by From Kennedy-Nixon to Obama-McCain Tension City: Inside the Presidential Debates
Heavy guns were brought in. Former secretary of state James Baker was named to head a committee to negotiate for Bush. Lawyer, investment banker, and Clinton friend Vernon Jordan would do the same for Kerry, who immediately agreed to the commission’s plan. Bush did not.
There were negotiations about the negotiations, and finally a thirty-two-page agreement between the two candidates emerged that went into minute detail about the debates—the room temperature, the use of notes at podiums, even the size of the various holding rooms at the debate sites.
The provision that drew the most attention, however, was this:
“When a candidate is speaking, either in answering a question or making his closing statement, TV coverage will be limited to the candidate speaking. There will be no TV cutaways to any candidate who is not responding to a question while another candidate is answering a question or to a candidate who is not giving a closing statement while another candidate is doing so.”
That was clearly aimed at avoiding a repeat of anything resembling Gore-like Big Sigh shots.
The rules on timing and length of answers and responses were also strict, designed to discourage either candidate from going beyond the short and the well-rehearsed. Avoiding mistakes had definitely returned as the principal mission.
There were open spaces, properly labeled, at the end of the written document for signatures by commission members and the four moderators. There was a strong suggestion leaked in the press that there might not be any debates at all if the commission members didn’t sign.
And any moderator who didn’t sign might be replaced.
Not even negotiating committees run by James Baker and Vernon Jordan could have lived with the repercussions from that nonsense.
By now any threat—real or implied—to refuse to debate was as empty as it was ridiculous. And everybody knew it. The debate imperative was firmly established.
Neither the commission members nor any of the moderators signed anything. The commission agreed to the basic questioning rules but took the position that it did not have the power to dictate where and how the network pool cameras would cover the debates.
We moderators simply reaffirmed—by phone to Janet Brown—that we accepted the invitation. Each of us made it clear that we would neither sign nor make any other arrangement with the candidates.
I began diving into the mountains of Bush-Kerry research the NewsHour staff had prepared for me on domestic issues.…
Then came another call from Janet Brown. The commission had agreed to a candidates’ request that the subjects of the first and second debates be switched. Instead of domestic, the first one would now be foreign affairs and homeland security; the second would focus on domestic issues.
“Let’s just trade debates,” said Schieffer, an old friend, in a separate call to me minutes later. He was by then as deep in foreign affairs/security as I was in domestic. But trading debates at this late date was not an option, we were quickly told by the commission. The order of the debates and the moderators had been agreed upon. Don’t rock the boat.
So at Bob’s suggestion, he and I simply exchanged questions. I sent over all of my domestic research to Schieffer at his office at the CBS News Washington bureau, and he forwarded his foreign material to me. (Neither of us, it turned out, used the other’s questions word for word, but they were of great help to both of us.)
Then on September 20, 2004, ten days before the first debate was scheduled, Baker and Jordan put out an eleven-sentence joint statement:
“We are pleased to announce today that President Bush and Senator Kerry will participate in three debates.” That was the first sentence. “We wish to commend the Commission on Presidential Debates for its efforts on the 2004 debates,” was number eleven.
Those in between simply repeated what the commission had announced earlier, including the moderators. The only major change had been the domestic/foreign–national security switch between the first and second debates. Otherwise, the commission’s unilateral decisions on the basics stood—and, with it, increased independence.
Beyond the basic research, the big issue confronting me was how to deal with the actual rules of the debate. The commission had conceded a return to limits that specifically precluded direct exchanges between candidates and, in my opinion, discouraged follow-ups and free-flowing discussion.
I spent considerable time figuring out ways I might be able to make it work better without violating the letter of the rules or my promise to implement them.
There were two categories of questions: response and new question. I made a series of elaborate charts for tracking how I would go from one to the other in such a way that might create a flow.
And, behind a closed door in my Washington office, I practiced using those charts. I considered a few likely answers from Bush and Kerry and worked through several possibilities of what I could do if one said this, the other said that—back and forth, on and on. It took many hours and much concentration but it did finally result in my going into a comfort zone much sooner than I had expected.
I even had a couple of mornings when I didn’t wake up wide-eyed with the frantic thought Oh, my God! Is this the day of the debate? That had been part of my anxiety pattern going back to that first 1988 Dukakis-Bush debate.
The zone held as Kate and I went off to Miami, along with what I called our “moderator fire team.” They were NewsHour executive producer Les Crystal, a man of grace and experience who made sure every production base was covered on my behalf. Annette Miller, head of our research operation, created an editorial room for any late-breaking news or information I needed to absorb. Tim Perry, our tech expert extraordinaire, set up computers and printers. Marge Hubbard, the queen of makeup, was there to cover up the huge bags that have been under my eyes since hours after I was born.
We were met at the Miami airport by Carlene Ackerman, a commission volunteer who drew the daunting assignment of “seeing to” all moderator wants and needs, as she had in 2000 and would do again in 2008. Ackerman once worked as executive assistant to then secretary of state Warren Christopher. She was—is—the best.
The headquarters hotel was the Biltmore in Coral Gables, which billed itself as “A Culmination of Exceptional Grace, Style and Beauty.”
Soon Jamie, Lucy, and Amanda arrived, along with other members of our family. I had invited everyone to come on the grounds that this would definitely be the last one of “these things” I would ever do.
Among the major attractions for the kids was a white stretch limousine that was provided to take us where we needed to go.
On debate morning, one of those trips was to a men’s clothing store in Coral Gables for me to buy a new tie to wear at the debate. That custom began when Lucy and Amanda went with Crystal, Miller, and me to buy a tie the afternoon of the 1996 Clinton-Dole debate in Hartford.
Bush-Kerry was a bright red thing that cost $145.
The distance from the hotel to the debate site, the University of Miami Convocation Center, was short—thank God. There were fourteen of us from the family and team crammed into the back of the limo, high school prom–style.
There were no security hassles this time. The only critical moment came when our eighteen-month-old granddaughter Olivia had her diaper-covered bottom checked by a Secret Service agent with a handheld metal detector. We assumed the agent was a man with a sense of humor.
We were installed in the office of the University of Miami women’s basketball coach. It included plenty of space for the entourage as well as a desk with a computer and printer that Perry had set up for me.
That first debate experience Kate and I shared at Winston-Salem in 1988 alerted us to the obvious fact that precise knowledge is everything in a debate operation.
Standard candidate preparation includes mock debate sessions with questions campaign advisers deem the most likely to be asked. Such advisers are known for their intensity in scooping up every scintilla of information that could be helpful.
Kerry did his pre-Miami prep at a resort in Wisconsin. Former Clinton White House lawyer Greg Craig played Bush. Bob Shrum, a Democratic consultant who had worked in the Gore campaign, was the stand-in moderator. New Hampshire senator Judd Gregg played Kerry at Bush’s Texas ranch rehearsals. Republican media consultant Mark McKinnon starred as the moderator. Gregg had also played Gore for the 2000 Bush mock-ups, and Craig had been Bush for Gore. Maybe the similarity in names leads to fitness for playing presidential candidates in mock debates?
Whatever, five days before the Miami debate, while still in Washington, I had ceased discussing what I might ask either Bush or Kerry, including with members of our own NewsHour staff. I did not want anyone to be put in the position of having to lie about what they might know of what was to come.
I also never ever let the loose-leaf binder with my question work notes out of my own hands. I didn’t actually put them under the pillow, but it was close.
Two hours before the debate, I went into a private room with Kate—and only Kate—and ran through my debate strategy and read the probable questions out loud. That final check with Kate had been a ritual ever since Winston-Salem, even when we had to do it by phone.
As always, Kate had reactions—and suggestions.
And, as always, I took every one of them.…
Twenty minutes before 9 p.m. eastern time, I was escorted out of the coach’s office to the stage.
One of the rules that the commission adopted after 1992 was strict silence from the audience in the hall. So after being introduced to the audience of six hundred people chosen by the campaigns and debate sponsors, I laid down the law. I reminded everyone that they were not there to participate. This was not a talent show. Applause, cheers, hisses, and/or boos to demonstrate approval or disapproval were not only not permitted; they were mortal sins. I told them that if this rule was ever violated, I would stop the debate, turn around, and point to the culprit before a national television audience that would most likely include everyone they have ever known in their lives.
I said it all with a smile, but I meant every word.
Then I took my seat at the moderating desk, with my back to the audience, and got ready for what was to come.
One of the reasons I was at a comfort level that let me proceed without breaking into hives or the shakes was the commission’s production and technical staff. My confidence in them, as usual, gave me some of my own.
Executive producer Marty Slutsky is not only a longtime network producer; he’s also an accomplished guitarist, his major gig having been with the well-known folk-rock band McKendree Spring. Larry Estrin led the audio crew, who with Russell Emery, were the heroes in 2000 who got sound back in my ear in St. Louis. Paul Byers was the timer in charge of the clock and colored lights. John Hodges, Michael Foley, and several others on the production crew designed and constructed the sets.
Slutsky in his quiet voice, counted me down and cued me.
“Good evening from the University of Miami Convocation Center in Coral Gables, Florida.”
The TelePrompTer was working and visible through a slit in the TV-set background. No problem. I went through the basics, pointing out that while the umbrella topic was foreign policy and homeland security, the specific areas were chosen by me, as were the questions. The candidates did not know what the questions would be.
“For each question there can only be a two-minute response, a ninety-second rebuttal, and, at my discretion, a discussion extension of one minute.”
I reminded everyone that, under the rules, the candidates could not direct questions to each other. And I went through the green, yellow, and red light system for timing answers and the fact that now there was even a “backup buzzer system if needed.” That also, I assumed, was a residue of Gore and 2000. If a candidate went over a particular time limit and the moderator was unable to shut him up, then, via the loud sound of the buzzer, everyone on the planet would know. It reminded me of the technique developed years ago to signal grade-schoolers that recess was over.
President Bush and Senator Kerry were introduced, and they took their positions at their respective podiums.
“As determined by a coin toss, the first question goes to you, Senator Kerry. You have two minutes.
“Do you believe you could do a better job than President Bush in preventing another 9/11-type terrorist attack on the United States?”
And we were off.
“Yes, I do,” Kerry replied immediately, and then after some mandatory words about the debate hosts added, among other things, “I can make America safer than President Bush had made us.”
Bush, in his rebuttal, did not respond directly. Under the rules, the next two-minute question went to him.
“Do you believe the election of Senator Kerry on November the second would increase the chances of the U.S. being hit by another 9/11-type attack?”
I was a happy moderator. From my perspective, I had managed to match an apple with an apple and, in the process, also ask a follow-up!
But moments later I had a mind freeze. Kerry was speaking, but suddenly I could not remember if it was his response or the answer to a new question. My little charts were too elaborate. I had used check marks on them as each one-two-three grouping of questions was accomplished.
There was a check mark after “response,” all right, but was it meant to be? Or did I put it there too early?
I said a quiet plea to myself and simply guessed—it was his Response. That turned out to be correct. On to Bush for a New Question!
And, for me, on to an escape from what would have been an embarrassing moment similar to when I mistakenly called a time limit on George H. W. Bush in 1988. I could do without another one of those, thank you.
I shoved the charts out of the way, never to be looked at again, and got on with it.
In a ninety-second Response, Kerry accused Bush of diverting attention and resources to invading Iraq before finishing the main post-9/11 mission against Afghanistan and Osama bin Laden.
“This president has made, I regret to say, a colossal error of judgment. And judgment is what we look for in the president of the United States of America.”
Coming next, under the rules, was to be another New Question to Kerry.
“New question, two minutes, Senator Kerry. ‘Colossal misjudgments.’ What colossal misjudgments, in your opinion, has the president made in these areas?”
Now here was a real follow-up, asked within the New Question rules. It seems like a very small-potato accomplishment now, but at the time, it was a big deal—to me, at least.
And I continued to do that throughout the debate.
The next New Question, for instance, went to Bush.
“What about Senator Kerry’s point, the comparison he drew between the priorities of going after Osama bin Laden and going after Saddam Hussein?”
Later, I returned to where I had begun in a New Question for Kerry.
“As president, what would you do, specifically, in addition to or differently, to increase the homeland security of the United States than what President Bush is doing?”
I’ll admit that it was not terribly well worded, but at least my mind was unfrozen and I was keeping the flow going, using very few prepared questions. I was reacting to what had been said, the way it ought to be.
Confident now that I could make this work, I went on with questions about how to decide when to bring the troops home from Iraq, the weapons of mass destruction issue, Vietnam-Iraq comparisons, Iraq miscalculations and alleged misinformation, preemptive wars, nuclear threats from Iran and North Korea, and sending troops to stop the killing in Darfur.
One of the most telling exchanges, to me at least, came near the end when I asked Bush if there were character differences between the two serious enough to deny Kerry the presidency.
After some nice words about Kerry and his family and a joke related to both having gone to Yale, Bush accused Kerry of changing his positions on Iraq.
&nbs
p; “You cannot lead if you send mixed messages. Mixed messages send the wrong signals to our troops. Mixed messages send the wrong signals to our allies. Mixed messages send the wrong signals to the Iraqi citizens. And that’s my biggest concern about my opponent. I admire his service. But I just know how this world works, and that in the councils of government, there must be certainty from the U.S. president.”
Kerry responded with praise for the Bush family as well, particularly First Lady Laura Bush, and said he was not going to talk about differences in character on grounds that it was not his job or his business. But he didn’t stop there.
“But this issue of certainty. It’s one thing to be certain, but you can be certain and be wrong.
“It’s another to be certain and be right, or to be certain and moving in the right direction, or be certain about a principle and then learn new facts and take those new facts and put them to use in order to change and get your policy right.
“What I worry about with the president is that he’s not acknowledging what’s on the ground, he’s not acknowledging the realities of North Korea, he’s not acknowledging the truth of the science of stem-cell research or of global warming and other issues.
“And certainty sometimes can get you in trouble.”
Both Bush and Kerry then agreed that nuclear proliferation was one of the most serious problems facing the security of the United States. There followed a brief back-and-forth about Russia, before the debate ended with matching two-minute closing statements.
Throughout, the candidates obeyed the time rules, for the most part. The sound of a playground buzzer was never heard. There were a few occasions, in fact, when Bush didn’t use the full time he was allotted for a particular question or response. That was a debate first, at least in my experience.
The post-debate reaction, interestingly enough in light of Al Gore’s Big Sighs of 2000, focused on the demeanor of President Bush. He was judged by many—and later he acknowledged it himself—as having come across as annoyed, irritated, impatient. He was even seen doing things close to Gore-like sighing.