Black in the White House: Life Inside George W. Bush's West Wing by Ron Christie

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As a black conservative, Ron Christie takes the road less traveled and often takes heat for it from the liberal black establishment. His insider accounts of his time working for both President George W. Bush and Vice President Dick Cheney offers a view into the world of policymaking at this White House at the highest levels. It also provides a refreshingly candid and positive portrayal of these two men who are so often vilified by partisan opponents and the media. A must-read for those who want to go inside George W. Bush's West Wing.

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Black in the White House

NELSON CURRENT

Chapter One

December 2000. My unlikely odyssey to the inner sanctum of the most important suite of executive offices in the world began in the most unlikely of places: Jacksonville, Florida. Just weeks before, I had celebrated the grueling election to the United States Senate of George Allen (R-VA), son of the legendary Redskins coach of the same name. I was serving as Allen's deputy policy advisor, and we were blessed that incumbent Senator Chuck Robb had conceded early in the evening on election night. After speaking to one of my friends in Austin, Texas, who was working on the Bush campaign and congratulated me on Allen's victory, I was confident that the campaign staff of Governor George W. Bush would soon embark on a similar emotional whirlwind of celebration and astonishment when the long journey finally ended. How wrong that assumption would turn out to be for my friends in Texas as well as the entire country.

Three weeks later, I returned home to Alexandria, Virginia, rested and warmed by the vacation my brother and I had just enjoyed in Rio de Janeiro. As I walked through my front door, I was greeted by the sound of my phone ringing and an urgent voice on the message recorder: "Ron, this is the RNC [Republican National Committee] calling. We've chartered an emergency flight going to Jacksonville, Florida, in three hours and we need you to be on it." Emergency flight? I hadn't even put down my bag from my trip, and they want me to go to Jacksonville?

Three hours later, with many of my clothes fresh from the dryer, I found myself on a special charter filled with congressional staff, lobbyists, and other Bush loyalists headed to Florida for the recount, round two. On 8 December 2000, the Florida Supreme Court had called for manual ballot recounts in all Florida counties where so-called "under votes" had not been subject to manual tabulation. Given the uncertainty and chaos surrounding the counting of dimpled and hanging chads in Miami-Dade and Palm Beach Counties, the Bush campaign was taking no chances on whether or not the U.S. Supreme Court would step in to stop further hand recounts: The campaign immediately dispatched Republican recount teams to be on the ground should the mischief recommence.

Immediately upon our arrival at the hotel, we went up to our rooms and descended as one to take up shop in the lobby prior to our first meeting. For many, this gathering was the first time they had been reunited since their original recount adventures. High-fives and hugs were exchanged, and laughter rang out as chad stories from the first recount were relived and embellished.

After we settled in, we moved to the Recount War Room (otherwise known as the hotel ballroom) where team and geographical assignments were distributed. The room looked just as I had imagined: televisions tuned to the cable news networks on either side of the room, a loud (and marginally functional) copy machine in the corner, and telephones all around.

After people took their seats, we were officially welcomed and thanked for coming to the Northern Florida Bush Recount Headquarters at the last minute. The leadership noted that our role at that point was akin to a batter waiting in the on-deck circle. We were to be ready for deployment at a moment's notice, but as yet no demands were placed upon us other than to ensure Governor Bush's votes were fairly and legally counted if we were sent into the field. Given my training as a lawyer, I was asked to be the legal observer of our recount team. I was a rookie to the game of examining punch card ballots, so I was grouped with five veterans from the first recount down south who could show me the ropes in a hurry should the count resume.

My team included a trio of senior Senate aides-Chase Hutto, Geoff Gray, and Matthew Kirk-and I was happy to see that a good friend of mine from the House Judiciary Committee, Steve Pinkos, had joined us, as well as Shawn Vassell, a lobbyist from a well-known Washington D.C. law firm. Immediately upon our dismissal from the recount team meeting, my new teammates and I took stock of our current situation.

Everyone agreed that they were down in Florida to be a part of history and help Governor Bush become the next lawfully elected president of the United States. I was struck by the esprit de corps of my group: Rather than discuss who might get what job in a potential Bush administration, my friends were quite focused on what we would need to do should the Supreme Court permit hand ballot counts to resume. Stories they had shared with me that night about the initial recount in south Florida had shocked me. There were demonstrations by partisans of Vice President Gore and Governor Bush that had escalated into insults-linging and shoving matches. Once inside the recount rooms, my teammates had witnessed election officials who "helped" discern the intent of voters to cast their ballots for Vice President Gore in a less than democratic manner. In short, I was warned to expect the unexpected and to be ready for anything.

Fortunately, not too long after our arrival, the event we had all been waiting for finally arrived, and we sprang into action. Over the course of the evening on 12 December 2000, we received word that the Supreme Court was about to release its final opinion in the matter of Bush v. Gore. For me, this message was particularly poignant as I was down in Florida as our team's legal adviser. Would I have to analyze anything, or would the serious heavy hitters be making all the tough decisions?

Almost as soon as the cable networks announced the Supreme Court had issued its opinion, our fax machine at campaign headquarters hummed to life, agonizingly spitting out one page of the opinion at a time. Fortunately for me, even a cursory reading of the first page told us all we needed to know. By a 7-2 vote, the Justices held that further recounting of ballots by hand would offend the Equal Protection Rights enshrined in the Fourteenth Amendment. Game, set, match to now President-Elect Bush!

After cheering, hugging, and whooping it up for several minutes, the Recount Leadership Team assembled everyone to thank them for sacrificing their time and efforts to help President-Elect Bush. We were then told we would meet again in the morning and that flight arrangements would be made to get everyone back to Washington D.C. in short order. As fate would have it, I would be leaving town a bit earlier than the rest of my teammates.

Earlier in the day, I had received a message from a Scooter Libby-a name that was entirely unfamiliar to me. He had left word that he was calling from the Bush-Cheney Transition Office and was interested in speaking with me about a position once everything down in Florida had been settled. Long before the Supreme Court issued the final opinion that ultimately concluded the 2000 presidential election, the Bush-Cheney Transition Office was well up and running. Located in a nondescript building near the home of transition head Vice President-Elect Dick Cheney, staff were already preparing cabinet secretary candidates selected by the president-elect for their upcoming Senate confirmation hearings. Additionally, folks were hard at work turning campaign policy promises into position papers that could be dissected and discussed by the president's policy team once the doors opened for the Bush White House, now only several weeks away. Apparently, finding policy staff not already burned out by the grueling campaign was paramount on the priority list of the senior leadership at Transition Headquarters.

Later that evening, Mr. Libby rang again. To be honest, I was wondering who the heck Scooter Libby was in the first place, as he had never clarified his role or position. In short, Libby asked me whether I might be able to meet within the next few days to discuss potential openings in OVP (The Office of the Vice President) with him. Of course I could!

16 December 2000. Back home in my condo in Alexandria, Virginia, for only the second time in the better part of a month, I threw down my bags from the legal recount in Florida and headed for the shower. To say I was nervous was a polite understatement. While Mr. Libby sounded pleasant and friendly on the phone, I got the sense that I would only have one chance to make a good impression.

During the twenty-minute drive to McLean, I kept telling myself that I could only tell them what I knew. Any attempt to BS at this level would be a sure ticket to the exit without hope of a return visit. Pulling into the lot behind the Transition Headquarters, I was startled to see several black SUVs parked with their motors running and earnest looking men peering out the open windows-my introduction to the United States Secret Service. My first glimpse of the Secret Service agents drove home the point that I was about to embark on a journey that, if successful, would put me in close proximity to some of the most powerful and important people in the world. Great, I thought, no pressure at all.

I passed through the security checkpoint and metal detector manned by several pleasant, but thorough, Secret Service agents, and thought, I am on the other side of the looking glass. Now what? I was met by Ashley Snee, a friendly staffer from California who had served on the president's campaign staff. After exchanging small talk about our home state, she directed me to a seat on the second floor and returned to her desk. Before me were three doors with computer-generated nametags identifying their occupants. If my memory serves me correctly, from left to right they read: Rove, Libby, Secretary Cheney. Who was this Libby fellow, anyway?

While contemplating the answer to that question, Libby's door opened, and he ushered me inside. Mr. Libby had a warm, engaging face, but I was immediately struck by the power of his eyes. His gaze was probing and steady. I had the distinct impression (one that would later be borne out time and time again) that this man didn't miss much and could spot BS in a nanosecond. And just like that, Libby (he insisted I call him "Scooter") started my interview.

Rather than question my credentials on the Hill or discuss the tactics we employed during former Governor and current U.S. Senator George Allen's (R-VA) successful ouster of incumbent Senator Chuck Robb (D-VA), Scooter asked me about my favorite works of literature and what it was like to play varsity cricket for Haverford College in Pennsylvania. He wants to talk about literature and cricket? I must be doomed, I thought to myself. My favorite book? Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson. Why? I discussed the masterful way the author had spun a fascinating tale of love, discrimination against Japanese Americans during World War II, and a murder trial that would keep Perry Mason fans on the edge of their seats.

We continued our conversation by discussing Philadelphia, growing up on the West Coast, and other important matters, such as our favorite tequila (after a bad experience in college, I was happy to say I didn't have one). In short, for the better part of an hour we discussed everything except why I wanted to join the Bush administration.

Almost as an afterthought, Scooter noted that he had been asked by the vice president-elect to help staff the various offices with policy experts to carry out President Bush's agenda. At this point, Scooter confessed even he didn't know whether or not he would be offered a position himself (an assertion I didn't entirely believe).

We talked about my potential areas of interest before Scooter decided that I might be a stronger addition to the OVP team in domestic policy. "OVP?" I asked. "Office of the Vice President," he responded. When he asked if that would interest me, I nearly fell out of my chair.

After promising to immediately fax an updated copy of my résumé, writing samples, and a condensed list of references, I was about to head out the door when Scooter asked a question while leveling those laser-beam eyes right at me: "What have you ever done that would embarrass the president and vice president? Drinking problems, disciplinary problems, anything? Have you done anything that if uncovered and displayed on the front page of the Washington Post would bring discredit and/or embarrassment to the fledgling administration?" I told Scooter that, save for a few parking tickets from the über-efficient Washington D.C. meter maid brigade, I hadn't run afoul of the law. College pranks and the sort, well, that was a different story. After being assured that all was well, I left the Transition Office fairly optimistic that a job offer would be forthcoming any day. For his part, Scooter had even provided me with the names of a few books that he thought I might enjoy.

Visions of White House grandeur filled my head. Which character from Aaron Sorkin's The West Wing would I most likely resemble? I settled on a cross between Sam Seaborn and Josh Lyman: smart, witty, always armed with the right answer! How soon would it be before I was hobnobbing with the president and helping him tackle tough domestic policy challenges? Oh, it went on and on. There was only one little problem. Just as soon as I had faxed Scooter the promised background information that day, I was treated to a little of Simon and Garfunkel's "Sounds of Silence." No return phone call from Scooter, no return e-mail, no nothing.

Had I blown the interview after all? Should I have elected to talk more about politics than contemporary American fiction? Would my only visit to the White House now come as part of the East Wing public tour? These and Lord knows how many other insecure thoughts raced through my mind as I waited for my phone to ring and my e-mail inbox to announce the receipt of a new message. One day slipped into another, and soon a week had passed. Having heard nothing to this point, I began to fear the worst.

Several days later came a glimmer of hope. Cesar Conda, chief of staff to the recently defeated Senator Spencer Abraham (R-MI) (and soon-to-be-announced nominee for secretary of energy), had called to ask about my interview with Scooter. Apparently, Cesar was in line to command the VP's Domestic Policy Office, and, unbeknownst to me, Scooter had asked Cesar to call and "feel me out." We talked for quite some time about our respective backgrounds and swapped war stories from the Hill. As it turned out, one of his former staffers was a member of my recount team from Florida, and I immediately wondered if I had stiff competition from all corners. Cesar told me that he had heard that the next step in the process would be a one-on-one visit with Cheney himself. Placing the phone down, I wondered how long I would have to wait.

As it turned out, not long. A day or so later, Cesar called to tell me he was about to go in to meet with VP-Elect Cheney. Still nervous after having not heard back from Scooter or anyone else over at Transition, I wondered if my candidacy was still alive. A few hours later, Cesar phoned back and spilled the dirt. He said that he and Cheney had spoken at length about politics, the election, and what the administration had hoped to accomplish on domestic issues. All in all, Cesar felt pretty confident about the impression he had made on the president-elect's closest advisor. I wondered how long it would take for me, if at all, to get my shot as well.

Almost immediately after Cesar and I had clicked off, I got the call I had been waiting for (okay, obsessing over). The vice president-elect would like to see me soon. I couldn't believe it! Had I made it? I was so excited that I went over to the nearby Pentagon City shopping mall to purchase a new tie, but I didn't see anything worthy of this particular interview. The best I could do to dress for success was to put such a shine on my shoes that VP-Elect Cheney would be able to see his own reflection in them.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Black in the White House by Ron Christie Copyright © 2007 by Ron Christie. Excerpted by permission.
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