by Ed Bethune
On February 11, 2011, Federal Judge Roger Vinson declared the ObamaCare law unconstitutional. He said the case before him was not really about health care, or the wisdom of the ObamaCare entitlement. It was about the architecture of the American system. He noted how the proponents of a management-hierarchy were using their own contraption to justify an unprecedented expansion of the Commerce Clause. He embraced federalism and in so doing raised the fundamental question that has concerned me for some time. Are there any remaining limits on the reach of the federal government? To support his position Judge Vinson quoted from Federalist Paper No. 51, written by James Madison in 1788: “If men were angels, no government would be necessary. If angels were to govern men, neither external nor internal controls on government would be necessary. In framing a government which is to be administered by men over men, the great difficulty lies in this: You must first enable the government to control the governed and in the next place oblige it to control itself.”
The struggle that concerned me a quarter century ago has now reached critical mass. Is it the twilight of capitalism? Has Simon’s time for truth passed? The 2010 elections gave hope that the people do not want Harrington’s socialism or the management-hierarchy that socialism requires, but Election Day 2012 will tell the tale. It will be our last chance to choose the road that leads back to federalism and capitalism. If we take that road, our constitution will work. The other road leads to an entirely different constitutional architecture, and an entirely different America.
40
RUNNING FOR THE SENATE
The greater danger for most of us is not that our aim is too high
and we miss it, but that it is too low and we reach it.
Michelangelo
As 1983 was winding down, I began to consider a race for a seat in the United States Senate. Mitch Daniel, who later became governor of Indiana, was the executive director of the National Republican Senatorial Committee (NRSC), the organization responsible for electing Republicans to the Senate. Senator Richard Lugar, Republican of Indiana and a good friend, was chair of the committee. When they heard of my interest, they assured me that I would have the full support of the NRSC if I chose to run.
President Reagan also encouraged me to run because it appeared the Republicans might lose the majority in the Senate in 1986 if we did not pick up a few seats in l984. I met with the president in the Oval Office to discuss the race, and he promised that if I decided to run he would come to Arkansas and campaign for me. I wanted to help the cause, but I was also tired of serving in the House of Representatives. It was simply too hard to get anything done as a junior minority member, and I had to fight every day to assure my hold on a seat in a Democrat leaning district. If I could get to the Senate, I would have more power, less political pressure, and I could actually fix things. Such thinking did not make much sense politically because it would be a difficult campaign. Nevertheless, I wanted to fix the debt and credit issues I had worked on for five years. As a member of the Senate, I could shine light on the problems and force Congress to deal with issues that had the potential to bring the country down.
President Reagan and I talk in the Oval Office about my race for a seat in the United States Senate. Late 1983.
My thinking had little to do with the fact that I would be running against my longtime friend and law school classmate, Senator David Pryor. My philosophy was driving me, particularly my strong belief in federalism and capitalism. Big-city liberals have long controlled the Democratic party. The only hope to restore federalism and save capitalism is to elect more conservative Republicans at all levels of government.
I finalized my decision during the Christmas holiday recess in 1983. Lana, Paige, Sam, and I were staying at the home of Dennis and Liz Hadden in Searcy. The Haddens were away for Christmas, so they kindly let us stay in their house, which was in our old neighborhood near the Country Club of Searcy.
We had a fun, old-time Christmas with a focus on family and the true meaning of the season but I anguished for days thinking about the difficulties of a statewide campaign at a time when Republican was still a dirty word in Arkansas. My friend and pastor, Don Meredith, was visiting in Little Rock and we got together in my district office for a moment of prayer. I wish I could say I had a prayerful attitude but looking back, I know I had too much pride—too much focus on me and my ambitions and not enough on God. Nevertheless, I was comforted and I made my decision that afternoon. I had gone to Congress to bring important change to the country; therefore, I should and would be a candidate for the United States Senate. If elected, I could emphasize my settled belief that we needed to break the cycle of dependency—individual and corporate—that was, and is, turning our country into a welfare state.
Secondly, I wanted to highlight my argument that federally created credit programs such REA, Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, and the Chrysler bailout, were damaging our economy. I believed, unshakably, that the federal government would rue the day that it failed to control these programs. Politicians and bureaucrats should not allocate credit; free market forces should determine such allocations. The director of the Congressional Budget Office, Alice Rivlin, and other experts including Alan Greenspan agreed with me in principle and endorsed my effort to fix the problem, but I needed more power than I had as a minority member of the House to turn my ideas into law.
Finally, I wanted to emphasize the need to scrutinize candidates for seats on the federal bench to determine their judicial philosophy. I put out a letter stating that I wanted to interview all candidates for federal judgeships in Arkansas. I wrote that I wanted to discuss a number of landmark cases to ascertain whether they really believed in strict construction, or whether they were just giving lip service to the concept.
The Arkansas Bar Association, led by liberal Democrats who were committed to my opponent, seized on the issue and tried to make it look like I wanted to get commitments on how the judges would vote on specific issues. They actually voted to censure me after a rigged, kangaroo court hearing in Fayetteville. I appeared to argue my case and was startled when Jim McLarty of Newport—one of David Pryor’s supporters—made the argument that I should not make such inquiries of prospects for district court judgeships, but that it would have been all right to do so if interviewing potential nominees for the Supreme Court. He said he based his opinion on the fact that the Supreme Court is a “policymaking court.” I told him, “Your position is absurd; the Supreme Court is there to interpret law, not to make policy. Making policy is the business of legislators, duly elected by the people.” We need to know how nominees for district court judgeships feel about judicial activism because they might eventually become a nominee for a higher court. I put it this way at the time, “No court at any level has the right to make policy and that is why we must take greater care in the selection process up and down the line.”
In the years since, the members of the United States Senate—Democrats and Republicans—have made it clear that I was simply ahead of the times. Today, members of Congress routinely grill nominees to determine their sentiments about judicial activism.
The three big ideas I had were good ideas, but my timing was bad. It would be another twenty-five years before the country would awaken to these problems. Nowadays all candidates are harping about the unbridled growth of entitlements, dependency, and the welfare state. The runaway credit problems at Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac nearly brought the country down in 2008, and the federal judiciary continues to encroach into the exclusive prerogatives of the legislative branch.
A prescient moment in the campaign occurred the day I announced my candidacy. The first question from the reporters asked why I was running against my good friend David Pryor. I quickly responded, “Look, if the people of Arkansas are looking for a warm, friendly person to be their senator then they should vote for my friend, David Pryor. On the other hand, if they are concerned about the direction of the country and are looking for real change to get back to the basics that made our country
great, then they should vote for me.” It was at that moment that I lost the campaign because people were not as concerned about the direction of the country as I was—they were looking for a warm, friendly person to be their senator. David, by those criteria, was the better choice.
During the race for the Senate, we had many experiences, mostly good ones. No one could have worked harder than we did. We pledged to walk across the state so we set aside several days to actually walk from town to town in various areas of the state. It was a good campaign gimmick, and we got great pictures with supporters waiving the American flag and following us along the road. Toward the end of the campaign, after we had walked for miles and miles and run TV ads promoting our campaign, we found ourselves between Walnut Ridge and Pocahontas. We had stopped for a water break in front of a little white house about fifty feet off the highway. As we drank our water and talked, I noticed two little girls and their mother peeking out from behind the front door of the house. I waved to them and the woman came out to where we were and said, “Are you the one that’s walking? I heard about you on the radio.” I said, “Yes, why don’t you get the girls to come out and we’ll make a picture with them?” She then turned toward the house and hollered, “Girls, get out here and get your picture made with him, he may be somebody, someday!” We all got a big kick out of that, but it really brought us down to earth and made us realize two things. First, not everyone thinks you are “somebody” just because you are a sitting member of the United States House of Representatives. Second, it reminded us how hard it is to spread a political message.
President Reagan honored his promise to campaign for me. He flew into the Little Rock airport on Air Force One on the Saturday before Election Day. An enormous crowd greeted him and an even bigger crowd turned out for a rally at the convention center. The president did a great job for me and for the indomitable Judy Petty who was running to fill the seat that I was leaving. We dominated the news that weekend. Even so, I lost the race for the Senate rather handily. Judy did better in her effort, but she also lost. It hurt, but it was not devastating. Lana and I knew when we started that it would be an uphill battle all the way. We simply could not overcome the built-in advantages of a popular incumbent Democrat senator in the state of Arkansas. I was ahead of my time on the issues, 1984 was not as good a year as 1980, and Arkansans were not quite ready to send a Republican to the U. S. Senate.
We had no regrets about making the race. We were still a young couple. We had enjoyed much success, more than we ever dreamed we would when we started our first campaign for political office. The loss would segue into a period of honest introspection about what we had done and what we should be doing in the years to come. Fortunately, we were about to take a sabbatical that would give us the time to think, distill what we had learned, and plan for our future.
41
SAILING AWAY
There is nothing more enticing, disenchanting,
and enslaving than the life at sea.
Joseph Conrad
Before getting into the Senate race, Lana and I carefully considered the options that would face us if we won or lost.
If elected, we would go to the Senate and do the best we could, most probably spending the rest of our days in the political arena.
On the other hand, if we lost the race, we could and would take at least six months off before making any decisions about our future. The sabbatical is an underused concept, particularly for someone who is leaving elective office. We believed we should put some time and distance between us and the points of reference that surround those in high office.
We did not have a lot of money, but we had enough. Besides, we had started with nothing when we married and figured we could do it again if we had to. We had no fear of being broke but we were afraid that the thoughts and friendships we developed in politics might unduly influence our decision-making. Simply put, we wanted to clear our heads before starting the rest of our life.
We sold our house in Arlington and stored our furniture in the summer of the campaign year, 1984. We planned to buy a smaller house on Capitol Hill near the Senate if we won the election.
Since we had a sailboat and loved blue water cruising we pre-positioned our boat in Savannah, Georgia. Our sabbatical, if we lost, would be a sailing trip to the Bahamas to rest and think while enjoying the sun and sand. We could marshal our remaining assets, and that would give us enough money to complete our sabbatical and help our children who, at the time, were finishing college. By Election Day, we would be ready to go—to the Senate if we won or sailing if we lost. We saw it as a Win-Win situation.
A few weeks before Election Day we knew that things were not going our way. It was apparent that I was going to lose my bid to go to the Senate and the voters had their say on November 6, 1984. When it was over, we took a few days to thank our supporters, talk to media, and take calls from well-wishers. Then we headed directly to Savannah. We provisioned Salute, gave her a good scrub-down fore and aft, and sailed her south on the Intracoastal Waterway to Miami. There we met a number of sailors, mostly Canadians, who were also bound for the Bahamas.
The decision to run for the Senate was a bad one politically, but getting out of politics and taking a sabbatical allowed me think about my life in ways that would not have been possible had I won the race. You learn more from your losses than you do from your victories, and that was certainly true in my case. I had gone from being a guilt-ridden, incorrigible child to the big league of politics and I was puffed up with ego and false pride. It was time to figure out how and why that happened and what to do about it.
Our new environment, sailing freely from island to island, was a perfect laboratory for the hard business of self-evaluation. The contrast between sailing and politics is dramatic. We were free. Not to do anything we wanted; man is never that free. But we were free from the rules, structure, addictions, and preoccupations of political life. Our kids were pretty much out on their own, so it was a good time to break away from politics, making money, career development, building a new home—all the upward and onward stuff.
Within days, Jerry Climer called to say that the media were reporting that we had disappeared and they were spinning it to make it look like we had run away. The reporters knew we were going away for a well-deserved break, but they love to pick over the bones of defeated candidates like vultures with fresh roadkill. We were done with politics, the congressional session was over, I had no more votes to cast and my staff was busy packing my papers for donation to the University of Arkansas archives. I had given the people of Arkansas my best, and I believe they appreciated my service, but the media did not want to write that story. I deprived them of their postelection fun and they did not like it. In reprisal, they began a series of “Bethune Sighting” reports. The mini-controversy did not amount to a hill of beans in my judgment. I was leaving high office and did not care how they might portray me. Furthermore, I no longer had to answer their foolish, trite, often imbecilic questions.
We planned to cruise for six months; enough time for the natural forces that are important to sailors to sweep away the political cobwebs. No longer were we concerned about issues, polls, raising campaign funds, or personal popularity. We now had things to think about that were more important; our provisions, our water supply, the wind, the waves, the currents, and most important of all—staying afloat.
The Gulf Stream is a river within the sea. The current runs swiftly north between Miami and the Bahamas, and when the winds are blowing south, the collision of forces creates an inhospitable sea. Crossing the Gulf Stream to get to the Bahamas would be our first serious test. We were a little apprehensive, but it was a good feeling to be on our way to the islands.
As it turned out, the Gulf Stream behaved itself, and our crossing was uneventful. But our good luck was not to hold. When we arrived we anchored east of Cat Cay, which is just south of Bimini. The day was pleasant and we thoroughly enjoyed making our first landfall in a foreign country. After c
hecking in with the local immigration officials, we settled down to enjoy a fabulous sunset. About the time our wine was gone, the wind piped up, clouds and darkness obscured the beautiful sunset, and all boats in the anchorage, fully exposed to the wind, had one thought in mind—making it through the night. Our anchor was secure on the bottom, but the chain leading from the anchor to our boat was taking a beating. When our boat rose up and down over the large waves, the anchor chain would pull taut and jerk the bow of the boat to one side or the other. A loud clank accompanied every jerk. It was too rough to think about raising the anchor, so we were at the mercy of the sea. We would just have to wait it out. Then, just as day was breaking, the chain broke and we fell back on a second anchor that I had rigged with a rope line off the stern of the boat. That put us with our stern to the wind—a position we could not hold—and to make matters worse the anchor rope had fouled around our propeller. Now we were in a real pickle, and we could do nothing about it. It reminded me of our first day off Turkey Point near the South River on the Chesapeake. Once again, I felt like a turkey, but once again a fellow sailor helped us, and we managed to get to a safe place. The new experience taught us—even when the weather is perfect—to always rig a snubber, a simple device that takes the stress off the anchor chain. It was another bit of information we added to our knowledge of fog, currents, rocky bottoms, and weather. Sailing is that way; you are always learning, and fellow sailors are always ready to lend a hand.