The Briefing

by Sean Spicer

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT’S OVER

  CHAPTER TWO

  AGAINST THE ODDS

  CHAPTER THREE

  LESSONS LEARNED

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MEETING TRUMP

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE NEVER-TRUMP CONVENTION THAT NEVER WAS

  CHAPTER SIX

  UPSHIFTING THE DOWNSHIFTERS

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BAPTISM BY FIRE

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TURBULENCE, INSIDE AND OUT

  CHAPTER NINE

  MEMORABLE MOMENTS, MEMES, AND MISTAKES

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE WAY FORWARD

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  NOTES

  INDEX

  To Mike Spicer

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT’S OVER

  The president wanted to see me.

  The call came at four o’clock on a Thursday afternoon in late July in the White House, a time when most staffers were grabbing a cup coffee in hope of a second wind that would sustain them until the evening. My wife, Rebecca, had taken our two children with her on a business trip to Colorado. I was looking forward to working late and catching up on a backlog of calls.

  As always, I felt a twinge of anxiety whenever summoned to see the president.

  The press secretary’s office is roughly halfway between the Oval Office and the James S. Brady Press Briefing Room, but the walk to the Oval Office always seemed longer. Typically, if you are called into the Oval Office, it isn’t for an “attaboy.” More likely, the president was upset by something in the press, or wanted to get ahead of a story, or identified a problem in our communications strategy, or wanted to know more about a reporter.

  Madeleine Westerhout, the president’s executive assistant who sits right outside the Oval Office, directed me to the private dining room that adjoins the Oval Office. Off the Oval Office is a hallway with a bathroom, a private study, and a small, but elegant, dining room.

  President Donald J. Trump was sitting at the end of the dining room table—a rectangular table made of polished, dark-brown wood, surrounded by six chairs. The windows at one end of the room overlooked a patio. At the other end of the room was a large, flat-screen television, mounted to the wall, which had a cable news station on it. He was facing the TV, stone-faced, with two columns of papers on either side of him on the tabletop—memos, documents to be signed, and printouts of news stories and blogs. My deputy, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, joined me. Stephen Miller, speechwriter and senior policy adviser was also in the room, wrapping up a separate discussion with the president.

  President Trump said, “Sean, we’re getting killed in the media. No matter what we do, we’re getting killed. I know it’s not your fault. I know you guys are trying. I think we need to change some things. We need to get some new people in here.”

  Sarah and I nodded; we were understaffed and needed help.

  “We need to get Anthony in here.”

  “Anthony?” I thought.

  Keith Schiller, Donald Trump’s long-time bodyguard, then director of Oval Office Operations, walked into the dining room. “Scaramucci,” he piped in.

  Immediately, the picture became much clearer for me.

  “We need him in here. We need him part of the operation, because what we’re doing now isn’t working,” the president continued.

  If this had been a script, the stage directions would have said, Long and pregnant pause.

  The president doubled down.

  “Sean, we’re getting killed in the media, and we need more people. We need to find a role for Anthony. We need to get him involved. He’s coming in tomorrow morning at ten; we’ll all meet then.”

  It’s true that we needed to add staff, and we needed some fresh thinking, but Anthony Scaramucci wasn’t suited for a position in communications.

  I knew Anthony. His background on paper was impressive. A degree from Harvard Law School, a career at Goldman Sachs, and then financial success at his own firm. Anthony had initially supported Wisconsin Governor Scott Walker for president. When Walker faded, he supported Jeb Bush. On Fox Business in August 2015, acting as a Bush spokesman, Anthony had called Trump “a hack politician,” “anti-American,” president of the “Queens County bullies association,” and dared him to “bring it, Donald. Bring it.”1

  Anthony Scaramucci may not have been an original Trump supporter, but he was now fully on board the Trump train. In the final months of the campaign, he was often deployed as a spokesman on cable talk shows. Trump appreciated Anthony’s aggressiveness in defending him and attacking Hillary Clinton. Anthony had been considered for other administration jobs, from White House public liaison to ambassador to the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development in Paris, France. He was temporarily parked as “chief strategy officer” of the Export-Import Bank of the United States, but the president thought he might have a magic touch with the media.

  One reason was because of how Anthony had handled CNN. The cable news network had wrongly accused Anthony of being the target of an alleged congressional investigation into an investment fund with ties to Russia. An internal investigation showed that the story was false and had been rushed through CNN’s news division without the usual editorial checks. Anthony threatened a defamation lawsuit. As a result, three journalists were forced to resign.2

  CNN retracted the story and publicly apologized.

  “@CNN did the right thing,” Scaramucci tweeted the next day. “Classy move. Apology accepted. Everyone makes mistakes. Moving on.”

  Anthony had slayed the media dragon, and the president noticed. The president had long said, “We need a fighter.” He thought Anthony was just that person.

  The president also hoped that Scaramucci’s apparent toughness might stop the incessant White House leaks to the press. The president was furious about his conversations and internal deliberations turning up in the media, spun by leakers that played into a narrative about a “chaotic” White House. The knife-turn in his gut was the realization that these leaks could only come from people he trusted, from members of his own staff.

  Could the man who had humbled CNN get control of White House leaks?

  We learned that Anthony Scaramucci had told the president, “I can get it done.”

  I shared the president’s frustrations, but plugging all the leaks in any White House is a tall order. That’s how Washington works, and I didn’t see Anthony Scaramucci as the antidote to leaks or anything else that might be wrong with our communications.

  Despite his financial successes, Anthony had no political background, no experience in government, no knowledge of running a large communications operation, and no idea of what a difficult job it is to manage communications in the White House. It might seem turnkey and easy to the casual observer—but the reality is very different. You need great understanding of how the federal government works (and each of the agencies). You have to create a message, maintain that message, and recognize that your audience is not only the press and the general public but also the administration itself, Congress, lobbyists, businesses, workers, special interest groups, and even foreign governments. You have to manage a large staff and balance the needs of a wide range of White House offices. And a communications aide to the president needs to understand the culture of the media—what drives reporters; when to call them out on a wrong report, and when to let it slide; how to negotiate deals on press embargoes; how to keep some information “on background” and off the record.

  Anthony might have delivered energetic and passionate interviews on camera during the campaign, but bringing him into the White House communications office with so little experience was like asking a student pilot with
one lesson to take the stick of an F-22 in mid-flight.

  The president repeated, “Anthony will be here ten tomorrow morning, and we need to have him involved.”

  “Yes, sir.” I immediately began thinking about how we could fit Anthony into our work.

  I had been press secretary from the first day of the administration. I also was the on-again, off-again communications director. The press secretary’s office handles the day-to-day interaction with the media. The communications office shapes long-term strategy to promote the president’s agenda. Communications strategy in itself is a high-wire act, trying to balance all the competing interests within the administration and outside of it. Trying to do that while dealing with the press, agitated by the controversy of the day, is like being Nik Wallenda walking a tightrope while bricks are being thrown at you. It was nearly impossible to do both jobs well, and my preference was to promote Sarah to the press secretary job so that I could focus on strategy.

  I had talked to White House Chief of Staff Reince Priebus and Chief Strategist Steve Bannon about me stepping away from the podium and taking a more strategic role, which I thought better suited my talents. And I was already in that role anyway, working closely with Chief Economic Advisor Gary Cohn and others from his shop at the National Economic Council, the Treasury Department, the White House Office of Legislative Affairs, and the White House Office of Public Liaison to develop a message to sell the president’s tax plan.

  Given the intense demands of the job, I definitely could have used more help.

  But Anthony Scaramucci?

  I wrapped up my work for the night and headed home. No sooner did I close the door to my house than friends and White House colleagues began calling me. The calls all had the same message. Anthony wasn’t just joining the team. He was going to be named communications director. Reince and Steve agreed with me that he didn’t have the demeanor and experience that the job demanded, but it appeared to be a done deal.

  Soon reporters were calling as well, asking if I could confirm the rumor that Anthony Scaramucci had been hired. Their source was Anthony himself.

  Before going to bed that night, I made two calls—one to Rebecca in Colorado, and the other to my mother, Kathy, in Rhode Island. I told them that if the president made the changes I thought he was going to make in the communications office, I would resign.

  “You do what you have to do,” my mom said. “But be sure you’re doing the right thing for your future.”

  My wife was more direct.

  Rebecca, who had served in the communications office of the George W. Bush White House and who had spent years in television news, knew from her front-row seat that my constant struggle to balance press and communications duties was unsustainable. Behind the scenes, her everyday reality had changed dramatically over the past several months, too. We agreed that stepping down from the wire at the right time and in the right way was one of the few things I could control.

  “I support your decision. Just call me if you do resign—I want to know before a news alert pops up on my phone,” she said.

  We had thought this would last a bit longer, but when it’s time, it’s time.

  The next morning at 8:56, I was sitting in my office and heard the little buzz announcing a text message.

  It was from Scaramucci.

  “Hey give me a buzz,” it read.

  I stood there in the morning light and stared at the message.

  I didn’t make that call.

  As 10:00 a.m. approached, I walked over to the Oval Office. The president was hunched over the Resolute desk (carved from the oak timbers of HMS Resolute, and a gift from Queen Victoria to President Rutherford B. Hayes). He had an almost glowering expression, which some mistake for hostility, but I knew it reflected intense concentration.

  Sitting in one of the chairs positioned in front of the desk was Anthony Scaramucci, compact, well-groomed, dressed like a slick Wall Street banker, and smiling. Reince was there too, standing next to Hope Hicks, a long-time Trump aide who was now White House director of strategic communications. Steve Bannon and Sarah had taken places on the couches.

  “Anthony, as I was telling the team yesterday, we need new blood,” the president said. “We’re getting killed in the press. We’ve got to do anything we can to get back on track.”

  Scaramucci said he was honored to serve.

  “Sean, we need to make this work. Reince, are we clear?”

  In my experience, you had to pick and choose your battles with Donald Trump. This was not a time to confront him.

  The previous night Steve Bannon had told me that a communications appointment for Scaramucci was an impending disaster. But there was no longer any room for debate, not with “the Mooch” accepting his appointment in the Oval Office. Steve sat quietly on the couch.

  “This will be great,” Hope said. “This will all work out.”

  “This is what we need. You guys will be great together,” the president said, closing the discussion. Anthony Scaramucci was to be the new White House director of communications.

  Reince, Steve, Sarah, and I retreated to Reince’s office to discuss next steps. The chief of staff’s office is on the first floor of the West Wing, down the hall from the Oval Office. In the confined space of the West Wing, space matters. Most offices are small and cramped. Reince’s office had a long conference table and a patio out back. Only the president and vice president had larger offices.

  As the discussion began about how this transition would work, I didn’t make eye contact. I didn’t take in much of what was said. I do remember Reince suggesting that he and Anthony go see White House Counsel Don McGahn because there would be a lot of issues to clear up internally and with the press before Anthony Scaramucci could take over. Just a few months before, hoping he would get a White House position, Anthony had put his stake in SkyBridge Capital up for sale for an estimated $180 million to the Chinese HNA Group, which some business journalists reported was twice the normal value for such a deal.3 There were rumors about China trying to buy influence in the administration, but there were rumors about everything in Washington.

  Additionally, there was the issue of Anthony’s position as vice president and chief strategy officer at the Export-Import Bank. He would need to resign that post before he could take another government position.

  While Reince was going over the details, I interrupted him.

  “Why don’t you guys handle this? I’ve got something I need to do now.”

  I walked back to my office. I sent two copies of a letter to the printer. It was a document I had first drafted in mid-May.

  I changed the date to July 21, 2017.

  Dear Mr. President,

  It has been an honor to serve in your administration as White House press secretary.

  After considerable reflection and discussion with my family, I have decided to pursue other opportunities. To ensure a smooth transition, I will work through the end of next month.

  I will continue to support your efforts to strengthen the U.S. economy, create American jobs, and fight the evils of terrorism.

  Thank you for keeping our country safe, defending the foundation of our great democracy, and Making American Great Again.

  It was now 11:00 a.m. While the letter finished printing, I quickly called Rebecca and my mother. After I signed it, I walked to the area known as the “Outer Oval.” Madeleine Westerhout was sitting at her desk. I asked her, “Is the president available?”

  She nodded and motioned me into the Oval Office.

  As I walked in, I nearly collided with Reince.

  I asked the president if we could talk and told Reince he could stay if he wanted. The president asked me what was up.

  “Sir, I’ve been thinking about our conversation this morning. And I agree, we need a fresh start in communications.”

  The president smiled and nodded.

  “So, for that reason,” I continued, “I think it is in your best interest and my best interest
for me to resign and let Anthony have a clean slate.”

  I held out a copy of my resignation letter.

  The president first sat back in his chair, as if trying to gain perspective on the paper in my hands. Then he leaned forward for emphasis.

  “No, Sean, no, no, no. We need you here to help make this work. You are part of this team.”

  “Mr. President, the press secretary is supposed to tell the president’s story. But from my first day on the job, I have become the story.” I knew I had become a lightning rod for press criticism. Right or wrong, I had been defined. There was no potential for a do-over.

  “Look, I get it, Sean, but I think we can work this out together as a team.”

  The president knew and appreciated that for six months on a daily basis I had taken punishment to protect him and promote his agenda. I had my share of self-inflicted wounds, but the president knew I did my best to promote his agenda, and Donald Trump has a fierce code of loyalty. He will stand by those who fight for him, just as he is ruthless with people who take advantage of his trust and betray him.

  “Sean, you’re an important part of this team.”

  “Mr. President, I’ll stay on until the end of August to ensure a smooth transition. But this is the change you need and deserve.”

  The president paused a moment before saying, “Okay, if that’s what you think.”

  I thanked the president and calmly walked out of the Oval Office knowing that I had made one of the biggest decisions of my life. I have seen a lot of sides of Donald Trump—tough talking negotiator, political pitchman—but that day I saw another. He was caring, kind, and gracious.

  As I walked back through the Outer Oval, I picked up my pace and rushed down the stairs to the lower level of the West Wing, racing to Staff Secretary Rob Porter’s office. The staff secretary is the president’s gatekeeper for briefings, memos, speeches—the entire presidential paper flow. The staff secretary makes sure that the right papers get to him in a timely way, that they are all tracked and recorded, and that superfluous paperwork doesn’t land on his desk.