This Town

by Mark Leibovich

  Politico noted: “‘It was only a matter of time,’ said a reporter for one Capitol Hill publication who had worked with Bardella.”

  “Kurt has had danger signs,” said a House Republican aide, granted anonymity by Politico. “If you had said, ‘X press secretary did this,’ Kurt would have been eight out of ten people’s guess.”

  Bardella was deep in the barrel, which seemed to me the right place to leave him, story-wise. Silly me. That was premised on Bardella’s being career-dead, never to be heard from again. Which defies the basic laws of nature for the giant Washington amoeba, the one that says you will always have lunch in this town again.

  • • •

  Bardella disappeared for a few weeks. I did not hear from him. He offered sporadic updates on his Facebook page about playing basketball and being on the Hill. He posted scripture: “‘The LORD is my shepherd; there is nothing I lack.’” He had a bunch of new Facebook friends, which included George Deukmejian, the former Republican governor of California. He talked to friends about how he had lost his way and was returning to God. He was going through a period of self-reflection. I had never heard Kurt talk about religion other than to say he attended Catholic school, but now he was heavy into faith. Not to be cynical, but (oh, what the hell) public faith does tend to be the first step in any Washington rehab.

  He e-mailed me at the beginning of April, apologizing for being out of touch. I was slightly surprised, figuring he might want nothing to do with me, the main accomplice in his downfall. I was also relieved that he was okay. No one I had spoken to in the previous weeks knew where Kurt was. A blogger reported that he had decamped to California, but it turned out he never strayed far from his home in Virginia, with occasional forays to Capitol Hill to visit friends. He told me he wanted to get together to fill me in on what he had been thinking and up to.

  It was about this time that Bardella began submitting op-ed commentaries to Politico. Yes, Politico—the publication that made Bardella D.C.-famous, that published articles that mentioned his name two dozen times in two years, and that went into saturation mode over the e-mail sharing and covered every angle of his disgrace. Now, after just a few weeks in the barrel, Politico was serving as an engine of his rehabilitation. Writing as “Kurt Bardella, former congressional aide,” Bardella wrote short essays for the website’s “Arena” section, an open forum for people to “give their take” on some event.

  “I needed to keep my name out there and stay sharp,” Kurt would tell me a few weeks later about his Politico commentaries. He needed the oxygen of his name in print. When I mentioned to Kurt that maybe he had become addicted to the little crack hits of fame that a news-cycle player like himself had become accustomed to, he denied it strenuously. The commentaries, he said, “were just my way of getting a little bit back into the game.”

  Kurt asked me to meet him at a Sports Club/LA at the Ritz-Carlton downtown, where he said he had been playing basketball for three hours every day. I suspected he liked the cinematographic view of himself as a gym rat. He wanted me to see it—and ideally reflect it in print—as he had been relegated (for now) to the solitary consolation of his beloved hoops. He spoke to me while heaving up three-pointers and hit eight in a row at one point. Kobe Bryant can play. And the court was a perfect tableau for the sidelined operative—a perfect “visual” in the rehab narrative.

  We had lunch at a snack-bar area just off the court. He ate a chicken teriyaki sandwich and spoke of his spirituality. “God has a path for all of us,” he said somberly. He had been praying for patience and grace. He said he had spoken several times to Issa, who never seemed mad at him. “This is someone who would instinctively call me every time he got off an airplane for however many years,” Kurt said. “You don’t just lose that connection.” I asked Kurt if he could see himself returning to Issa’s office. Sure, he said, anything’s possible. But he’s going to wait a while, live on his savings, and see what’s out there.

  Bardella said he had lost fake friends in the saga—the anonymous bad-mouthers—which was fine. He had received affirmation too. Bill Burton, the Obama flack who was the first person to suggest that I write about Issa, sent Kurt a “Hang in there” note. Mikey checked in to see how he was holding up. Several reporters who suspected (rightly) that Kurt had shared their e-mails with me wrote to him, saying they were not mad. They offered to get together at his convenience. And if he was inclined to share his story, they would, no doubt, provide him a “fair hearing.”

  “I could sense the suck-up brigade coming back,” he told me. Faux empaths make some of the best reporters in town, all promising “fair hearings.” Kurt wound up “giving his story” to a reporter he had known for many years at the now defunct North County Times, the paper in his hometown, near San Diego. “I did lose my way a little bit,” the 2001 graduate of Escondido High School told reporter Mark Walker. Bardella told me he knew that Walker would be friendly and that the story would be told in an unquestioning way, which it was. Kurt would then send the story to Mikey, who would excerpt from the “Bardella speaks” exclusive and his contrition would flow safely into the Playbook community.

  A few weeks after Bardella was fired, I would run into people who said they’d been reading about me but did not remember why exactly. Kurt was finding the same thing. The life cycle of public disgrace has been condensed to where the actual offense gets washed away, leaving just a neutral sheen of notoriety.

  Kurt received a call one day from a producer for CNN’s Anderson Cooper. They were interested in Bardella’s coming on air to talk as a “Republican strategist,” or something, to discuss how some people were questioning if President Obama was actually born in the United States—the so-called Birthers. Kurt said the producer told him they were looking for “new voices” to put on the air. Kurt—who offered the bonus of being “diverse” (a rare Asian-American talking head)—said he would be interested. They did a pre-interview on the Birther show but the spot fell through. They agreed to keep in touch.

  Kurt and I had another get-together at the end of May. He asked me to meet him at a cigar bar downtown called Shelly’s Back Room. He had his own private humidor there. I hate cigar bars.

  But I agreed to meet Kurt at Shelly’s in the middle of the day. I was really trying to like him, even now, or at least find him interesting. He told me he had talked to some people about jobs: one with a conservative “super PAC”—an outside group whose primary purpose is to bankroll political advertising—backed by the billionaire Koch brothers, another with some public relations shop in town.

  He had also talked to Jonathan Strong, a reporter at the Daily Caller, a start-up conservative website that was cofounded by the libertarian talking head Tucker Carlson. Strong had covered Congress, which is how he came to know Kurt. Kurt had forwarded me some of Strong’s e-mails. One sequence in early February stuck out in my memory.

  “Favor,” Strong wrote in his subject line. He explained in his e-mail that the Daily Caller was compiling some promotional materials for advertisers. “I have been tasked with getting some quotes from Members about how they read and enjoy the Daily Caller,” Strong wrote. “Is this something you could help me out with?” This struck me as cozy even by the standards of This Town: a congressional reporter asking a member of Congress to lend his name to his publication’s promotional copy. Kurt was happy to be helpful. He asked Strong what he wanted Issa to say. “Just like, I enjoy reading the Daily Caller with some kind of mild variation on that theme,” Strong wrote. “I read it daily, my staff stays updated by reading etc.” Strong added that “my bosses are on my case about it.” He had his response from Bardella in three minutes:

  “Not only has the Daily Caller become one of Washington’s must-reads of the day, but it has found its place in leading a daily news cycle that changes throughout the day. I can’t tell you how many times my staff has sent me breaking news that originates with reporting from the Daily Caller—Re
p. Darrell Issa.”

  “Epic,” Strong wrote back to Bardella a minute later. “Thank you.”

  Now the Daily Caller was looking for a new promotions director, someone to circulate its stories and drum up excitement for the fledgling site. Strong asked Bardella if he could pass along Bardella’s name to Tucker Carlson. Sure, he said. Carlson, who hoped to turn the Caller into a conservative version of the Huffington Post, had been intrigued by Bardella’s energy and ambition. He had obviously won copious exposure for Issa, most of it good (until it turned bad).

  Carlson has a special zest for goosing the self-righteous and condemning posture of The Club. “This is such a judgmental city when it comes to people like Kurt,” said Carlson, who had appeared as a contestant on Dancing with the Stars several years ago. Tucker had called me in April for my opinion on whether he should hire Kurt. I was hesitant to get involved further in Kurt’s fate, one way or another. But I figured it was the least I could do after getting the guy fired. I put in a good word.

  I told Tucker what he already knew: that Bardella was high-risk and high-reward, driven and talented and immature. He had a desperate edge and would have to be watched closely. But it could be a smart, counterintuitive hire. Tucker invited Bardella in to talk about the job and hired him a week later.

  Within a few weeks, Kurt was writing commentaries for the Daily Caller. His first involved Republican congresswoman Michele Bachmann’s entry into the presidential race. “As long as her candidacy doesn’t completely implode,” Bardella opined, “her very presence in the Republican field creates dangers for the more established candidates regardless of whether she wins or loses.” Bardella’s op-ed was excerpted in the morning e-mail roundups, including ABC’s “Note” and NBC’s “First Read.” People were reading what he had to say, sending him notes.

  Bardella’s time in the barrel lasted two months. Now he was back, just like Jack Abramoff was back, out of federal prison after three and a half years. His book (Abramoff’s) would get plenty of buzz later that year and his book party, at Carlson’s house, would include plenty of Washington journalists, waiting together in the valet parking line. Abramoff made a speech, did a lot of interviews, and stayed contrite. Every day was Yom Kippur. He pounded a tight message of atonement. Abramoff was also the subject of a video profile on Politico pegged to his book release. The host, Patrick Gavin, asked the friendly felon questions like “So, what’s the takeaway from jail?” and “Are you excited for this rollout?”

  Kurt said his own “rollout” from the barrel was happening much faster than he ever expected. But he said he was having fun and trying to concentrate on being a better person, learn from his mistakes, and do right by God.

  Meanwhile, the promotions director that Kurt replaced at the Daily Caller, Becca Glover Watkins, had taken a new job on Capitol Hill as deputy press secretary for a publicity-hungry Republican from California, Darrell Issa.

  • • •

  Less than four months after he was fired, Bardella was the subject of a 7,400-word profile by Luke Mullins in Washingtonian magazine, the glossy monthly that Club members pick up in the checkout line at Whole Foods. The story’s headline, as surely it was: “Kurt Bardella: The Comeback.”

  Kurt felt the story painted him in a decent light and helped round out his profile. From reading the story, it was inevitable that Bardella would come full circle soon enough. Issa was quoted saying that Kurt “always has a home with us.” Bardella and some of his coworkers had mentioned this to me as a possibility. On top of that, after Bardella disappeared in early March, so did Issa—from the media: the congressman was trying to keep a low profile after the e-mail unpleasantness. But it was also clear—and discussed on the Hill—that he missed Kurt. Without Mini-Me, he seemed to have reverted to being Congressman Nobody.

  Bardella’s return to Issa’s office was announced August 24, 2011, a little less than six months after he was fired. It stood as the logical completion of the life-cycle: the snake eats itself.

  In his new job, Bardella would not have any dealings with the press. He would work as a staff member, reporting to Issa’s general counsel. The House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform released a statement saying that Issa believed Bardella deserved a second chance, even though he acted improperly.

  9

  Performing Arts

  Richard Holbrooke stood at a White House urinal.

  “Eric, I am very disappointed in you,” he said to the startled White House aide peeing next to him. Holbrooke might have followed the young man in there. It’s the kind of thing he would do.

  The aide was Eric Lesser, a luggage handler on the 2008 Obama campaign plane who finessed that into a gig as David Axelrod’s assistant at the White House. Like most assistants in D.C., Lesser was essentially a glorified secretary. But in a White House whose early months were devoured by the media like free food, even the former suitcase schlepper was hot property. He was the subject of two prominent stories in the New York Times: one on the subject of his Odd Couple yin-yang with Axelrod, and the other featuring Lesser as the de facto officiator of the White House Passover seder. Tammy Haddad honored Lesser at a party before he headed off to Harvard Law School. In his well-positioned Washington Way, Eric Lesser was “worth knowing.”

  Sweet-mannered and conscientious, Lesser sat two gates from the Oval Office. Eric could get you to Axe, and Axe could get you to Obama. No one knew this better than Holbrooke, the inexorable diplomat who brokered a peace between warring factions in Bosnia during the 1990s. Other than possibly George F. Kennan, Holbrooke might have been the most accomplished American diplomat who never achieved cabinet rank. One reason for this was that he was irrepressible—the kind of guy who followed you into the men’s room.

  “The quintessential Washington know-it-all” was how Admiral Mike Mullen, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, fondly described Holbrooke. But Holbrooke’s credentials were relentless. He apprenticed under some of the last century’s foreign policy royals such as Henry Cabot Lodge Jr., Dean Rusk, and Averell Harriman. He was the youngest Foreign Service officer tapped for the Paris peace talks, helped write the Pentagon Papers, served in the Peace Corps, ran Foreign Policy magazine, and was assistant secretary of state for East Asian and Pacific affairs and an ambassador to Germany and the United Nations. Obama appointed Holbrooke to be a special adviser on Pakistan and Afghanistan at the urging of Holbrooke’s longtime friend, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton.

  A connoisseur of power, Holbrooke studied the master moves of Clark Clifford, the city’s signature power broker of the last century (Holbrooke cowrote Clifford’s memoir). Holbrooke marveled over how Clifford worked it in Edward Bennett Williams’s owner’s box at Redskins games, positioning himself at the precise spot where important figures would see him upon entering the elite salon.

  The men’s room gamut was a favorite trick in Holbrooke’s busybody arsenal. But he did not restrict his bathroom politicking to urinals. “Richard once followed me into a ladies’ room to make a point,” Hillary Clinton said. “In Pakistan!”

  Now here was Dick Holbrooke standing next to Lesser, gatekeeper to one of the president’s gatekeepers, announcing that he was disappointed in him. Why?

  Because, Holbrooke said, “You haven’t gotten me in to see David.” Holbrooke had been trying to get in to see Axelrod for some time. Holbrooke figured Axelrod was his best hope for scoring his elusive one-on-one with Obama.

  When I asked Lesser about the urinal episode, which I heard about secondhand, he declined to comment except to say, “I prefer to keep my urinal discussions private.”

  • • •

  Washington is filled with self-appointed larger-than-lifers. Holbrooke represented its platonic ideal, both in its larger-than-life and self-appointed regards. “The Ego Has Landed,” White House aides would tap out to each other on their BlackBerrys when Holbrooke entered meetings.

 
; Convinced he was engaged in historic work at all times, Holbrooke’s pestering, hectoring, and sucking up made him a bit of a Washington cartoon. “He would overdo all this flattery when you knew, basically, he didn’t mean a word of it,” Bill Clinton would say of Holbrooke.

  But Holbrooke also attracted a deep following among his many protégés. He was both tolerated and revered within certain quadrants of the Democratic foreign policy establishment. He was an honorary pallbearer for Pamela Harriman, Averell’s widow, when the Washington hostess was laid to rest in 1997 at the National Cathedral. He eulogized Les Aspin after the former defense secretary died in 1995, hailing Aspin’s “triumphant but unfinished life.” He dated Diane Sawyer—his third wife, the former ABC news correspondent Kati Marton, had been married to Peter Jennings—and was tight with a pantheon of big-name journalists (Tom Brokaw and Charlie Rose, among others). They hailed his intellect and big heart. They celebrated his quirky trips of ego. He employed a personal archivist. They spoke of “Richard being Richard,” a favorite phrase of Hillary Clinton’s to excuse Holbrooke’s strenuous personality as worth the trouble, sometimes.

  “What an asshole,” one friend of Bill Clinton’s once quipped to the former president about Holbrooke upon hearing him bloviate through an event at the Asia Society, a global nonprofit he had chaired.

  “Yeah,” Clinton said. “But he’s our asshole.”

  Holbrooke was never Obama’s asshole. The president tired of him quickly. In one oft-told story during the 2009 debate over troop levels in Afghanistan, a group of foreign policy advisers was meeting with the president in the Situation Room when Holbrooke melodramatically reminded the commander in chief that he faced a “momentous decision,” comparable to what Lyndon Johnson confronted over Vietnam. To which the president coolly responded, “Do people really talk like that?”