“There’s a spy in our midst,” Jim Nicholson, the former secretary of Veterans’ Affairs under President George W. Bush, whispered in my ear.
For a second I thought my cover was blown, but as it turned out, he was referring to the man on my left, a stodgy old codger, and our Canadian host.
The rest of us—ostensibly—were Republicans Abroad. American citizens living in Canada. To show our support for the GOP ticket we had congregated at the exclusive Albany Club on King Street on Friday night to watch the first presidential debate between our man John McCain and his democrat opponent Barack Obama. The evening would include dinner, drinks, prepared remarks by former Secretary Nicholson, and finally the debate, projected onto a massive video screen.
Blending in with the uber-elite of Canadian-American Republicans meant I had to significantly alter my appearance, and unflinchingly tow the party line—two things I was prepared to do for an inside look into the GOP’s Canadian operations.
A classy affair front to back, the organizers had found the perfect venue for their debate watch party. The large dining room of the Albany Club had been transformed into something resembling a McCain campaign rally. Two large American flags hung at either end of the room, with a smattering of McCain-Palin campaign signs hastily taped to the old oak walls.
As our Canadian host proudly informed Mr. Nicholson and me, “The Albany Club is the only private club in Canada that still wears its political affiliation on its sleeve. All our carpets—and even our match-heads—are Tory blue.”
Although no further emphasis was needed (or asked for), he insisted on pointing out a marble bust in the corner. “Sir John A. MacDonald. The first Prime Minister of Canada. A conservative, and founder of this very club 125 years ago.”
Despite our old host’s Canadian pride, Secretary Nicholson was more interested in me. Rocking a blue blazer and gripping a double Jack on the rocks, I’d convinced him I was a tried-and-true registered Republican, originally from Columbus, Ohio.
Before arriving, I wondered if I’d be lucky enough to score some face time with Secretary Nicholson. For a time, he had been closer to the most powerful men in the world than anyone I had ever met. In addition to his stint in the Bush Cabinet, Nicholson also served as Republican National Committee chairman from 1997 through the disputed 2000 presidential election, and later as a U.S. Ambassador to the Holy See (a.k.a. The Vatican). I expected to find the place buzzing and for Mr. Nicholson to be surrounded by a tight circle of movers, shakers, and hangers on. I was wrong.
I arrived to find the club more than half empty, with Secretary Nicholson dutifully making the rounds. To my surprise, within minutes he introduced himself to me and our Canadian host with a firm handshake and a friendly smile. We made small talk. “You’re from Ohio?” he asked me. “Make sure you vote.”
“Yes, sir, of course I will,” I answered, making sure to reference the day’s polls, which had McCain leading Obama 46.3 to 45.1 in the critical Buckeye State.
Realizing that he was up for more conversation, I sipped my whiskey and asked him about one of his lesser known, but more interesting assignments under President Bush.
During the 2006 State of the Union Address—the annual speech attended by virtually all members of the U.S. federal government—Nicholson had been specifically selected by the President to not attend.
As the official “designated survivor,” Nicholson watched the State of the Union on TV from one of those now-infamous undisclosed locations, while chowing down on a lavish dinner prepared by the President’s personal chefs. If a catastrophic nuclear or terrorist attack hit the Capitol Building while the entire government was convened inside, it would be Nicholson’s job to assume control of the United States, to guarantee the continuity of government.
Soon, the topic of presidential succession shifted from potential nuclear attacks back to the campaign at hand, and Nicholson excused himself to deliver his prepared remarks. As he took the stage, I counted 25 people in attendance—including the two bartenders. Not exactly Obama-like numbers.
Nicholson began his speech by recounting his role as ambassador to The Vatican during the days following the death of Pope John Paul II. He recalled being questioned by President Clinton onboard Air Force One as to who he thought would emerge as the next Pope. He initially resisted predicting what was supposed to be an act of God, but the current President Bush (his father was also onboard the flight) goaded him into taking a stab at it (“C’mon Jim, whatcha got?” were his exact words, apparently).
Nicholson put his money on Cardinal Ratzinger, who, as history will note, did indeed become Pope Benedict XVI. When his speech turned to presidential politics, Nicholson said similar instincts told him McCain would be victorious in 2008. Applause followed.
Next, Nicholson talked about the current campaign and political climate. Strangely, he seemed to be tacitly apologizing on behalf of the Republican Party for nominating McCain, and unconsciously hedging his bets.
“Everyone knows John McCain is a default candidate,” he said in his plain, no-nonsense manner. “If Mitt Romney had won in Iowa and New Hampshire, he’d be our candidate. This time last year, McCain’s campaign was flat on its back, comatose.”
He admitted, quite frankly, that Obama is absolutely killing McCain in fundraising and registering new voters. Referencing the actions of disgraced Senators Larry Craig and David Vitter and Representative Mark Foley, Nicholson said that the Republican brand had been tarnished.
“We should be down 20 points,” he said, “but we’re not. This is still a close race. John McCain is a soldier and a genuine American hero, and he’s still in the hunt!” More applause.
Nicholson reasoned that the closeness of the race is due to what he with unwavering faith believes, that America is fundamentally “a center-right country,” opposed at its core to liberal politics. With that, he set his slights squarely on Obama.
He razzed Obama for being inexperienced (“three-and-a-half years ago he was a community organizer and a part-time legislator”), vain (“he wrote an autobiography at the age of 30”), and referenced his support for a bill that did not explicitly outlaw the killing of a fetus that somehow survived a botched abortion. McCain, he argued, has solid, American, centre-right values.
Then Nicholson really did it. He dropped the H-bomb.
“Barack. Hussein. Obama.” Each word was its own sentence. “Is not fit to be President.” The red meat had arrived.
I thought the H-word was totally off-limits after McCain chucked talk-radio blowhard Bill Cunningham under the bus for using it back in February.
“But it’s just a fact,” said Cynthia Dillon, the executive director of Republicans Abroad, when I questioned her about it later. “That’s his name. How is it that you can get in trouble for stating a fact?”
But Nicholson wasn’t done. “I was reading an article in your Globe and Mail yesterday about words they want to take out of the dictionary—did any of you see this?” A few grey-haired executive types raised their hands. The article in question was “A Niddering Act” by Philip Jackman, which appeared in the September 25 edition of the paper.
“They want to take the word ‘niddering’ out of the dictionary,” Nicholson continued. “It means to be cowardly. While in the Illinois State Senate, Barack Obama voted ‘present’ more times than anyone else, meaning he didn’t want to take a position by voting yes or no. He lacked the courage.”
“Well, I think we should keep that word in the dictionary because it applies here, because Barack Obama is a niddering legislator!”
I couldn’t believe my ears! My mind was exploding trying not to outwardly betray my internal sense that this was a really fucked up word to reference with regard to the first African-American Presidential nominee of a major party.
Maybe it was accidental, but maybe not. Obama. Nidder. Either way, it’s way too close for comfort. The Globe article listed 24 words that are on the chopping block including “oppugnant” (combative, antagonistic, or contrary), and “embrangle” (to confuse or entangle), but Nicholson went with “niddering.” Interesting.
After his speech, Secretary Nicholson opened up the floor for questions. I shot my hand up, mainly to experience the novelty of starting a question with “Mr. Secretary…” I asked him to paint a picture of President Bush as he knew him personally, since, I argued, “the liberal news media has a tendency to vilify him.”
Secretary Nicholson responded that President Bush is “a remarkable intellectual with a real joie de vivre. A gentleman, who was always personable and sincere.” Noting that these qualities don’t always translate to TV, he noted that the President has a “bad tendency to clench up when the cameras of the national media are on him.”
“History will absolve him,” he argued, “of Iraq, of the natural disasters, and of the financial crisis.”
Dinner was served, and the Secretary and I dined on exquisitely prepared Atlantic salmon, grilled root vegetables, and bottomless glasses of the club’s best red wine. After dessert the massive video screen sprung to life while a club staffer quickly changed the channel to—what else—Fox News.
As the verbal sparring between McCain and Obama began, I noted at least four media outlets covering this “party” of 23 Republicans. Camera crews from Citytv and CTV showed up, as did former National Post columnist Andrew Coyne (now of Maclean’s) who hacked away on his MacBook throughout the debate while he wasn’t loading his mouth with handfuls of chips.
The candidates spent the first 45 minutes debating everything from patriot bracelets to Wall Street bailouts, until PBS moderator Jim Lehrer moved the discussion towards foreign policy, the intended focus before a series of bank failures put the entire U.S. economic system on shaky ground.
For the most part, the audience watched in silence, even scowling when some of the TV interviews happening at the back of the room got too loud.
Despite suspending his presidential campaign last Wednesday to “deal with the economic crisis”—threatening even to skip the debate if a bailout deal was not reached by Friday—McCain proved to be a formidable opponent for Obama’s cool and calm exterior. To be sure, both candidates avoided any major gaffes, but also shied away from delivering any Reagan-on-Mondale-style knockout punches.
Mixing with the crowd after the debate, I tried to get a sense of how the spectators thought the debate had gone for McCain. Not surprisingly, everyone thought he’d won it (even though CBS and CNN post-debate polls suggest otherwise). The farthest any of the more level-headed Republicans would go was to say that Obama had held his own on an issue that was supposed to be all McCain’s. It was also the first time in my life I’d ever heard anyone use the word “visionary” in a derogatory sense, as in, “What does Obama know? He’s just a visionary.”
Almost no one wanted to talk about McCain’s VP pick, Sarah Palin. Secretary Nicholson would only note that the Governor from Alaska “solidified our base, but also theirs.” After all, the whole Republican argument that “the bottom of our ticket is more experienced and ready to lead than the top of theirs,” had just disintegrated.
During a rare sit-down with CBS’s Katie Couric on Thursday, Palin fell apart, rattling off nonsensical, stream-of-consciousness talking points on big issues like foreign policy and the Wall Street bailout. Bringing her up would only needlessly complicate matters given Obama’s undeniably competent performance in the debate. Consequently, there will be no watch party for her televised match-up on Thursday with Senator Joe Biden.
At the end of the night there was another round of applause for the McCain-Palin ticket, Secretary Nicholson, and the event organizers—but it was anything but an enthusiastic, “we’re going to win this thing” excitement. The reaction seemed more appreciative, as if to say “thanks for fighting the good fight,” and “see you in four years.”
On my way out the door the Secretary was good enough to have his picture taken with me. He took me aside for a moment afterward. “What are you doing up here?” he asked me.
“I’m going to university,” I lied.
“Well come back home when you’re done, son,” he said. “We need good guys like you.”
