by Scott Brown
Then, in August 2009, seven days before he died, Kennedy made a second request. He wanted the 2004 law to be amended, basically changed back, so that the current governor, Deval Patrick, a Democrat, who was a close friend of President Barack Obama, could appoint a replacement for his office, someone who could serve until a special election was held. The compromise was that whoever was appointed as a replacement would not run in the special election. The legislature approved the measure, but I voted no. It was politics as usual on Beacon Hill. Ted Kennedy died on August 25, 2009. On August 31, Governor Deval Patrick announced that a special election to fill the Senate seat would be held on January 19, 2010. The primary to select the Democratic and Republican candidates would be held on December 8, 2009. And in the meantime, a Democratic interim U.S. senator, Paul Kirk, was heading to Washington.
What the professional politicians failed to grasp was how this one decision would begin to incite real anger in the voters. Voters, whether they are Republicans or Democrats, don’t like to see blatant games being played with the election process. Just as in 2004, every maneuver was to ensure that the United States Senate seat stayed in the hands of the Democratic Party.
But it was also the first time in twenty-five years that there had been an open U.S. Senate seat in Massachusetts.
I had a lot of people telling me that I should run. I had been one of the only Republicans to do well in 2008 against the Obama tide. And I was one of the few Republicans actually in office in Massachusetts. In 2009, the party had just 5 out of 40 state legislators, 16 out of 160 state representatives, and no Republicans in any executive office slots. But I certainly wasn’t the only one who was interested. Kerry Healey, who was lieutenant governor under Mitt Romney and had run and lost against now-Governor Deval Patrick, was interested. Former U.S. Attorney Mike Sullivan was thinking about running. Curt Schilling, the retired Red Sox pitcher, was considering his own run, and so was Andy Card, former U.S. transportation secretary and President George W. Bush’s long-serving chief of staff.
It was an intimidating field, but I was thinking about it. Thinking about it hard. I’m personally a strong believer in term limits for any office I would hold. I had committed myself to never serving more than four terms as a state rep or a state senator, where the terms are only two years. If I ran again for state senate, it would be my last time. The only other office I had considered running for was state auditor, because I thought I would have the background and skills to make a difference. Most of the other slots didn’t really interest me. I certainly hadn’t sat around plotting to run for the U.S. Senate. But, like a lot of people in Massachusetts, I was upset by the political maneuvering around the appointment of a replacement for Senator Kennedy, and I was upset by a lot of the things I saw coming out of Washington, particularly the runaway spending and the nasty, partisan politics.
This time, Gail was adamantly opposed to my running. We had over a week of back and forth, of my saying, “I want to run,” and her saying, “No, you don’t.” Finally, she threw up her hands and said, “If you want to make a fool of yourself, go ahead.”
I would never have made it to the point of even considering a run for the U.S. Senate without Gail. For over twenty-three years, she has been my touchstone and my bedrock. She encouraged me and signed on to my political runs, even knowing that they could build a torturous divide between us and would subject the family to the blood sport of Massachusetts politics. Gail is very dedicated to her profession as a journalist and newswoman, a profession that requires her to be completely impartial and fair. When I entered public office, there were entire areas of my life and her life that had to be walled off from each other to maintain that independence, impartiality, and professionalism. There were, quite simply, things that we could no longer talk about, experiences that we could no longer share. When I was criticized or maligned, she had to stay silent, and she did. She could not campaign with me, and she had to stay home on election night. When she wanted to be there, she couldn’t. And she did it because she had made a commitment to her profession and a commitment to working on behalf of our household, so that we could give our daughters the best education, allow them to play sports and pursue their own dreams. She stayed as the silent wife at all costs, and I am grateful and humbled by how hard it was for her to do that.
Now, at the end of August, even Gail thought like everyone else: this was the Kennedy seat; it belonged to the Democrats; why should I run and lose 70–30 in a special election? “They’ve got strong Democrats. They’ve got multimillionaires running, the state attorney general, and a congressman. You can’t win. You just can’t win.” It was my fiftieth birthday, and we had a trip planned, back to Aruba, where we had honeymooned twenty-three years before. She was set on this trip. But I was thinking, “I can win this race.” I learned early in life that no self-respecting basketball player ever leaves the court before taking his best shot. This was no different.
I met with a team of campaign experts: Eric Fehrnstrom, Mitt Romney’s former presidential campaign spokesman; Beth Myers, who had been Mitt Romney’s chief of staff; and Peter Flaherty, a former prosecutor. We started to explore what it would take for me to get into the race. Early on, Kerry Healey decided not to run. I called Mike Sullivan myself to ask him whether he was going to run. Then, on Labor Day weekend, I started calling all the state senators and representatives. I told them I was going to run and asked them for their support. A lot of the people said that they would support me, unless Andy Card ran. Then they would support Andy.
In many ways, Andy was the logical choice, especially after Ted Kennedy. He knew everyone, not just in Washington, but around the globe. Kings and queens and prime ministers all knew Andy. He had a great work ethic, a great demeanor, and a strong family, and I’d always admired him. He was a known name, and someone who could probably raise a lot of money, but he also hadn’t lived in Massachusetts for any length of time in nearly two decades, and he was closely identified with George W. Bush, who, eight months out of office, was not even close to being well liked in the state, to put it mildly. He would have some work cut out for him.
But no one knew if Andy was going to run.
I had put out all kinds of feelers trying to reach Andy, but I had never met him personally and he probably didn’t know me from Adam. But I did know his brother-in-law, Ron Kaufman, a Republican National Committee man, who had campaigned with me back in 2004 when I was trying to win the state senate seat in a special election.
I was in Boston on state senate work when I got a call from Ron. He said, “Can we meet? Andy’s in town and he wants to meet.” Ron and his driver picked me up outside the statehouse in a dark, unmarked SUV with tinted windows, and we drove the short distance to his home in Beacon Hill. When we arrived, Ron said, “We wanted you to meet because Andy’s thinking very strongly about running.” We began with the usual pleasantries and my telling him what a great guy I think he is. And then Andy said, “I’m really thinking about running.” He was planning on announcing within a couple of days; I was planning on announcing that very night at the Massachusetts Republican State Committee meeting, where all the state party activists would be gathering. Andy said, “You are? I’m going to be there. I’m going to speak.”
And Andy told me why he wanted to run, and that he was planning on doing it.
I told him, “Andy, I have great respect for you, but I’ve been trying to reach you for the better part of a month. I’ve had people trying to reach you to see where your head is at, and we haven’t heard anything. I’m running out of time.” Like every other potential candidate, including Andy, I needed to get ten thousand certified signatures to get on the ballot. And then I told him, “Andy, I’ll beat you.”
That upped the testosterone level in the room. He replied, “Well, I don’t need to be threatened by you, you know.” I said, “I’m not threatening you. I’m just telling you honestly that I would beat you because I have a team re
ady, I’ve been working in state politics for twelve years, I’ve got four hundred supporters throughout the state ready to go tomorrow. I can raise money, and I’m on TV and radio regularly, sometimes every day. People don’t remember you. They don’t remember who you are. They remember that you’re the guy who whispered in the president’s ear on 9/11. And they have great love and respect for you for that, but they also know that you were very close to President Bush and right now President Bush isn’t very popular and you will be tied to that. And I don’t have that problem. And I think you would lose and I would beat you.”
You could have cut the tension between the two of us with a knife. Andy Card was offended that I would call him out like that, the first time that we met. And I probably was being a little disrespectful; I was fairly pissed, because I had been working to line everything up and we were ready to go. But he was also pissed. Now, Andy started talking.
I listened to him intently, and we kept talking and talking, and I could see the passion he had about wanting to be in this race, about wanting to do it and to do it really well, and how important it was to him, to his family, and how much he cared for his country. I knew he was serious and would do well if he won. His passion truly moved me, and at that moment, I had an epiphany. I said to myself: This guy really wants to be a United States senator. I’ve always liked him, and I would love for him to be my United States senator. He’d really give them a battle. And who am I? I’m just Scott Brown from Wrentham. This guy’s been the chief of staff to the president of the United States. Ten or fifteen minutes had passed, and I decided that I would throw a curveball, and mean it. I decided that I would support him. I said, “You know what, Andy, I really think you want this.” And he said, “I do.” And I said, “Well, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I will wait until Friday at twelve o’clock noon. And if you tell me that everything’s in order and you want to do this, then I will be with you. I’ll support you tonight at the meeting. I will tell people that you are the best person for the job. I’ll say that I’m supporting Andy, and I’ll ask everybody else to do that. And I’ll do it tonight.”
It was a curveball all right. Andy looked at me in disbelief. He practically asked, “Are you kidding me?” I’ve never seen a look quite like the one he gave me; he was completely floored. And he said, “You’d do that for me?” I answered, “Absolutely.”
Andy shook his head slightly and said—I still remember his exact words—“You’re an amazing guy. Everything people have said about you is absolutely right. I can’t believe you’d do that for me.” I told him, “Look, this is about governing, and because of your experience and who you are—you’re one of my heroes too—you’d be a great senator and I think you’re a great guy. I mean this isn’t about personalities. When I’m telling you this stuff, I’m just speaking very frankly. I’m not trying to be a jerk or hurt your feelings. I’m just being honest with you. Even though I think I can beat you, I’m going to drop out and support you.” And that was it. I went back to my state senate office and told my chief of staff, Greg Casey, that I was going to support Andy Card.
That night, the Republican State Committee meeting was packed with people and cameras, a rarity for this event, which is hardly ever covered. Everyone was expecting a showdown between Andy Card and Scott Brown. I got lots of questions about what I was going to do, and I didn’t say a thing, and Andy didn’t say a thing. I got up first to speak. I gave what I thought was a good speech, kind of like a pep talk, which led up to the line, “And I’ve been working hard to bring this party together and this position is important, it’s a real opportunity for us, and we need to come together as a party and that’s why I’m,” and I paused, and said, “endorsing Andy Card as the next United States senator from Massachusetts. He has my full support, and I encourage each and every one of you to do the same.” The crowd was silent, like a delay in transmission, and then suddenly everyone got up, cheered, clapped, and gave a standing ovation. Andy himself was standing right behind me as I gave the speech. I don’t know if he really thought I would do it, but I did, and I turned and gave him a handshake and a quick hug, and wished him well. He stepped to the lectern, gave a wonderful speech, and that was it. Some of the people there told me that they couldn’t believe I had done it, and asked why. I answered, “Because it’s the right thing. It’s going to unite the party and make us stronger.” And in retrospect, it did. It brought the party together, and it wasn’t about me, or any one person; it was about a strong candidate and a good race. It was about winning the seat. It got people excited.
I waited all week. My group of campaign consultants, Eric, Beth, and Peter, went ballistic over what I had done. I hadn’t told them before I stood up to give my speech. But my mind was made up. I felt comfortable that this had been the right decision. I heard that Andy had ordered ten thousand signature pages to get on the ballot, that he was going out and doing different things. I thought it was over. I paid for the trip to Aruba for Gail and me, and I reserved my spot on a trip that a bunch of my buddies and I were planning on taking to Las Vegas to celebrate our fiftieth birthdays. I made my plans to get on with the rest of my life.
At last, Friday arrived: Friday, September 11. And I didn’t hear from Andy. I placed a couple of calls that afternoon, and nothing. A baseball game was on, and I sat down to watch it and have a couple of beers. Around 9 p.m., my phone rang. It was Andy. He had decided not to run. Now it was my turn to be completely shocked.
I started working the phones; I called my team; I called my chief of staff. By 2 p.m. the next day, I had a hotel reception room rented and campaign signs printed, I had my speech ready, and I had people there. I got up in front and announced my candidacy for U.S. Senate. My case was simple: I believe higher taxes will further weaken our economy and put even more people out of work, while in Washington, politicians mistakenly believe that spending more money and increasing the size of the government is the answer.
I was very blunt, saying, “They are wrong.” It’s the private sector, small businesses and entrepreneurs, which will get the economy going again. Government can help sometimes, but it is also vital for government to know when to step out of the way.
I promised that I wouldn’t take my orders from special interests or from Washington politicians. In the state legislature, I had never taken my orders from the entrenched Beacon Hill establishment. I was not part of the insider club. I promised that if elected, “I will be guided by what’s right for the people of our state. On every issue, I will ask myself: Am I representing the people of Massachusetts? Will this issue empower them, or benefit only big government? Will it raise taxes or increase the federal deficit? Will it protect or create jobs? I do not want to go to Washington to serve the interests of government. I want to serve the interests of the people of Massachusetts.”
I also took a firm stand against the one-party rule that had gripped Massachusetts, saying that we have eleven elected officials from the majority party in Washington, as well as a special Washington office to represent the state’s governor. All of these officials usually vote the same way and often take their orders from the same special interest groups and political leaders. I asked, “Does Massachusetts need another elected official to merely rubber-stamp the policies of one party or one administration?”
I stated that I believed Massachusetts needs someone who is an independent thinker and an independent voter. As a legislator, I have always believed in good government. I’ve always worked across party lines to ensure that when there is debate, the debate is factual, spirited, and never personal, and that the interests of the people of this state are always paramount. My final lines were, “Already, my opponents have started pandering to the special interests, promising to support their pet projects. That’s not the way I operate. Because I don’t owe anybody anything, I’m free to tell the truth and fight for what’s right for all of the people of Massachusetts, no matter their political party. That is the type of se
nator I will be—free to speak my mind, and act in the best interests of the people I represent.”
That was my pledge. I never deviated from it. The day I made that pledge happened to be my fiftieth birthday.
Gail wasn’t the only one who thought I couldn’t win. My consultants didn’t believe it either. “If you run a credible statewide campaign this time, you’ll put yourself in a good position to run for another statewide office,” they told me. They thought that the U.S. Senate run would be a good way to position myself for lieutenant governor or for attorney general, because I was a lawyer and a JAG. A lot of the media and radio hosts were saying the same thing, speculating about what I would run for next.
I never bought into that thinking. I said, “With all due respect, I’m going to win this thing. If I’m going to run, I’m running to win. I’m not running as a stepping-stone for something else.” The thought of running one massive statewide race only to turn around and do it all over again in another nine months made me sick to my stomach.
The consultants nodded their heads and privately concluded that in the next election cycle, the attorney general slot would be open because the current AG, Martha Coakley, was running for the U.S. Senate seat as a Democrat. All the smart, conventional thinking was that Martha Coakley would be the next United States senator. And that was exactly what Andy Card, Kerry Healey, and everyone else had been hearing. They got out of the race, and I got in. To paraphrase Robert Frost, it was the decision that made all the difference.