And the Good News Is...

by Dana Perino

  These types of phrases work well in an office, too. No matter how frustrating a meeting might be, it’s better not to roll your eyes, scowl and frown, put your pen down, and cross your arms over your chest while staring at the floor. Instead, practice your best poker face and put it on when you need to mask a feeling. Then, to make a constructive argument, summarize what you believe the person has just said before you start responding. I would do this with reporters to try to avoid a disagreement over a misunderstanding. In my experience, as soon as voices are raised productivity is lost. Disagreeing for disagreement’s sake won’t get you very far.

  To win a heated argument, you have to keep your cool.

  Swallow Your Sarcasm—Save Your Job

  Sarcasm is like cheap wine—it leaves a terrible aftertaste. When we were teenagers, we learned how a sarcastic remark could get us noticed. We could make our friends laugh and our parents mad—anything to get a rise out of them.

  In the workplace, using sarcasm can get you the kind of attention you don’t want. There’s a difference between something that’s clearly funny and something that’s rude. Since it’s not always possible to gauge where that line is, it’s usually better just to keep your mouth shut.

  I relearned this lesson right after I left the White House. I was invited to give a speech for my speaker’s bureau in front of a large group of potential clients, and I made a humorous but stinging remark about President Obama. No one laughed. It was just way too soon for a person like me to say something like that. I immediately regretted my mistake, not only because I felt terrible for saying it, but also because I knew I’d just blown a potential business opportunity. Since then, I just use self-deprecating humor in speeches—that way the only person I might offend is myself.

  I swallowed plenty of sarcastic remarks when I was the White House press secretary. Imagine how hard it is to keep from biting someone’s head off when you’re on the ropes every day. But I constantly asked myself, “If President Bush was watching me right now, would he be proud of what I’m saying?” and that kept me from getting into trouble for saying something that might sound funny to my friends but rude to anyone else. I had this regular self-imposed sarcasm monitor and I knew it wasn’t charming or persuasive to be nasty to the press. I think that disdain from the podium comes off terribly and hurts the press secretary and his or her boss.

  That doesn’t mean I was above getting frustrated, but I tried to keep it hidden.

  But I have a confession about something I did to get me through a few of my briefings.

  The first person I ever told about this was Sean Hannity when he came for a tour of the White House in December 2008. When we stood at the podium for photographs with his kids, he asked me how I didn’t ever lose my cool.

  “Didn’t you ever want to just walk over and punch one of them?” he asked.

  I said I never contemplated physical altercations, but that I did have a secret weapon that helped me get through some of the tougher exchanges with reporters.

  I showed him how the podium has a little shelf just below where I’d set my notes. On the rare occasions when the briefing was getting too intense or testy and a reporter was showing off for the cameras, I’d just rest my hand next to my water, out of view of anyone, keep a pleasant look on my face, and flip ’em the bird. (I’m sorry, Mr. President! But it got me through some tough briefings.)

  Sean loved that—I think it humanized me for him. I asked him to keep my secret until I was ready to spill it myself. In all the years I’ve been on his show, he never said a word even though it’s one of his favorite stories from Washington.

  Let me apologize to anyone in the press corps who is offended that I may have secretly told them to read between the lines—I didn’t mean it personally. Besides, put yourself in my size 5.5 shoes—it’s a tight squeeze. What would you have done? And for all I know, maybe you were flipping me off, too.

  Democrats Are Humans, Too

  Here, let me prove that you can be a Republican and praise a Democrat, even be friends with them, without melting. Some of my favorite lessons in civility are ones of bipartisan cooperation and understanding.

  One of the most sought after invitations in Washington is to the Gridiron dinner. The Gridiron started in 1885 and is one of the oldest and most prestigious media clubs in the country. Membership is by invitation, and reporters know they’ve really made it if they get to join. And for politicians, diplomats, press secretaries, and policy wonks, invitations are hard to get.

  In 2005, I’d been the deputy press secretary for about a month when the Gridiron took place at the Capitol Hilton in Washington, D.C. USA Today invited me to sit at their table. “Now I’ve really made it,” I thought.

  It was a white tie and tails event—really fancy, especially for someone who had two formal dresses for the entire Bush Presidency (one short, one long—both black. I just rotated them to every event. For this dinner, I wore the long one).

  Every year the ballroom is packed with narrow tables lining the room, a stage on one side for the skits the press puts on, and another for the head table. The entire event is supposed to be off the record so that people can say anything they want and not worry about it showing up in the paper the next morning (it’s a great concept, but trust isn’t what it used to be in Washington).

  I found my seat. The chair across from me was empty when I sat down, so I made small talk until the other invited guest arrived. To my delight and surprise, it was the junior Senator from Illinois, Barack Obama.

  Count me among his many admirers after his Democratic National Convention speech in 2004. I was quite pleased to be sitting with him. He was the talk of D.C., and he’d only been there a month.

  I didn’t know enough to be intimidated by him as a future President, so Senator Obama and I talked and talked. We laughed our butts off for four hours. At one point during a break, he took me over to meet his wife, Michelle, who couldn’t have been kinder to me.

  We had a great time, and I gushed about my new friend to my husband that night.

  “I think he could be a really good President in, like, twenty years,” I said.

  Well, three years later, when I was the press secretary, Senator Obama was the Presidential nominee for the Democratic Party. And he was in the pole position to win it. And so we met again.

  In September 2008, the Republican candidate, Senator John McCain, suspended his campaign in the middle of the financial crisis and headed to Washington to help broker a deal on the bank bailout bill. The President then had to invite the Presidential candidates, and the Congressional leadership to the White House. It was high political theater and everyone had a role to play (though some played theirs better than others).

  President Bush and his team met in the Oval Office for a pre-brief before the meeting. I was one of the last people to file into the Cabinet Room for the meeting. When I crossed the threshold, I saw Senator Obama shaking hands with everyone. His energy filled the room. Senator McCain seemed more of a bystander than a participant, but I took that as him being polite and understanding the gravity of the moment—not just for his campaign but also for the country.

  As Senator Obama turned toward me, I stuck out my hand to introduce myself, but he threw open his arms and said, “Dana Perino! It is so good to see you!” And he wrapped me in a brief hug. I blushed.

  I said, “Sir, you may not remember, but—”

  He interrupted me, his hands on my shoulders. “Not remember? That was my favorite night in all my time in Washington!”

  Then I really turned red—especially since I wasn’t sure everyone else knew what he was talking about!

  I took my seat with the rest of the senior staff on the side of the Cabinet Room, behind the President, flattered that Senator Obama even knew who I was, let alone remembered the Gridiron as fondly as I did.

  The deputy chief of staff, Joel Kaplan, leaned over and whispered to me, “What was that all about?”

  “I’ll tell you later,
” I said. “But I just might vote for him, too!” (Note: I didn’t.)

  The Most Likable Guy in Town

  Vice President Joe Biden has led a remarkable life as a public servant. And he’s one of the few people in Washington that’s accumulated friends rather than losing them over his career.

  In the spring of 2010, the Vice President invited the newly confirmed Broadcasting Board of Governors over to his place to be sworn into our new roles. The BBG was a bipartisan board, and I was one of the Republicans that President Obama nominated.

  I was nervous to go back to the White House—I had that concern about being unwelcome because I’d worked for President Bush (so I was paranoid—but it wasn’t without merit). My Democrat friends insisted I go with them, and I brought Peter along for moral support.

  The Vice President made his entrance. He rounded the corner and said, “Where’s that Dana Perino? Oh, there she is!” He came toward me with his arms outstretched and gave me an enthusiastic hug.

  He had me all wrapped up and said, “I watch you every day on TV. You’re fantastic! Won’t you come over to our side? I listen to everything you say!”

  Still locked in his hug, I said, “Well, sir, I listened to everything you say, too… so that I can make fun of it later.”

  He howled and put an arm around Peter and chatted to us for several minutes. I learned that day why most everyone in Washington likes Joe Biden—he’s one of the most personable and friendly politicians you’ll ever meet.

  The Most Likable Gal in Town

  One of the privileges of having worked in the White House is talking about the experience in front of audiences interested in politics. My frequent partner at speaking opportunities over the years has been Donna Brazile. Donna’s middle name could be “Civility” when we’re together.

  Donna was the first woman and first African-American to manage a Presidential campaign—Al Gore hired her for the job in 1999. I laugh every time she starts a speech, “First of all, I’ve omitted everything of a partisan nature from this speech, so I’m left with ‘Thank you, and good-bye,’ followed by, ‘I’m Al Gore’s former campaign manager, so no matter how well things go this afternoon, I can’t win.’ ”

  Anywhere we go, Donna brings the house down. In airports, I have to act like her campaign staffer to fend off the fans so we can make our flights.

  Donna and I got to know each other after Hurricane Katrina. She’d grown up the third of nine children in New Orleans and she was devastated by the storm and its aftermath. She took a lot of heat from her fellow Democrats when she decided to reach out a hand to help President Bush rather than to use it to slap him politically, but her efforts were a big part of getting the aid New Orleans needed to rebuild. She put results ahead of partisanship, and that’s the best way to be measured.

  When our audiences see us together, they’re reminded that two people born and raised in very different circumstances can grow up to share experiences and motivations. So what if we disagree on the best policies for a better economy, education system, or national defense? We start with the same goal, and then we work out how best to achieve it. This is not a novel approach to problem solving, though sometimes Washington can make it seem like a foreign concept.

  And if we can’t agree on anything else, at least we know we share a true love—our dogs, Jasper and Chip.

  In 2013, Donna was in New York City and came over to watch 60 Minutes (I really know how to show someone a good time). Jasper climbed all over her—his new best friend. I always trust my dog’s judgment.

  After the show, Jasper and I walked Donna to her hotel. We had to cross Broadway at Sixty-Third Street, going toward Lincoln Center. It was Fashion Week, which in NYC means lots of traffic, tons of stilettos, and even more glitz and glamour than usual.

  As we were crossing the street and chatting, Jasper started to have a poop with only fourteen seconds left to cross the street (the streetlights in New York City show the countdown). I was slightly humiliated and worried that with all the traffic the drivers wouldn’t see us. So Donna, controlling her laughter, went into the middle of the street with her hands up shouting to the drivers to make sure they saw Jasper.

  She yelled, “Hey, hey, watch out, that’s America’s Dog—give us a little bit of time here, folks!” While she created the diversion, I scooped up the deposit and we got across the street with one second to spare (my glamorous big-city life!). The taxi and bus drivers were laughing and honking.

  It was one of life’s funny moments. Friendship and dogs—perfect.

  No Politics at the Dog Park

  And while we’re on the subject of canines and civility, the dog park should be a politics-free zone. Seriously, folks, if you are hanging with the dogs, give it a rest.

  My refuge in the last several years has been the dog park. It’s where I don’t wear makeup and get to talk about how cute our dogs are, the weather, and what was on TV last night. On my walks at the dog park, I try not to check my e-mail (but I do send pictures). I go out in any weather and walk about three miles. I don’t talk about my job, and for the most part my fellow dogwalkers have no idea what line of work I’m in. I’m known as Jasper’s Mom (my best title).

  I have met many friends at the dog parks over the years—in San Diego, it was Del Mar Dog Beach; in Washington, Lincoln Park and Congressional Cemetery; and in New York, Central Park (leash-free until 9 a.m.—it’s the best part of Manhattan). It’s usually a politics-free zone. But there are exceptions.

  People who don’t work in politics but follow and enjoy it love to find someone to talk to. On occasion at the dog park, if one of these folks recognizes me or I finally reveal in conversation what I do, they want to get some insight into the news of the day and sometimes they want to have an argument. I have different ways of dodging such discussions, but it isn’t always easy. Sometimes I have to be blunt.

  At Central Park there was a guy from my building who started coming every morning with his two little dogs. He was a wealthy man who worked in high finance. I knew he was wealthy because it was just a very natural thing for him to say. He wasn’t showing off, it was just a fact.

  He recognized me from the Bush White House and from Fox News. He had been hosting a lot of Democrats for high-dollar fund-raisers at his apartment and would try to impress me with people he’d met. I smiled and nodded but didn’t encourage discussion. I didn’t want to get drawn into any arguments, and for weeks he tried to goad me into conversation and I politely dodged his overtures.

  Soon I started avoiding him altogether, but dogs will be dogs and Jasper liked to play with his so sometimes I couldn’t help but talk with him. One day after a particularly newsy week, I saw him making a beeline for me. It was a beautiful sunny day and the humidity had just broken and all I wanted to do was spend an hour enjoying the morning. I immediately tensed and looked for someone else to talk to, but he was waving both arms to get my attention and said he’d been dying to talk to me.

  I snapped. I put up my hand and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t discuss politics at the dog park.”

  “But there are so many interesting things to talk about.…”

  “No, I’m serious. I don’t talk politics here. I’ll talk about anything but politics.”

  He looked wounded and I felt bad. He said he just would love to hear my opinion on the news of the day. But I had to draw a line, to have one place where politics couldn’t intrude on the civility of a place I truly love—the dog park.

  Since that day, my neighbor never brings up politics at the park and we have perfectly pleasant chats about… nothing. It’s the best way to spend a morning, and I actually look forward to seeing him now.

  Civility Unveiled

  Three years after the administration ended, I got a cream-colored envelope in the mail in Manhattan. The handwriting looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it at first. It had been a long time since I’d received anything from the White House Social Office. The President and Mrs. Obama were asking m
e to attend the official portrait unveilings of President and Mrs. Bush. It was an honor to be invited, but I didn’t want to go.

  By then, I was full-time on The Five, living in New York City, and had few ties to Washington. As a critic of the new administration, though a pretty measured one, I felt it might be hypocritical to accept hospitality from them. I decided not to go, but I woke up in the night thinking it wasn’t fair for President Bush to be there without his strongest supporters in the audience. I changed my mind and asked for the day off the show. Then I called Karl Rove and asked him to be my date. It was our first time back to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue since January 2009.

  There are many magical things about the White House, and that day was no different. We saw lots of friends we hadn’t seen in years. The Obamas were actually throwing us a reunion, and they were very generous to do so.

  Karl and I sat next to General David Petraeus, then the CIA director. One of the rumors around town at the time was that Obama and Petraeus didn’t have much interaction. I whispered to him, “Would you like me to introduce you to President Obama?” The General smiled and winked at me. It was like old times (without the pressure to get back to work).

  As the event got started, another President stole the show. At eighty-eight years old, former President George H. W. Bush was the star attraction. He was wheeled into the East Room to a standing ovation. He waved at everyone, and showed off his bright-colored socks. He stood for a moment and let us cheer him on.

  Part of 41’s enduring charm is that he always looks surprised by the warm, genuine receptions he gets everywhere he goes. One example was when I was in Houston on business, the President’s chief of staff, Jean Becker, suggested that we all go to dinner. We hadn’t made reservations and he said he didn’t think we’d get a table. I said he could get a table anywhere in the world. But when we stepped inside, the young hostess didn’t recognize the name and said there wasn’t a table inside but that she could put us on the patio (it was only 50 degrees outside).