governor’s mansions in the country—18,000 square feet of splendor in Des Moines—but were happy (relieved, actually) to come back to the place they call home: This big old house filled with mismatched “antiques” that Christie inherited from her family, who generations ago picked up pieces on the sidewalk and restored them to make a living. The only relics from their time in the mansion are on a silver tray in the dining room: teacups commemorating each year that Tom was governor. (Christie’s idea.)

At the moment, Christie is out, picking up her “caucus buddy”—some woman she met in line at the bank the other day and became determined to deliver to the caucuses, even if it meant schlepping her through the snow and ice from her housing project in Mount Pleasant. On the way out the door, she told me to make myself at home, Go ahead, honey, reach into the fridge, even though there’s not much in there except for a jar of pickles. Doing this nonstop Hillary thing takes its toll in ways great and small.

Tom’s wingtips are neatly placed by the kitchen door. It was impossible not to notice how, the moment he walked into the house, he removed his shoes, Boy Scout–style. Or how everything in the house—the sturdy kitchen table that Tom’s mother gave them the money for decades ago; the floral-print couch that is their newest acquisition (purchased twenty years ago); the homemade pie shell on the kitchen counter; the child-sized rocking chair and baby rattle, the only things left from Tom’s Dickensian childhood—seems to state the obvious: These are good people. Good people who are about to get their wholesome asses handed to them.

We’ve spent the past seventy-two hours together, traversing Iowa in Tom’s wheezing hybrid. Tom behind the wheel, driving as fast as an ex-governor can without causing a scandal in Iowa. Tom fumbling through the channels on his Sirius satellite radio to reel in CNN while Howard Wolfson from the Hillary campaign is in his ear giving him the up-to-the-nanosecond talking points: She is ready from Day One. Translation: She is not going to lose Iowa, right?

Back at the kitchen table, the governor appears, groggy from his nap.

“Guess this is it,” he says, lacing up his shoes.

*****

the gymnasium in Vilsack’s hometown of Mount Pleasant (population 8,255) is hopping. Not good. Vilsack had just told the umpteenth reporter who called to ask for his prediction, “Tell me what the turnout is going to be, then I’ll tell you.” If the turnout is just okay, it’s Hillary. If it’s more than okay, it’s…yikes. You get the feeling that this is not the kind of guy who, under normal circumstances, would be rooting for the citizens of Mount Pleasant to stay home on election night and not exercise their right to caucus. At the door of the gym, a woman is explaining to all who arrive that there is pizza in the other room—if you’re for Hillary. And if you’re not? asks one. A look that says: Starve, bitch. (Mount Pleasant is doing its part.) Finally, the doors are bolted and a head count is taken. Last time around, in 2004, seventy-six people showed up. Tonight: 169. Tom and Christie are up in the bleachers, looking nervous. He’s BlackBerrying like a madman; she’s smiling through clenched teeth.

“It’s tight, it’s tight,” he keeps saying.

The first vote is taken, and it’s a dead heat between Hillary, Barack, and John Edwards. The way a caucus works (don’t ask), this means each candidate will get three delegates. But down at the end of the bleachers, there’s a stubborn little cabal determined to make Bill Richardson “viable.” Vilsack does the math: If he can woo them over to the Hillary section, she’ll get four delegates, winning Mount Pleasant. (Hey, it’s a start.) He makes his move. His first target is a young man and his 70-year-old mother. They’re here for Richardson, but if they must, they’re thinking of bolting to Edwards. Vilsack extends a paw. “I know these people,” he says. He means the Clintons. He knows Edwards, too, he tells them. (Crikes, he was on the short list with the guy to be John Kerry’s vice president.) “But Edwards’s message is not going to be convincing in the swing states. It’s just not.” The son raises an eyebrow. “I can’t tell you how passionate I am about this,” says Vilsack. “I’m telling you, they’ve got the people, they’ve got the message, they’ve got the ability to attract people who’ve never voted before.” Now the mother is skeptical. So Vilsack tells her his Eisenhower story—he’s been peddling this one all afternoon—about an 88-year-old woman he met who was coming out for Hillary tonight, a woman whose last vote was cast for…Eisenhower. Eisenhower! The son looks at his mother: “Should we listen to him?” The mother eyeballs her son, then eyeballs Vilsack. “You did all right for us as governor,” she tells him, with a little pinch to his arm, “so all right.” Two down.

He moves on to a young dude who just turned 18 and another old lady. Unrelated. The young dude says he was told by the Richardson folks that whatever happens, make sure the vote comes out even for the front-runners because that might keep Richardson in the race. Do not cave. “Well, that’s just wrong,” says Vilsack. Then the silk glove. Trust him, the Clintons are good people. But never mind that. Hillary can win. The old lady ain’t buyin’. She’s thinking of defecting to Obama, who, in her opinion, can’t screw up, “because the white people will be watching him.” Vilsack lets that slide. Plus “he’s the most honest one of all.” Vilsack shakes his head. “I can’t agree with you on that,” he says. The old lady snorts. “You think we’ve forgotten what happened with her and Bill in the White House?” Vilsack lets that one slide, too. “Here’s what you need to know about Hillary Clinton,” he says. “You already know her. Senator Obama is a great guy, but what do you know about him?” (He’s clearly gotten the Wolfson talking points.) Then: “I’m telling you, she’s the best I’ve ever seen.” (He’s gotten the Bill Clinton talking points, too.) Then: “I wouldn’t be asking you to do this if I didn’t feel passionate about this. I know them.”

The old lady smiles. She loves Vilsack. But guess what? “I’m voting for Obama for the same reason I voted for you,” she says, and moves to the Obama part of the bleachers.

The Mount Pleasant caucus ends up a draw.

It is a gloomy, silent ride to the airfield afterward. The notion that he failed to deliver his home state to Hillary—the worst-case scenario come true—is beginning to sink in. Vilsack moans as he checks his BlackBerry. His loyalty thing prevents him from revealing what the messages say, but he doesn’t have to. The moans are enough.

Tom and Christie have to catch a small private plane in god-awful weather to get back to Des Moines in time for Hillary’s (they hoped) acceptance speech. But they know better already. Christie breaks the silence by admitting that she is afraid of small planes. Then more silence in the car. Christie grabs his hand. Not another word is said.

In the pitch-black freezing night, on a lonely airstrip, their plane takes off just as CNN calls Barack Obama the winner. By an eight-point margin. In frickin’ Iowa. A state that is “whiter than the North Pole,” as one  CNN analyst would put it. Tom Vilsack’s state.

For the entire flight to Des Moines, the Vilsacks say absolutely nothing.

*****

it’s easy to forget—and there are times it seems he’d like to forget—that it was this man, Tom Vilsack, who was the first Democrat (well, unless you count Mike Gravel) to declare that he was running for the presidency in ’08. Remember that? The then governor of Iowa, with the boyish looks and unblemished past, was so sure of his potential as a candidate that he walked away from a chance at a third term despite popularity among Iowa voters, and, well…

Three months later, he was toast.

He was done in by money. Or by the lack of it: All the money people were already aligning themselves with “the superstars,” as he puts it—Obama and Hillary, to be more precise, though he is not. Vilsack is not the type to focus on the irony of this, of how the woman he is knocking himself out for now knocked him out of the race a year ago. “I have not had the least bit of regret about not doing what Huckabee was able to do, which was to hang in there long enough. I’ve never regretted the decision I made.” But, he says, “I learned something about myself in this process,” this process of running for president.

What?

“That I have a great affinity for Hillary Clinton. I think she’d be a great president.”

This is so Vilsack. It’s never about him.

“I learned that I’m, uh, how do I put this?” He’s doing seventy now, staring into the blinding-white expanse of Iowa, on the way back from an HRC event in Cedar Rapids. “I learned that I enjoy being part of a team. As a candidate, you aren’t really part of a team. You’re the product that’s being sold by the team. And I just, I just like advocating for someone else or some other set of issues. So far I’m very comfortable doing what I’m doing.”

Is he saying that he’s more comfortable campaigning for Hillary Clinton than he was campaigning for himself?

“I think that’s accurate,” he says. “I mean, there are many personal reasons why I have that feeling about her.”

Loyalty—especially in politics—can be overrated. But Tom Vilsack doesn’t see it that way. His loyalty to Hillary stems from very personal reasons. Their history goes back to his brother-in-law, Christie’s brother, a lawyer by the name of Tom Bell, who shared office space with Hillary Rodham during the Nixon-impeachment process, when both were young crusader types. (Bell admired her so much that he tried to name his daughter after her, but his wife nixed that.)

Fast-forward to 1996. Vilsack was 45—a former mayor of Mount Pleasant currently in the state legislature—and having a life crisis: He didn’t want to be in politics anymore. Felt it was tearing him away from his wife and sons, keeping him from being a real father. This wasn’t your typical spend-time-with-my-family politician drivel. The legacy of Vilsack’s childhood—abandoned as an infant, adopted by a well-meaning but troubled couple, his mother an abusive alcoholic who repeatedly tried to kill herself, his father hopeless and frustrated—is never far from the surface. It has propelled him in many ways, to greatness mostly, and kept him needy in many ways: for family, friends, home. And so it was that he had an unusually close relationship with his brother-in-law, who had an unusually high esteem for the then First Lady of the United States. On the weekend of Vilsack’s eldest son’s high school graduation, he broke it to the family—which is to say Christie’s family—that he was quitting politics. Bell tried to talk him out of it. He was too good to quit; in fact, he should run for governor. You can do this, Bell said. The next morning, Christie and her brother went out for a bike ride, and Bell—50, “one of the most charismatic, energetic, wonderful people I had ever known”—died of a heart attack.

Hillary was one of the first people to reach out to the Vilsacks with her condolences and her own grief.

It affected Vilsack more than his parents’ deaths—neither lived past 57, the age he is now—and his sister’s death, in her forties (after a heart transplant). Because those he saw coming. He started to think there “had to be a reason” for the last talk he’d had with his brother-in-law. (His Catholic roots are never far from the surface, either.) He decided to run for governor.

Fast-forward two more years, to summer 1998. Candidate Vilsack had eked his way through a tough primary, was out of money, and was twenty-one points behind his Republican opponent in a state that hadn’t elected a Democratic governor in thirty years. It was Christie who walked into his office one day with the bright idea: “Let’s call Hillary.” Vilsack remembers whining, “Honey, Hillary’s not gonna throw a fund-raiser for us.” Forget that he was a long shot; this was in the middle of Monicagate. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t ask her for a favor. But Christie could. (In many ways, Christie Vilsack, despite coming off like Miss Mary Sunshine, is the one with a set of brass ones.) A call was made. And Hillary “didn’t hesitate,” says Vilsack. “She said, ‘Absolutely.’ ”

Within weeks the Vilsacks were in Washington, where Hillary raised him enough money to keep the campaign “on life support.” Vilsack kept plugging away, but by mid-October, he was still twenty points behind. He would sit in his rented campaign office in downtown Des Moines—a comical affair with red walls and ceiling and a big picture window, through which passersby could watch him “dialing for dollars, with nobody answering my calls.” But there were polls that showed him inching ahead. “Nobody paid attention to them.” Well, not nobody. “The only person who paid any attention was Hillary.” Back at the White House, the First Lady was following tracking polls in Iowa! Vilsack figures “because of Tom Bell, and because she heard me speak once, she kept an eye on my race.” He’s still amazed by this. She also saw a potential Democratic winner in Iowa—like, duh—but Tom doesn’t see anything crudely calculated in it. All he knows is, when she saw those polls, “she said to her husband and their financial operation, ‘We need to put some money in this, ’cause this guy can win.’ All of a sudden, money came in from everywhere. I mean, Robert Rubin gave us $17,000. All of a sudden, we had dough!”

In the final days of the campaign, with the polls dead even, Vilsack decided he needed a headliner, someone to swoop into Iowa and rally the troops…and there she was again, appearing on the eve of the election. “With thirty-six governor races and thirty-four Senate races and all these congressional races, I figured, you know, she’s got plenty of other things to do than come out to Iowa. But out she came.” She held a rally that attracted almost 2,000 people. A couple of days later, Tom Vilsack was elected governor.

“So you see, she was extraordinarily kind to me and Christie,” he is saying, squinting through the windshield. “That’s a remarkable thing about Hillary Clinton: She has long-standing friendships, and she remembers people. And I think it speaks volumes about her character. So it’s out of friendship, it’s out of loyalty.” He means why he does this. “She’s just a remarkable person.” He ticks off the talking points of why she should be president. Then he gets personal again.

“I was touched by the fact that both she and the president got me birthday presents this year,” he says. Really, what’d you get? He chuckles. “Well, she got me a DVD set of The Godfather, which is my favorite, and a couple of political books. Paul Krugman’s and Ron Brownstein’s. And he got me this wonderful print of a paper from back in 1887 highlighting Grover Cleveland’s visit to Sioux City to visit the Corn Palace.” Neat. “It was.”

Back to that fifty-seventh birthday, in December. It must have been rather poignant for him. “That’s why I celebrated it,” he says. “One of my first goals in life was to live longer than my parents, so I could see my kids grow up.” He’s not a birthday-party kind of a guy, he says, but this was different.

So how did he celebrate it?

“On the airplane with Hillary Clinton.” A beat. “She had a little cake.” What goes left unsaid is the painfully obvious. She came through for him. More than came through for him. She saved his political bacon. And now there is the very likely possibility that he won’t be able to come through for her.

You have to know Tom Vilsack to know how devastating this is.

*****

when you spend a lot of time with a man whose mission in life is to see Hillary Clinton elected president, the Woman Thing inevitably comes to the forefront. The deal is: Vilsack gets it. He has an extraordinary understanding of women. Particularly extraordinary given his own history.

Here’s the short version:

It wasn’t until he ran for president that he knew much of anything about where he came from. Last winter, during a campaign stop, he gave an interview and mentioned that he was adopted and grew up in Pittsburgh. Soon after, he got a letter from a nun: She worked at the orphanage where he’d been born and enclosed pictures of the place and of the kids who’d lived there with him. Did he want to know more? He did. She told him that his birth mother had been 23 (not the desperate teenager he’d imagined), that she’d called herself Gloria (an alias), and that his birth name was Kenneth. When he was fifteen months old, a couple from Pittsburgh came to the orphanage and picked him out of the litter. “My mother used to make fun about this,” he says, “and I always thought she was kidding. She made it sound like she was shopping for a Thanksgiving turkey. She said, ‘We looked for the plumpest kid we could find,’ on the theory that I’d be the healthiest kid.”

His father was a real estate agent, “a truly great human being, a people person. But not a good business guy. When he died, he was virtually penniless.” Both parents drank, but his mother was an especially ugly alcoholic. His childhood memories are these: being afraid to come home from school because he never knew how drunk his mother would be and whether she would beat him. Waking up in the middle of the night and peeking out his bedroom door to see his father walking his mother up and down the hall, trying to keep her awake and alive till the ambulance came, because she had drunk too much or taken pills to try to kill herself. Hearing the clunk clunk of liquor bottles crashing. “She’d go up in the attic and lock herself up there for weeks, and all you’d hear would be the dropping of liquor bottles on the floor.”

By the time he was an adolescent, his mother had been in and out of hospitals, mental and otherwise, and was living on her own. On his thirteenth birthday, his father took him and his sister to Mom’s apartment—she wanted to make him a steak dinner for his birthday. When they arrived, she was blotto (as usual), staggering around, too drunk to cook. The birthday boy got up and walked out. “That’s it, I’m done,” he told himself. Two weeks later, on Christmas Day, his mother was on a train somewhere, drunk, when she decided she’d had enough. “She had a religious experience, a revelation, whatever you want to call it.” She never drank another drop.

In the years she had left (she died at 57 of cancer), they grew very close. He learned to love her in ways he never dreamed possible. “She taught me to never give up,” he says. “She taught me the capacity of the human spirit to overcome anything.” She also left him with the legacy of a son of an alcoholic, something his pal Bill Clinton shares: You always try to fix things, always try to please, and always, at some level, feel that whatever happens, it is probably your fault.

*****

it’s the morning after, and Tom Vilsack is sitting at his desk in his law firm, looking like he just got smacked by a truck. For the first twenty minutes of our conversation, he tries to peddle the new talking points: How well do we really know Obama? Is he really prepared to be president? But his heart’s not in it, you can tell.

By the time his plane touched down in Des Moines at nine fifteen last night, it was over. (Third place. Third!) The only thing left was the concession speech. “The Clintons were kind enough to wait for us to arrive,” he says. “I guess they didn’t want to do it without us being onstage. Which was—” he actually gets a little choked up—“very, very kind.”

He saw Bill first. “I’m sorry we didn’t get the job done,” he told him. Bill—whom Vilsack always calls “the president”—hugged him, said, “We love you guys,” assured him that he hadn’t failed and that, in fact, they had “exceeded their goals.” Exceeded their goals? Now he really felt like crap.

After the speech, he and Christie headed for the door. But someone stopped them and suggested they go up to Hillary’s suite to say good-bye. “I said, ‘The last thing they wanna do is see us.’ But they said, ‘No, no,’ so we waited outside their door for a while until someone said, ‘They’re ready for you.’ ”

Hillary and Bill were sitting around with “the brain trust,” planning their next move. The focus was already on New Hampshire. “They engaged us in the conversation,” he says. “They’re like, ‘We want you to look at this, we want your attitude about this,’ and I’m thinking, Jeez, you know? We didn’t get the job done for you guys and you’re asking our opinions?” He stares into his coffee cup. They ended up spending two hours discussing strategy, until the Clintons hopped on a midnight plane to New Hampshire. Vilsack says the last image he has of that night was of Hillary’s mother: “The door was open to Mrs. Rodham’s room, and I saw her sitting alone on the bed, just staring straight ahead, looking so sad. She was hurting, like a mother who cared deeply about her daughter.” He hesitated, then poked his head in, then sat down beside her. “I kind of said, you know, ‘On to New Hampshire!’ She looked at me and smiled.”

Tom’s BlackBerry is sitting quietly on his desk. Guess there’ll be no more frantic calls from Howard Wolfson, eh? He thinks about this. (Is this the bright side?)

What will happen next will be something as unanticipated as Hillary’s defeat in Iowa. The Obama lovefest, the doom and gloom of the final hours leading up to New Hampshire, then the stunning resurrection of HRC, who would find “her voice,” find her tears, find…well, she’d find precisely what Tom Vilsack had seen in her all along. He may not have been able to deliver Iowa, but as Vilsack knows too well, rejection can do great things for a person. Iowa made Hillary Hillary, and for that, she should be thankful.

lisa depaulo is a gq correspondent.

Photograph courtesy of Getty Images

Almost Human

That hair! Those teeth! Those jokes that sound...for a minute…almost...natural! (Until they’re told again with mechanical precision at the next stop down the road.) Robert Draper followed Mitt Romney’s campaign for a month, in search of the man behind the robot. He thinks he found him. But will America ever do the same?

mitt romney spent January 15—the day he won the Michigan primary and finally emerged as a credible threat to secure the GOP nomination—suspended in his customary state of gee-whizzery. The morning’s campaign load had been very light, just a single undersized rally in an office-furniture warehouse on the outskirts of Grand Rapids. With his fate firmly in the hands of his birth state, Romney now had the rest of the day to kill. Executive decision: Let’s go tour the ol’ alma mater!

And so, after a quick bite of pizza at Hungry Howie's, the Romney clan—61-year-old Mitt and his wife, Ann, three of the five fabled Romney boys and their wives—squeezed into the chauffeur-driven SUV and motored over to Cranbrook Kingswood Upper School in the ultra-affluent Bloomfield Hills suburb outside Detroit. Once they arrived, word quickly spread that Romney was in the building, and the students poured out of their classrooms. Sure, I’ll pose for a few. Did your mom and dad vote this morning? Nice work! Get that boy an internship, heh heh heh!

Romney couldn’t help but be boggled by memories. Why, he’d met his sweetheart, Ann, while here. That was back when the girls were at Kingswood, the boys were at Cranbrook, and he’d seen that pretty little girl on horseback—and Mitt did what boys tend to do in such situations, which was throw a rock at her horse. What a place! Romney ambled into the campus’s weaving workshop and stood over the loom next to the textile instructor. Now show me how these darn things work—isn’t that something?