The Breach

by Peter Baker

  As he went on, Gephardt never addressed the charges against Clinton, but instead maintained that the punishment did not fit the crime and com plained they were not given a chance even to vote on censure. Gephardt was revving up his own troops at this point, stoking their sense of outrage, and they responded. All we are asking for is that we get to vote our conscience, he said, to which the Democrats gave him a standing ovation. In your effort to uphold the Constitution, you are trampling the Constitution. The Democrats were wild by now, on their feet and clapping.

  The Democratic theme held that the Republicans were acting out of anger, but the anger this day was deep on both sides of the aisle. Over more than twelve hours, 261 members lashed out at Clinton or the Republican leadership. Indeed, some of the harshest rhetoric came from the Democrats. The majority may well have blood on its hands by starting this proceeding today, asserted Congressman Martin Frost of Texas, the newly installed head of the Democratic caucus, prompting hisses from the GOP side. Monica Lewinsky is not Watergate! Let he who has no sin in this chamber cast the first vote! shouted Congressman Robert Menendez of New Jersey, another member of the Democratic leadership team, in an obvious reference to Livingston. What the House was doing was a constitutional assassination, in the words of Congresswoman Rosa DeLauro of Connecticut, or a Republican coup dtat, as John Conyers, Maxine Waters, and a half dozen others put it.

  The Republicans tried to be more restrained in their rhetoric, focusing largely on the concepts of duty or the weight of the evidence, all the while laboring desperately not to project an image of extremism. The only way to avoid impeachment is to leave your common sense at the door, said Lindsey Graham. Asa Hutchinson stressed that by covering up his affair with Lewinsky, Clinton had impeded Paula Jones, a fellow Arkansan, in her lawful right to seek redress in court. It is not for the president or his lawyers to determine who can or cannot seek justice.

  The electricity crackled in the chamber and fairly exploded outside it. During a floor speech, Congressman Bob Barr, the Georgia conservative, quoted John F. Kennedy to say, Americans are free to disagree with the law but not to disobey it. Democrats fumed at the citation, none more so than the slain presidents nephew, Congressman Patrick J. Kennedy of Rhode Island. Flush with rage, Kennedy found Barr a short while afterward in the Speakers Lobby, an ornate area just off the House floor where members often congregated between votes.

  You quoted my uncle and you went to a White Citizens Council meeting! Kennedy shouted across the room. Anybody who has been to a racist group has no right invoking my uncles memory! News accounts in recent days had disclosed that Barr spoke about impeachment earlier in the year to a group called the Council of Conservative Citizens, an outgrowth of the old white Citizens Councils that fought integration in the South. In the after math of those reports, Barr had maintained that he did not know the organizations history and renounced its racist views.

  Youre wrong, Barr told Kennedy. Then, the fifty-year-old Republican chided the thirty-one-year-old. Young man, you are showing a lack of decorum.

  Im a duly elected representative of my constituents and I am entitled to say what I want, Kennedy huffed.

  Im impressed, Barr replied mockingly. Im duly impressed.

  Kennedy stormed off and spent the rest of the day railing about that racist. Barr later dismissed him as some punk.

  Through all of this, Gingrich remained virtually invisible. At 12:45 P.M., he wandered into the chamber, walked along the back wall for a few moments, and then quickly left again. The lame-duck Speaker wanted no part of this anymore. His would-be successor, Livingston, kept quiet through the days debate as well, hiding out from the cameras and writing his speech. He had his own crisis to confront. That morning, he had had a visit from a fellow Republican urging him to give up the Speakership in the wake of his admission. You really ought to consider standing down from the election, Congressman Greg Ganske, a former plastic surgeon from Iowa, told him. Ganske said he had come to his conclusion after sleeping on it overnight and did not represent anyone but himself, yet Livingston knew his sentiments were shared by others. Within a few hours, Livingston was closeted away in the Republican cloakroom, entertaining his brief moment of doubt when he considered allowing the president to be censured after all, only to steel himself to go forward at the urging of the aide who came to tell him about Juanita Broaddrick and the rapist in the White House.

  Down Pennsylvania Avenue, Clinton was going through the motions of a normal day, refusing to dignify the proceedings by appearing even remotely interested in them. It was a show, of course, but he went about it relentlessly. He arrived at the Oval Office for work at 9:30 A.M. and received a briefing from National Security Adviser Sandy Berger about the bombing of Iraq, then consulted by telephone with British prime minister Tony Blair.

  At ten-fifteen, though, just twenty-five minutes after the debate had begun on the House floor, impeachment rudely intruded. Waiting to see the president was Chris Shays, the moderate Republican congressman who had held the town meeting in Connecticut earlier in the week. Shays was originally supposed to come down to the White House on Wednesday, but his meeting with the president was postponed in part because of the onset of the war with Iraq. Shays also wanted to put it off until he had made up his mind because he did not want his final decision influenced by Clintons notable powers of persuasion. In the last forty-eight hours, he had struggled with what he had learned about the Juanita Broaddrick story, but had ultimately put aside his feelings of disgust after concluding that no accusations of perjury or obstruction were involved in her case. Given that, Shays concluded he had no choice but to vote against impeachment.

  The news did little to brighten the presidents day, however. Clinton received Shays in a library in the White House residence out of deference to the congressman, who did not want to meet in the Oval Office with its trappings of powerand a now famous adjoining corridor that might prove distracting.

  Mr. President, Shays began, my constituents want you impeached. And, Mr. President, my constituents dont want you impeached. It seemed an apt summary of what he had heard in Norwalk the other night and a fair representation of the larger public mood. For about ten minutes, Shays described his feelings about the case and the sentiments he had heard in that jam-packed town hall. He quoted Franklin D. Roosevelts aphorism about the White House: I never forget that I live in a house owned by all the American people and that I have been given their trust.

  Clinton responded with a forty-five-minute monologue about how he was not guilty as charged and how his actions had been twisted into a nefarious conspiracy rather than an all-too-human lapse. From time to time, Shays interjected a question. Among them was the allegation foremost on his mindthe Broaddrick episode. Clinton denied her account.

  After an hour, the congressman got up to leave. The president returned to his schedule: A meeting with European officials to discuss trade. A briefing by his economic advisers to review the 2000 fiscal year budget. And a session with his advisory council on AIDS.

  Having agonized over what to do, having almost given in to the pro-censure sentiment, Livingston returned to his office. He was still struggling with his speech. He had written a draft and then thrown it away. He had given another version to a secretary at seven-thirty to type up, but still felt unsatisfied.

  Sometime after 9:30 P.M., Tom DeLay showed up with three aides. DeLay was increasingly concerned about the brewing Republican discontent over Livingstons revelations and had brought his team to plot strategy. Livingston asked DeLay to come into his office alone, leaving the aides outside. Behind closed doors, Livingston talked at some length about his plight, and DeLay offered a brutally honest assessment of his situation: There were a lot of angry members, DeLay told Livingston. They needed to figure out how to ride it out. But Livingston was not sure. With a margin of just six seats, Livingston was coming to the same realization Gingrich had six weeks earlier. He thought he could still win the Speakershiphe might even be able to pick u
p some Democratic friends, he figured, to offset any Republican defectionsbut the question was whether he could effectively govern. Whoever would be Speaker would find it incredibly tough even without additional problems; Gingrich had lost his credibility, and now Livingston feared he might have lost his own moral authority.

  Well, maybe I shouldnt even run, Livingston said dejectedly.

  Oh, no, no, DeLay replied. You cant do that.

  It would be tough, but he could win and he could govern. DeLay promised to be there for him. Whatever he needed would be taken care of, the whip said. Livingston thanked him and DeLay got up to leave, hoping he had just averted another disaster. Everythings going to be fine, DeLay reassured Livingstons aides on the way out. I know hes shaken, but the members are with him. Yeah, theres a few who are a little disappointed, a little upset. All we have to do is put our arms around them, look them in the eye, and tell them everything will be fine. DeLay, wearing a dark suit and black wool overcoat, folded his arms in front of him to demonstrate what he meant. He then turned on his heel and left, trailed by his retinue of aides. To Livingstons staff, it was a strange scene, one they would later dub their Godfather moment, with DeLay cast in the role of Don Corleone.

  But Livingston was not fine. By now it was around midnight and his aides were trying to buck him up. Everything would work out, they told him. This was a short-lived story. It was Christmas, a time of renewal and hope. Livingston managed a weak smile. He turned his attention back to his speech. Its a good speech, he told his aides. But it needs a punch line. He kept muttering that. It needs a punch line.

  At 2 A.M., Livingston woke up from a fitful sleep with a realization. He could not call for impeachment without calling on Clinton to resign, he decided. And Livingston could not suggest the president step down unless he did so too. Somehow, someone in all this needed to set a standard. If Livingston resigned, then he would show Clinton for what he truly was.

  You cant! You cant do it. Youre going to kill the party. Youre going to kill the majority.

  DeLay was in tears when Livingston gave him the news the next morning. DeLay had just finished with the weights and stationary bicycle at the House gym shortly after 8 A.M. on Saturday, December 19, when Livingston tracked him down by phone and told him he needed to see him urgently. Forgoing his shower, DeLay threw on his clothes and rushed out to find the would-be Speaker in his Appropriations Committee office. DeLay pleaded with Livingston to reconsider. Without him, the party would lose control of the House.

  No, it wont. Livingston went on to give the same logic Gingrich had just two months earlier: it was such a narrow majority, it would be an incredibly tough job under any circumstances.

  DeLay tried again to talk him out of it, but came around to see his point. Youre right, he said finally. Well, who do you think can do it?

  Livingston had already given that some thought. Denny Hastert, he said, naming DeLays chief deputy whip.

  A mild-mannered, bearlike former wrestling coach from Illinois, Hastert was widely liked on both sides of the aisle and might have a chance of pulling together a rambunctious caucus. Within a few minutes, DeLay had found Hastert on the floor and ushered him into a side room with a copying machine adjacent to the Republican cloakroom.

  Youve got to run, DeLay said. Livingstons out.

  Hastert was taken off guard and reluctant. I need to pray about this. I need to talk to my wife about this.

  Once again, Tom Daschle was getting in the way of Clintons plans for how to handle the impeachment crisis. After nixing Clintons idea to collect the signatures of thirty-four senators opposing impeachment back in the fall, the Senate minority leader now found himself having to quash another ill-considered plan emanating from the White House. This time, he had been asked to come down to the White House for a show of support along with Gephardt after the House impeachment vote. Daschle had no real doubt by this point that he would stand by Clinton in any Senate trial, but the idea of appearing beside him in public at such a delicate moment would destroy the senators credibility as a future juror. Not only would it look bad to the public, signaling that Senate Democrats were not even willing to listen to the evidence and had already made up their minds, perhaps more importantly it might antagonize Robert Byrd and several of the other senators in the Democratic caucus who might come to the same conclusion. The last thing Daschle wanted was to alienate Byrd and push him into the impeachment camp. If Byrd bolted, so might others. Daschle rejected Clintons request and refused to come to the White House.

  Gephardt was not all that enthusiastic about the idea either. But the internal dynamics of his caucus were quite different. In his case, the loudest voices were pushing for a show of solidarity with the president, no matter how impolitic it might be. While the presidents strategists wanted the party leadership to come down to the White House, Charles Rangel, a gravel-voiced congressman from Harlem, was eager to arrange a much bigger rally and kept pushing even when House leaders rebuffed him. Rangels big chance came that morning when Hillary Clinton came to address the Democratic caucus in the Cannon House Office Building.

  The first ladys decision to speak to the caucus, even if behind closed doors, was a late breakthrough for the White House aides who had been desperately praying for her to step in and help rescue her husband. Only she had the moral authority to defend the president and offer him forgiveness, and many of the House Democrats had been waiting to take their cue from her. By the time she arrived at the Cannon Building with John Podesta and Greg Craig around 8:30 A.M.entering through a back door to avoid being photographedthe members had long since made up their minds about how to vote. But she could energize them about their decision to stick with the president.

  I love and care deeply about my husband, she told the Democrats in their private meeting, from which reporters were barred. That she chose to say those simple words carried great power in that room, even if no one really knew the actual state of their post-Monica marriage. We have committed our lives to the values of quality of opportunity and a better life for the children of America, the first lady went on. She thanked the House Democrats for standing up for the Constitution and for not being afraid to stick with the commander in chief, the president, the man I love. The Democrats, who had given her a standing ovation upon her arrival, leapt to their feet again. More than a few choked up.

  As the first lady finished, Rangel seized the moment. He had gone to the caucus chairman, Martin Frost, before the meeting to ask for permission to address the group and propose they go down to the White House en masse after the vote, but Frost had refused, reasoning that it was a bad idea for anyone beyond the House leaders to go down. So when Rangel stood up after Hillary Clintons remarks, Frost refused to recognize him. Rangel marched down to one of the microphones set up in the audience and began speaking anyway, laying out his plan and asking the first lady what she thought of the idea. She liked it, as Rangel knew she would. Come on down, she said.

  Tension flooded the House chamber as members from both parties gathered on the floor a few minutes later, just after 9 A.M., for the second and final day of debate. Even the Pledge of Allegiance stirred up emotions in the chamber. With liberty and justice for all, the recitation ended, whereupon a single voice from the Democratic side of the aisle called out, All! Within moments, others took up the chant. All! they cried. All!

  At 9:30 A.M., Livingston crossed the floor and found John Conyers, who controlled the clock for the Democrats. Im going to speak next, Livingston said, and I might take extra time, but please dont cut me off. You wont regret it, Livingston said cryptically.

  He then approached the lectern on the Republican side of the aisle. He gripped the podium, glanced down at his notes, and looked up again to scan the faces in the audience. The members hushed to hear what the new Speaker had to say, and he began predictably enough, talking about the rule of law and the seriousness of perjury. He said he deeply regretted the hostility that had arisen in the impeachment battle and wished he could
have written a different first chapter to the intended Livingston Speakership. Few in the audience picked up on the adjective. Within a few minutes, he addressed himself directly to the president, confident that Clinton would be watching on television.

  Sir, Livingston said, you have done great damage to this nation over this past year, and while your defenders are contending that further impeachment proceedings would only protract and exacerbate the damage to this country, I say that you have the power to terminate that damage and heal the wounds that you have created. You, sir, may resign your post.

  Cries of anger erupted from the Democratic side of the aisle. No! some shouted. No! Congresswoman Zoe Lofgren sat at the table near the front of the chamber with her arms crossed and a fierce scowl etched on her face. Congressman Marty Meehan, sitting in the row in front of her, booed and turned to a colleague to say, Can you believe this guy? He should resign. Maxine Waters picked up the thought, and jumped to her feet.

  You resign! she shouted at Livingston, slamming her open palm down on the table in front of her repeatedly. You resign! You resign!

  Others picked up the mantra, disrupting the chamber, while Conyers, tipped off that there might be more to this, stood and flapped his arms up and down, signaling his fellow Democrats to be quiet.

  The House will be in order! called out Ray LaHood, the presiding officer, as he banged his gavel.

  Calm restored, Livingston continued. I can only challenge you in such fashion that I am willing to heed my own words, he said, still addressing the president. Begging forgiveness for his mistakes, he said he had hoped to be a good Speaker. But I cannot do that job or be the kind of leader that I would like to be under current circumstances. So I must set the example that I hope President Clinton will follow. I will not stand for Speaker of the House on January sixth.