The Briefing

by Sean Spicer

  The anger that was displayed in the media against the administration sometimes spilled over into personal attacks on me.

  One spring day, I was browsing around an Apple Store when a woman started berating me: “How does it feel to work for a fascist? How does it feel? . . . Have you helped with the Russia stuff? Are you a criminal as well? Have you committed treason too just like the president?”9

  In this case, I was a victim of an “activist” who had previously inflicted herself on Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos and who likes to broadcast her bizarre interactions on Twitter and Periscope. As National Review noted about this encounter, “It takes a true social-justice warrior to accuse Spicer [of] destroying the country, working for a fascist, and being involved in treason, and still have the nerve to call him a racist for smiling and affirming her right to harass him. But when you are sufficiently self-possessed, any encounter can make you a hero.”10

  That encounter happened on a Saturday that I’d spent mostly in the office. (My work-at-home day was Sunday.) Rebecca’s birthday was coming up, and I wanted to swing by the Apple Store in Georgetown on my way to a 5:00 p.m. vigil Mass to buy her an Apple Watch. She had been almost single-handedly raising our children and running our household while balancing her own career; this would be one small gesture of appreciation for all she had done.

  But when it all went viral, I had both the president and my wife asking me what I was doing in an Apple Store. For the president, it was one more example of his press secretary becoming a story. And regarding Rebecca, I had to hem and haw as I worked to keep her birthday gift a surprise.

  People asked me all the time if I felt safe with my newfound notoriety. For the most part, I did because I arrived early and worked late in one of the most secure places on Earth, and I rarely ventured out during working hours.

  What did concern me was the security of my family. We installed security cameras, got rid of all the shrubs around our house, had countless pieces of anonymous mail and packages screened, and got to know the amazing officers of the Alexandria Police Department on their frequent patrols.

  One Sunday, our good friend John Sankovich had gone to our house to help set up some furniture (since I wasn’t ever around to help with home projects). While he was there, a package arrived at our front door. As she was prone to do, Rebecca put on plastic gloves and a surgical mask, took the box outside, and then cut it open. “You just never know, and I’d rather be safe than sorry,” she would say. John had to admit that she was being a bit too cautious. However, it turned out that there was a mysterious item in the box, and she notified the authorities. And that was just one example.

  One afternoon, a neighbor contacted Rebecca to see if we were moving. When she inquired why, we found out that our house had been posted on the real estate websites Zillow and Trulia. That might sound funny at first, but the listing made defaming alterations to the picture of our house and to its written description. We learned that the real estate community takes such fraudulent posts very seriously, and a realtor—whom we did not know—filed a fraud report with the companies, which promptly took the postings down.

  The day I resigned, quite a few TV trucks showed up on our quiet, narrow street. One news outlet—Reuters—put a camera in my front yard to live stream coverage of my house. I don’t know what the news agency expected to see, as I was still at the White House that day, but it did get a riveting video of our neighbor’s kid taking our aging, black Labrador, Bailey, for a walk.

  Rebecca was particularly happy that she and our young children were nearly 2,000 miles away from the cameras, breathing in some mountain air and surrounded by incredibly supportive colleagues at a work meeting in Colorado, when she saw the Reuters alert on her phone.

  My wife, a former news producer, was appalled by what a once-respected news organization was trying to promote as “news.” She called a couple of our neighbors to warn them before they headed home, and she checked on others to make sure that they were able to access their homes and maintain their privacy. But in her call to me, she simply joked, “I hope Reuters enjoys watching the weeds growing in our front yard!”

  Twitter didn’t chuckle like Rebecca. Many Republicans and Democrats cried foul on the Reuters stunt. Even some members of the press thought this was going too far, which I appreciated.

  “Whatta town,” tweeted Maggie Haberman of the New York Times.

  “. . . creepy live broadcast,” tweeted Jim Geraghty of National Review.

  “This is not newsworthy. Spicer is at the White House, not at home. . . . and he has young kids,” tweeted Yashar Ali, a freelance reporter.

  The attitude among some in the media that a public official’s personal life, even family life, is fair game is a view that unfortunately discourages some good people from public service. When I asked Jeff Mason, the White House Reuters reporter who had been the president of the White House Correspondents’ Association, if he thought Reuters’s stakeout of my house was appropriate, he informed me that he did not speak for the company.

  The outrage against Reuters mounted to such a point that the live feed was taken down later that day.

  Although the TV trucks left late that night, some print reporters and still photographers were still around our house the next day. The following morning, when I walked out of the house to take Bailey around the block, the paparazzi snapped away. Bailey, sporting her pink collar, managed to look great in her debut. Unfortunately, the media couldn’t even get my dog’s name right. In a photo caption, she had been renamed “Billy.”

  One of the most memorable aspects of the job was being able fly around the world on Air Force One with the president. Representing the United States in another country is an honor.

  In May, we set off for a week-long tour of four countries (five, counting Vatican City). Of course, it wasn’t a vacation for me or the president; it was President Trump’s first big foreign trip. Our first stop was Saudi Arabia where—again, as a witness to history—I watched the president close a $350 billion arms deal with King Salman, which could mean hundreds of thousands of jobs for Americans. The president also facilitated a number of other commercial deals for American businesses.

  President Trump was obviously in his element, wheeling and dealing, while amid a degree of pageantry I doubt even he had seen before.

  Every trip abroad presents challenges because of the many ground rules that have to be negotiated with foreign governments. So, throughout this time, I was busy overseeing the press arrangements and dealing with disappointed reporters who, for whatever reason, could not get into one function or another.

  Our next stop was Israel. In between meetings with the prime minister and members of the Knesset, the presidential party walked through Jerusalem. I watched the president approach the Wailing Wall, close his eyes, pray, and slip a prayer note into a notch in the wall. The presidential party also walked to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, ascending the very incline that Jesus had walked to his crucifixion and seeing what may well have been his tomb. I felt a profound peace while walking through that dark and holy place, just as I was greatly moved by our brief visit to Yad Vashem, The World Holocaust Remembrance Center.

  A powerful memorial to the victims of the Holocaust, Yad Vashem is dedicated to preserving the memory of the Holocaust victims and honoring Jews who fought against the Nazis. It was a very somber place. After reading the stories of the victims and learning more about that horrific chapter in our world’s history, I walked out quiet, reflective, and contemplative.

  But the press was always with us. Coming out of Yad Vashem, the Israeli press yelled at me, “Hey, Mr. Spicer, what did you think? What did you think?”

  Hope Hicks, who was between me and the president, whispered, “Just keep going.”

  “I think I need to talk to them,” I whispered back.

  I walked over to the press and spoke about what a profound impact Yad Vashem had on me. It was my second visit, but this visit was even more powerful tha
n the first. I told them simply that it’s nearly impossible to process the magnitude and scope of the horrors of the Holocaust. And then I kept walking, in silence for the rest of the way to our vehicle.

  Our next stop was Vatican City where the president was scheduled to have an audience with the Holy Father, Pope Francis.

  I was one of many Catholics on the senior staff—including Hope Hicks, Dan Scavino, Keith Schiller, John McEntee, and Joe Hagin—who wanted to attend. But the night before the trip, I scanned the manifest and saw I wasn’t listed for the papal audience.

  “Listen, the Vatican doesn’t fool around with this stuff,” Joe Hagin, the deputy chief of staff and a veteran of two previous White Houses, told me. “If someone’s not on the manifest, they are not on the manifest.”

  “Okay, Joe, but what if I travel with the motorcade to the Vatican and take my chances?”

  Joe did not like that idea, but he didn’t say no.

  The next day, I walked from our hotel to the motorcade only to be told very firmly that this would not work. Cars carrying people not listed on the manifest would not get through the Vatican gates. Climbing into one of the limos would be a ride to nowhere.

  I was disappointed; being part of an audience with the pope in the Vatican would have been an honor and a dream come true. But I had another idea.

  The night before, I went to Dan Scavino, who was on the manifest. I handed him a bag of ten olive-wood rosaries that I had purchased in Jerusalem.

  “Let me ask you a favor,” I said. “It doesn’t look like I’m going to get in. Will you please take these with you?”

  I told Dan that my mother had asked me to buy her a new rosary in either the Holy Land or Rome. I thought it would be great to take the rosary back to her and to have it blessed by the pope. I knew that the pope would bless everything in the room, and, while I might not be able to meet him, this would be a great way to connect with the Holy Father.

  During the papal audience, one of the monsignors asked Dan, “What’s in the bag?”

  “I’ve got some rosary beads.”

  “Well, why don’t we put them out on a tray?”

  Pope Francis saw the silver tray, placed his hands over the beads, concentrated in earnest prayer, and blessed them. For those of us who trust that God has a plan, this was Him at work. I was reminded that this wasn’t all about me and my getting a picture with the pope; it was very much about sharing God’s grace—and, in my case, having blessed rosary beads for my mother.

  The press inevitably discovered that I was not part of the papal audience, and they once again tried to make me a story. I got calls and emails—“Hey, how come you’re not with the pope, Sean?”—and reporters trying to elicit a bitter comment from me. Politico ran a story about my disappointment, citing unnamed sources. While I would have loved to be part of that papal audience, I had not expressed disappointment to the media or anyone. In truth, I was incredibly humbled when Dan showed me a picture of the Holy Father laying hands on a silver tray of rosary beads.

  I had learned not to share my personal thoughts—any thoughts I didn’t want to see in print—with anyone but Rebecca, or perhaps in silent prayer. And I now found solace in the olive-wood rosary beads blessed by the pope.

  When you truly believe that God has a plan, you have to live your life like that every day—not just for convenient headlines or the media’s preferred narrative.

  It is God who decides the “when” and “how” of our lives.

  As we were off traveling the world, Christiaan Alting von Geusau, the leader of the International Catholic Legislators Network (ICLN), was meeting with Vice President Pence and Mick Mulvaney, director of the Office of Management and Budget, about the ICLN’s upcoming, annual meeting near Rome. While Mick had attended the annual gathering of Catholic legislators in the past (as a member of Congress from South Carolina), he would not be able to attend this year. When Christiaan asked who could attend on behalf of the White House, Mick suggested me.

  Rebecca and I looked at the meeting’s schedule and saw that the ICLN gathering would take place the week before our children had to return to school for the fall. So, we decided to take them with us. And, fortunately, my mother was also able to join us.

  The day we were scheduled to fly to Rome, Rebecca and I had lunch in the Navy Mess with Bishop Michael Burbidge, Father Edward Hathaway, Father Nicholas Barnes, Father Andrew Haissig, and Mrs. Janet Cantwell, the principal of our children’s school. We prayed together for a safe and enjoyable trip, and we had a terrific lunch with great conversation that set the tone for our journey, which would begin at Dulles International Airport later that evening.

  The next morning, we landed in Rome and visited a few of the famous historic landmarks in that majestic city. Then we drove forty-five minutes into the countryside to a quaint village called Frascati. At the top of a beautiful hill, up a winding road, sat an old monastery where the ICLN conference would take place.

  It was a breathtaking location, and we could see the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica from our dinner that evening. Throughout the conference, we had introspective and enlightening conversations with Catholic legislators from around the world, including Australia, Kenya, Argentina, Thailand, Uganda, Ireland, Zimbabwe, the European Union, and the United Kingdom.

  After Mass on Sunday, all of the ICLN attendees boarded buses that drove us to the Vatican. We walked past the Swiss Guard, up some gleaming marble stairs, and into a magnificent room with murals painted across the ceiling. We had to look twice to make sure it wasn’t the Sistine Chapel. As we proceeded to our seats, we could hear, on a loud speaker, the voice of Pope Francis praying before a crowd.

  A few minutes later, some large doors on the side of the room opened, and the Holy Father walked in, with a gentle smile across his face. He offered a blessing to all in attendance, and we joined in prayer. Then his representatives began motioning us up to the front of the room where we would meet the pontiff. When I introduced him to my mother, I mentioned that my father had recently passed away. I asked if he would pray for my father and his soul. He told me that he would do that. He also placed his holy hands on my children’s heads, who were each carrying a rosary.

  God indeed had a plan, and through faith and experience I have learned to trust in Him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE WAY FORWARD

  Summer in Washington is known for being hot and humid. The summer of 2017 was no exception—in more ways than just the weather. Robert Mueller, who had been named special counsel by Deputy Attorney General Rod Rosenstein, was investigating Russian interference in the U.S. election. As a result, one word—“Russia”—had become a catch-all not just for suspected collusion with a foreign power against a political opponent, but for almost any imagined personal or political misdeed of the administration.

  President Trump became increasingly preoccupied with the daily developments of the investigation, speaking with his lawyers first thing every morning. His frustration with Attorney General Jeff Sessions (who had recused himself from the case) and Rosenstein (who had appointed Mueller) was boiling over into his tweets and public comments.

  In my final weeks, I was determined to find ways to lower the temperature with members of the press. I thought it would help to focus more on the content of the briefings. I proposed doing more briefings without the drama of TV cameras and bright lights; I also suggested we bring subject-matter experts and Cabinet secretaries into the briefings to provide more complete information about and perspective into specific policy matters. I truly wanted to focus on the policy objectives of this administration, including national security, tax reform, and trade provisions.

  I wanted the briefings to center on policies and proposals that could impact the daily livelihoods of families across America (many of whom voted for Donald Trump, looking for some economic relief) and that had great implications for the future of our country. But instead, the changes we implemented in the briefing room set off intense media speculat
ion. Was a White House staff shake-up looming? What was the future of the communications shop? Was Reince’s future as chief of staff on thin ice? When asked if there was any truth to the shake-up rumors, Sarah and I—in good faith—denied them. Until the president himself informed us that he was preparing to change the staff, we had no announcements to make. But we were hearing the same rumors as everyone else.

  The game of gotcha continued, even in the off-camera briefings. The White House press corps complained that we had gone a dozen work days in July without an on-camera briefing—even though the president had been to Poland, Germany, and France and tradition held that no on-camera briefings would held while the president was traveling.

  “This is not an accident,” wrote CNN’s Chris Cillizza. “What the White House is doing is working to kill off the daily press briefing—a ritual that has long functioned as the best (and often only) way for reporters to get the White House on record and on video about various issues affecting the country and the world.”1

  For the reasons I outlined in the previous chapter, I respectfully disagree. In today’s multimedia, multi-channeled world, the on-camera daily press briefing was not only an anachronism—it was a source of more drama than illumination. We were finding that our off-camera briefings, “backgrounders,” and one-on-one interviews were more productive, delivered greater detail and explanation, and ultimately yielded better insights for the media and the public.

  Naturally, the White House press corps did not see it that way.

  “Sanders and White House press secretary Sean Spicer appear to be working hard to be, at best, unhelpful and, at worst, openly misleading,” wrote Cillizza who, by my recollection, never attended a briefing in the White House during my tenure, making his writing about the interactions of the press operation in the White House rather ironic. Cillizza took me to task for bucking a question a reporter (who was in the briefing room) had asked about how the administration’s “Made in America” week (an effort to promote American products) might affect companies owned by the Trump family. As he should have known, I was prohibited from answering any legal questions about the president’s personal business.