MINORITY RETORT
by ELSA WALSH
How a pro-gun, anti-abortion Nevadan leads the Senate’s Democrats.
Issue of 2005-08-08 and 15
Posted 2005-08-01
About twenty minutes before President Bush announced that John G. Roberts, Jr., was his choice to replace Sandra Day O’Connor on the Supreme Court, he telephoned Harry Reid, of Nevada, the Senate Minority Leader. As Reid recalls the brief conversation, Bush said, “This guy is really smart, and you’ll like him.” Reid replied, “I hope so,” and added that, during the search, he had enjoyed working with the White House legal counsel, Harriet Miers. (A few days earlier, Reid had met with Miers and had suggested ways to avoid a divisive confirmation process.) Mentioning her name, Reid said, was a signal—his way of telling Bush, “Thanks for not giving us any of these crazies.” Or, as he put it a little later, the President “didn’t give us somebody who people like me were jumping up and down screaming the first time the name was uttered.”
Reid has been the Democrats’ leader in the Senate for six months. He is sixty-five, a trim man with short, graying hair and slightly stooped shoulders, and not someone who appears likely to jump up and down screaming. When we met last week in his Capitol office, it was clear that the Roberts nomination had come as a relief. “There were lots of people we didn’t want, and I made sure he knew what those names were,” Reid said, and mentioned the federal judges Edith Jones and Janice Rogers Brown, among others. “I think the President submitted someone who he thinks won’t be much trouble.” Nonetheless, Reid was reserving judgment until the F.B.I. investigation and the Senate Judiciary Committee hearings were completed. “Roberts is not a slam dunk,” he said. “I’m just keeping, as some have heard me say, my powder dry until we find out what the deal is.” And yet he couldn’t quite conceal his pleasure.
The day after Bush made his choice public, Roberts went to Capitol Hill to meet with some of the senators who will eventually be asked to vote on his confirmation. Reid, who is a former trial lawyer, spent thirty minutes with Roberts. One thing he asked him was how he felt about Supreme Court precedents—in particular, on what grounds they might be overturned. “Precedent is so important to me in the law,” Reid told him.
Roberts, Reid recalled, said, “ ‘Oh, on the Supreme Court you can change precedent only if there’s this and this,’ and he was rattling them off. I hope I didn’t act surprised, but I’d never heard anything like that before.” Roberts, in Reid’s view, left no doubt that he would be very reluctant to overturn precedents. To do so, Roberts had said, the Court would first have to consider a series of objective criteria, two of which stood out: whether a precedent fostered stability in the nation; and the extent to which society had come to rely on an earlier ruling, even a dubious one. “I thought it would be more of a weaselly answer than that, but he said you have to meet all these standards before you can change a precedent,” Reid said. Roberts’s view of precedent is likely to be an important issue during the upcoming confirmation hearings. Earl Maltz, a conservative and a professor at the Rutgers University School of Law at Camden, says that what Roberts told Reid could be “very significant,” because it runs counter to the “originalist” approach of Antonin Scalia and Clarence Thomas, who believe that the Constitution should be strictly interpreted, according to the original intent of the Founding Fathers; on that premise, some previously decided cases, including Roe v. Wade, would be ripe for overturning. “The Constitution is not a living organism,” Scalia has said.
The other important part of their conversation, as Reid recounted it, had to do with an environmental case that Roberts had successfully argued before the Supreme Court in 2002—“one of the biggest environmental victories in decades,” Reid said. As a private attorney, Roberts had represented the Tahoe Regional Planning Agency, which had been sued for imposing a building moratorium in Lake Tahoe, Nevada. Under questioning by the Justices, Roberts had cited the potential for “irreparable harm” to the lake, and at one point said, “A temporary ban on development doesn’t render property valueless.” The environment is one of Reid’s causes, and what impressed Reid was that Roberts’s argument had been reasoned, not doctrinaire—“He based it on the facts.” Reid felt that the case demonstrated Roberts’s ability to grasp both sides of a debate.
Reid more than once compared Roberts to Justice David Souter, who was appointed by the first President Bush, in 1990, and today is widely detested by conservatives because he frequently sides with the more liberal Justices. Souter and Reid are friendly. “He’s my favorite man on the Court,” Reid said. “I think he’s such a wonderful man, and he believes in precedent. That’s all he’s doing. He’s just following the law.” Reid smiled, and continued, “If somebody is a real lawyer and not a Clarence Thomas or Edith Jones, who is there not to be a judge but to be a legislator, it gives us some hope, and so, if he is approved, I would hope he would turn out like Souter or somebody like that.” There is, to be sure, little in Roberts’s early record to suggest that he is anything but a conservative. A Washington Post report last week, for instance, quoted documents suggesting that Roberts had been an aggressive advocate of Ronald Reagan’s agenda when he served as a special assistant to Attorney General William French Smith.
Reid, though, believes that Bush chose Roberts in a moment of political weakness. Two months earlier, the Democrats had been successful in beating back the so-called “nuclear option”—Senator Trent Lott’s infelicitous name for the Republican attempt to change long-standing Senate rules on the filibuster. That issue had occupied the Senate for months, and for good reason: Republicans have a ten-vote advantage in the hundred-member Senate, but it requires sixty votes to stop a filibuster; the Republican leadership wanted to change that to a simple majority of fifty-one votes, which would have made it almost impossible for the Democrats to block a controversial Supreme Court nomination. “I don’t want to stick my finger in his eye, at this stage,” Reid said, speaking of Bush. “I’m trying, in a nice way, to say I think everyone’s experience here with the nuclear option has made everyone, including the President, more cautious about judges, because, as it turned out, we spent a third of the Senate’s time so far this year basically on it.” The filibuster issue was finally resolved by means of a complex bargain worked out by a group of centrist Republicans and Democrats, who became known as the Gang of Fourteen. In the end, the filibuster was preserved. The result was widely seen as a victory for Reid and a setback for his counterpart, Majority Leader Bill Frist, of Tennessee.
After that, Reid said, Bush “just didn’t need another fight.” He added, “He’s had plenty.” He pointed to a drop in Bush’s approval rating, and cited a recent Wall Street Journal / NBC News poll in which only forty-one per cent of the respondents said they believed that Bush was honest and straightforward. Reid attributed the President’s declining popularity to bad news from Iraq, the investigation into whether his key political adviser, Karl Rove, leaked the name of an undercover C.I.A. agent, and his proposal, now faltering, to privatize part of Social Security. “He’s always been king of the hill,” Reid said. “His numbers have been good, but they’re not good now.” Reid also thought that Bush had come to have a different view of him. “I just don’t think he estimated me at all—under or over.” Now, Reid said, “I think he understands me a little bit more than he used to.”
This spring, I went to see Reid in Nevada, which he has represented in Washington since 1983, in the House of Representatives for two terms and, since 1987, in the Senate. Outside his home state, or the orbit of the United States Capitol, though, he is not widely known. During one stop, Reid called around the country to some committed Democratic donors. In two out of three calls, he had to identify himself several times before the recipient figured out who he was. “This is Harry Reid.” Pause. “I’m a U.S. senator.” Pause. “Harry Reid. I’m the Senate Minority Leader. Harry R-E-I-D.” When he hung up, he turned to me and said, “I guess I’m not too well known in that household.”
In Nevada, a state where the federal government owns nearly ninety per cent of the land and politics can be incestuous, Reid’s power and influence are widespread. He was embarrassed two years ago when a Los Angeles Times story revealed that one of his sons and his son-in-law had lobbied in Washington for “companies, trade groups and municipalities seeking Reid’s help in the Senate.” Over the previous four years, the newspaper reported, these efforts, supported by Reid, brought more than two million dollars in business to firms that employed family members. At the time, Reid’s four sons, ranging in age from thirty to forty-two, worked for Nevada’s largest law firm, Lionel Sawyer & Collins. The story noted that the Howard Hughes Corporation alone “paid $300,000 to the tiny Washington consulting firm of [Reid’s] son-in-law Steven Barringer to push a provision allowing the company to acquire 998 acres of federal land ripe for development” in the Las Vegas metropolitan area. When I asked Reid about the L.A. Times story, he pointed out that his son-in-law had been a lobbyist before his daughter married him. Susan McCue, Reid’s chief of staff, said in an e-mail that when the newspaper started making inquiries “Senator Reid (and I) agreed that we needed to put up a wall between any family members lobbying and this office for the sake of appearances, even if they’re working on issues that benefit Nevada.” Soon after he was interviewed by L.A. Times reporters, Reid banned relatives from lobbying his office.
Reid seems, at first, an unlikely choice for party leader in the Senate, especially given the tradition of men like Lyndon Johnson, whose method of leadership was to cajole and threaten his colleagues. Reid doesn’t have the sort of domineering personality that L.B.J. had; in fact, despite an occasionally quick temper, he can seem almost shy. But, if Reid is no Johnson, he has, unlike his immediate predecessor, Tom Daschle, of South Dakota, or Frist, been able to keep his party largely united. That is due, in part, to his attentiveness; he is in constant contact with colleagues, and even reserves a pocket in his suit for their written requests. Susan McCue says that Reid is always assessing a person’s vulnerabilities in order to “disarm, to endear, to threaten, but most of all to instill fear.” And Reid has made it plain that there are consequences for stepping out of line. Without Reid’s approval, Senator Byron Dorgan, of North Dakota, who was making a bid to chair the Democratic National Committee, announced that he had Reid’s support. Reid—a friend of Dorgan’s—promptly and publicly withdrew his backing.
Like L.B.J. and other Southwestern politicians, such as Barry Goldwater, Reid has a habit of using language that his critics say is inappropriate for a Senate leader. “I think Senator Reid often says what we’re all thinking but perhaps are afraid to say,” Senator Edward Kennedy says. Reid has called Alan Greenspan, the Federal Reserve chairman, a “political hack,” said that Clarence Thomas was an “embarrassment,” and labelled Bush a “loser” and a “liar.” He surprised the Democratic operative Jim Johnson, who was conducting John Kerry’s search for a running mate, by sharply criticizing a long list of potential candidates, including John Edwards.
In public presentations, Reid is sometimes barely audible, which forces his spokesman to stand very close to him to hear what he says. In his haste to finish a speech, he sometimes mangles the text, and he is not much liked by television—he suffers from a certain charisma gap. When I asked him one day which former Senate leader he most admired, he mentioned Mike Mansfield, of Montana, who was the Majority Leader from 1961 to 1977. “He hated going on programs like ‘Meet the Press,’ and he was so bad they eventually hated having him on,” he said. Yet the aversion to television also works to Reid’s advantage. As former Senator John Breaux, Democrat of Louisiana, says, “It’s easier for an elected official like Harry to be more trusted and accepted by his colleagues if they don’t think that he’s out in front trying to do it for the media.”
To most politicians, this kind of anonymity would be torment. But Reid is not aspiring to be the face of the Democratic Party, or even its voice. “I know my limitations,” he said, and added, “I haven’t gotten where I am by my good looks, my athletic ability, my great brain, my oratorical skills.” Reid is a Mormon, and differs with most of his Democratic colleagues on social issues. He is opposed to abortion, gay marriage, and gun control, and supports the death penalty. He voted for both Persian Gulf wars. At a time when the White House and Congress are controlled by Republicans, Reid’s essential role is defensive—to hold the line for his party when the Bush agenda threatens to trample what Democrats most value. And, despite his relative anonymity, Reid has certainly been noticed by conservatives. When the Senate finally reached a deal on the filibuster, James Dobson, the ultraconservative chairman of Focus on the Family, delivered a backhanded compliment to Reid. “This Senate agreement represents a complete bailout and betrayal by a cabal of Republicans and a great victory for united Democrats,” Dobson said.
When Reid talks to constituents, he likes to single out staffers for particular praise. He told a group of Las Vegas businessmen that Susan McCue was one of ten children and that “she worked like a dog to get through college.” McCue, who is thirty-nine, and has worked intermittently for Reid since 1990, rolled her eyes at Reid’s description. When Reid speaks about Bush, his tone changes; he has called Bush “King George,” and in Las Vegas he told a group of community activists that the President’s view was “If you’re poor it’s your fault. Go out and be part of America’s success. Go out and get a job and be rich.” And he added, “I wish it were so.” When I asked McCue about this apparent class sensitivity, she said, “It’s not resentment on Reid’s part. But he knows they”—Reid and Bush—“are from different sides of the track.” She urged me to visit Searchlight, Nevada, where Reid was born and has a home—a place that does double duty as a political backdrop, evoking the authentic Old West.
Seven years ago, Reid wrote a history of his home town, “Searchlight: The Camp That Didn’t Fail,” published by the University of Nevada, in which he observed, “There are no permanent towns that survive on mining alone. When the tide goes out, when the boom is over, the debris is all that is left. . . . When the town fades, those with money, talent, and initiative generally depart quickly, leaving behind the diehards, the outcasts, the mavericks, or those too old or too sick to move on.” Today in Searchlight, which is about a mile long, one can see the two-room cinder-block schoolhouse that Reid attended, a small casino on the main street, and a McDonald’s. Almost all the houses are double-wide mobile homes, with no landscaping.
There were about two hundred people left in the town when Reid was born, in 1939, the third of four sons of Harry Reid, Sr., a gold miner with an elementary-school education, and his wife, Inez, who did laundry for some of the local bordellos, which were by then the town’s primary business. Reid’s boyhood home was built out of scavenged railroad ties; it had no indoor toilet and no hot water. There were no telephones in Searchlight until the nineteen-fifties. When Reid’s younger brother, Larry, broke a leg in a bicycle accident, the leg was never set. “We didn’t go to doctors in those days unless it was a matter of life and death,” Reid said. “And he just lay there. It was so painful, and you couldn’t touch the bed. And that’s the way it just was for several days.” (Larry and another brother are retired; the third, an alcoholic, died in 1977.) Reid’s parents drank and his father often got into brawls. “He didn’t like people coming around and wouldn’t let us answer the door even if we were home,” Reid said. When he could no longer work, because of silicosis, a miner’s cough, Reid’s father stopped drinking, but at the age of fifty-eight he committed suicide, with a gunshot to the head. “He was always depressed,” Reid said, adding that his father’s depression was evident to him only in hindsight. “We always joke that Dad sobered up and killed himself.” His mother tacked to the wall a blue pillowcase with gold fringe and a message of perseverance that originated with Franklin Delano Roosevelt: “We can. We will. We must.”
Because the school in Searchlight went only up to eighth grade, every week Reid hitchhiked forty miles to Henderson, a factory town, where he boarded with relatives while he went to the public high school. “I always knew I wanted to get out of there,” he said of Searchlight. “I knew that from the time I was a little kid.” In Henderson, Reid met Landra Gould, the woman whom he eventually married. Reid said that Gould’s parents, who were Jewish, liked him until they realized how serious the couple was—“They wanted their daughter to marry a Jewish boy”—and tried to end the relationship. Her father, Landra Reid told me, “would tear up Harry’s letters, hang up the phone on him. They had a fight in the front yard.” Reid has said that the fight ended when he knocked his future father-in-law, a chiropractor, to the ground. Landra says, “I remember a lot of yelling and pushing.” In 1959, when Harry was twenty and Landra was nineteen, they eloped. After a honeymoon dinner at a Chinese restaurant in Las Vegas, Landra called home to report the news; within days, she got a letter from her parents saying that, despite their misgivings, their daughter’s happiness came first. Reid now wears his father-in-law’s ring.
In Henderson, Reid also met Donal (Mike) O’Callaghan, who arrived at the high school to teach government and boxing. O’Callaghan, who had lost a leg in the Korean War and was just ten years older than Reid, became a hero to Reid after he faced down a school bully. Reid, a catcher on the school’s championship baseball team and a guard on the football team, learned to box from O’Callaghan, who helped him win a partial athletic scholarship to a junior college in Utah and later helped pay his way through law school. O’Callaghan, like Reid, had larger ambitions: in the seventies, he served two terms as governor of Nevada, and he went on to become the executive editor of the Las Vegas Sun and a sometime columnist for the paper. When he died, last year, Reid eulogized him as the best friend he had ever had. McCue told me that the only time she ever saw Reid cry was at the news of O’Callaghan’s death.
While Harry was in college, he and Landra converted to Mormonism. “The thing that was so impressive to me—in addition to the spiritual aspects that I’d never experienced before—was the emphasis on family,” Reid said. “The biggest jump for me,” Landra Reid said, “was to try to understand the connection between Judaism and the Old Testament and the New Testament, and how to make any sense of how Christianity fit into it.” She added, “Before we got married, we had talked about it and decided we were not going to let religion divide us after what we’d been through. If we found something, we were going to find it together.” Until both of her parents died, Harry Reid said, the family observed the Jewish holidays. “My two oldest children have great affection for things Jewish, and my three younger children are aware of their mother’s lineage, and all of them are very proud of the fact that they are eligible for Israeli citizenship.” On the doorway of their house in Searchlight, the Reids have a mezuzah.
The Reids’ house, a Mediterranean-style two-bedroom home that faces the open desert, is situated on a hundred acres at the end of a long dirt road. They had it built four years ago, after living for years in a double-wide. Reid’s friend Jay Brown, a Las Vegas lawyer and a Brooklyn native, said, “You should have seen the trailer,” and complained that simply getting there ruined the tires of his car. Reid is a former marathoner—he ran twelve races before an injury and then a fall sidelined him. Now he takes an hour-long walk each morning, often with Landra, whose presence appears to put him in a lighter mood.
The Reids took me on a tour of the house, which is decorated in a Western mining motif, including a gate from one of the town’s mines that hangs on a wall in the entry hall. Next to it is an abstract oil painting of Martin Luther King, Jr. Reid showed me his high-school yearbook; when he was sixteen, his nickname was Pinky. A painting of what appeared to be a mountain man with a white scraggly beard caught my attention. “That’s my brother Larry,” he said.“He still looks that way.” He pointed to a skeletal structure in the distance, the remains of one of the mines where his father worked.
As George W. Bush has learned, Harry Reid does not ignore slights. “I believe in vengeance,” he once told a reporter. In May, he began a commencement address at George Washington University Law School by saying that the last time he had set foot on the campus was January, 1964—the year he graduated from the school. “I’ve been holding a grudge,” he said. Law school was difficult. “We managed to get by, but just barely,” he said. At one point, while Landra was pregnant with their second child and he was working six days a week as a Capitol police officer, the transmission of their car, a 1954 Buick Special, broke down. He was desperate. “No car,” he continued. “No way to get to work. Too many bills.” When he approached a dean for help, he recalled, the dean said, “ ‘Why don’t you just quit law school?’ I don’t remember exactly what I thought he would say, but that was not it,” he said. “Since that day, I’ve harbored ill will toward this school.”
Reid told the graduates that he regretted his pettiness, but it’s fair to say that payback has been a factor in his career. When I asked what got him interested in politics, he had a one-word reply: “Rudeness.” He explained that not long after he returned to Henderson to practice law, a client, a doctor, had asked him to accompany him to an administrative hearing at a hospital. “As we walked in, the chairman of the board of trustees said, ‘We don’t need lawyers here. We do what we want to do,’ ” Reid recalled. “It was just so rude. I wasn’t there to say anything. I was there just to watch. As a result of how rude he was, I decided to run for the hospital board.” He was elected in 1966, and not long afterward, he said, “we got him”—the administrator—“fired.” Soon, Reid decided that he could accomplish more in the state assembly, and in 1968 he announced his candidacy. This time, he went after the telephone company. “Service was so bad then, and they were dumb enough to respond to me,” Reid has said. “So I had an issue.” Reid served in the assembly for only two years, but he acquired a reputation as a consumer advocate, and he still holds the Nevada record for introducing the most bills in a session.
In 1970, Reid was barely thirty, and preparing for another state run, when it was suggested that he enter the lieutenant governor’s race. His good friend Mike O’Callaghan was running for governor as a Democrat—a long-shot candidacy—and Reid decided to run, he says, “within fifteen minutes.” His law partners gave him a party, and, as Reid tells it, “one of the local columnists wrote that I must be supported by Howard Hughes—otherwise how could I have a big party like that. Howard Hughes had just come to town. Of course it wasn’t true, but who was I to deny that he was helping me?”
Reid believes that the pseudo-Hughes connection may have frightened off challengers, and both O’Callaghan and Reid, running separately, won. But success, he says, made him overconfident. Reid had been lieutenant governor for four years when Senator Alan Bible announced his retirement. “I was a shoo-in,” Reid says. “Everything was in my favor. But I was young and impulsive and I attacked everybody. Every day, we would get up and find out who we were going to attack that day.” His pollster was Pat Cadell, who went on to work for Jimmy Carter’s Presidential campaign in 1976. Cadell assured him that he couldn’t lose. “I showed him,” Reid says. “I lost by six hundred and twenty-four votes,” to Paul Laxalt. When friends told him that such reverses always turn out for the best, he said, “I wanted to kick them in the shins.”
In 1977, O’Callaghan appointed him to the chairmanship of the Nevada Gaming Commission, which oversees casinos, and that was an experience that made his other work look easy. Before Reid took the job, O’Callaghan introduced him to the outgoing chairman, Peter Echeverria. “Pete was telling us, ‘I’ve had people out here watching me, these gangsters,’ and he said, ‘I think they’ve tapped my phone,’ ” Reid recalled. “I thought he was making all this stuff up. It just didn’t make sense. I had no concept of the Mob. It meant nothing to me.” There had been a decrease in Mob activity, but organized crime was again investing in Las Vegas, and for four years Reid confronted wiseguys like Tony (the Ant) Spilotro, who had been sent to Las Vegas by a Chicago branch of La Cosa Nostra, “the Outfit,” and was known for killing his victims by squeezing their heads in a vise. In 1979, Reid barred Spilotro from all casinos.
In July of 1978, a man named Jack Gordon, who was later married to LaToya Jackson, offered Reid twelve thousand dollars to approve two new, carnival-like gaming devices for casino use. Reid reported the attempted bribe to the F.B.I. and arranged a meeting with Gordon in his office. By agreement, F.B.I. agents burst in to arrest Gordon at the point where Reid asked, “Is this the money?” Although he was taking part in a sting, Reid was unable to control his temper; the videotape shows him getting up from his chair and saying, “You son of a bitch, you tried to bribe me!” and attempting to choke Gordon, before startled agents pulled him off. “I was so angry with him for thinking he could bribe me,” Reid said, explaining his theatrical outburst. Gordon was convicted in federal court in 1979 and sentenced to six months in prison.
One day in 1981, Landra Reid noticed that the family station wagon was not running properly, and she discovered a cable under the hood and “something” sticking out of the gas tank. Police found a device that would have exploded had it been correctly grounded. Reid always blamed Gordon for the bomb, and the incident frightened his family—by then there were five children, four sons and a daughter—so that for a year they started the car by remote control. Gordon died in April, at the age of sixty-six, and his connection to the bombing attempt was never proved. McCue, Reid’s chief of staff, says that the episode changed Reid. Whatever the issue, she says, his approach is always “No one is going to kill me over this.”
When Reid’s Gaming Commission appointment expired, in 1981, he went back to private practice. He was at work on a liability lawsuit stemming from the M-G-M Grand fire, the 1980 blaze in which eighty-four people died, when Nevada was given another seat in the House of Representatives. Reid ran as a New Democrat, in a state that was tilting Republican. “Part of it, I’m sure, was my narrow loss in the Senate race, and it was also to show people I could make a comeback,” Reid said of his desire to run. He won the election and went to Washington in 1983.
After visiting Searchlight, Reid and I drove to Las Vegas, fifty-five miles away, through the Mojave Desert. On the drive, he talked about his relationship with Bush, whom he regularly disparages; there appears to be no chance that Reid and Bush will duplicate the unusually friendly relationship that Ronald Reagan had with Thomas P. (Tip) O’Neill, the Democratic Speaker of the House, or even the businesslike partnership between Speaker Sam Rayburn and President Eisenhower. At an appearance at the Doris Hancock Elementary School, in Las Vegas, which some of his children attended, Reid began by talking about how his life had become more pressured since he’d become Minority Leader, but he was soon asked about Bush. “I didn’t come here to beat up on President Bush,” he said. “But I have served three Republican Presidents. President Reagan—I cared a great deal for him, and he got most of what he wanted. If you disagreed with him, he did not hold it against you.” He went on, “President Bush No. 1 is such a nice person. Some of my most prized possessions are the three letters he wrote me. But this President is totally different. He takes after his mother. It’s either his way or no way. It’s very, very difficult.” Even Reid seemed surprised by the depth of his reaction. “I’m sorry to give you this report on President Bush,” he said, “but that’s how I feel.”
Reid had been head of the school P.T.A., and the parents of some of his children’s friends were in the audience. One was the mother of a college roommate of one of his sons. Like Reid, she is an observant Mormon and they were old friends; but she was a Republican and clearly upset that Reid did not support Bush, especially on the partial privatization of Social Security. Later, she told me that she had voted for Reid in every election except the last one. “He became too liberal,” she said. “I love his wife, but I feel he’s left a lot of his beliefs behind.” While we were talking, Reid approached and she told him that one of her son’s friends, a professional football player, had been at the White House on Valentine’s Day. “They said Bush was so nice,” she said. Reid raised his eyebrows.
What happened between him and Bush? Their first meetings, right after Bush’s 2000 election, were cordial enough, Reid told me. “He was an extremely personable man—the kind of guy you’d like to go to a ballgame with.” But, he went on, “I have a lot of history now that I didn’t have then. First of all, he started out on a real bad foot with me because of Yucca Mountain”—a site a hundred miles northwest of Las Vegas, which the federal government wants to use as long-term storage for tens of thousands of tons of radioactive waste. Al Gore opposed this plan in the 2000 campaign, and Bush seemed to oppose it as well, promising that he would base any decision on “sound science.” Reid believed Bush, but, he said, “my belief was short-lived.” Barely a year into his first term, Bush approved the project, and Reid accused him of lying: “I thought he had misled the people of Nevada on nuclear waste.” Of calling Bush a liar, Reid said, “If somebody doesn’t tell the truth, how else would you describe it? I guess I could have said he didn’t tell the truth.” Reid said that, in a private meeting in the Oval Office in February, 2002, he told Bush, “You sold out on this.” The Wall Street Journal later reported the Yucca Mountain decision as the “biggest defeat” of Reid’s career, but added, “The fact that the campaign went on for so long is testimony to Mr. Reid’s formidable persuasive powers—a gift that still could put him in line to be his party’s next leader.”
The moment came on November 3, 2004, the day after the election. Tom Daschle had just lost his Senate race in South Dakota, becoming the first Senate leader in half a century to be defeated, and the Republicans had picked up five other seats being vacated by Democrats. Reid, who, as the Democrats’ Minority Whip since 1998, had been Daschle’s No. 2, had assiduously attended to his colleagues’ needs, monitoring legislation on the Senate floor while earning a reputation as trustworthy. By 11 a.m., Reid had the votes he needed. Neither Bush, who had been unsure of his own victory until early that morning, nor Reid, who had spent much of the night on the phone, had slept much. Bush called Reid in Nevada, and, Reid recalled, “he said, ‘This is a new term for me. I’m not running for anything ever again and I want to work with you again.’ ” Reid was pleased, and reported the conversation to his staff. “He had a significant majority in both the House and the Senate, and I thought he would work with us to try to get things done, that we could agree on,” he said.
Reid has not been particularly tough on Bush’s appointments so far. He voted to confirm Condoleezza Rice as Secretary of State and even announced that he would probably support Scalia as Chief Justice if William Rehnquist retired and Bush wanted him. He didn’t push for a filibuster against Alberto Gonzales as Attorney General, despite the opposition of all eight Democrats on the Judiciary Committee. Yet, on February 7th, the Republican National Committee attacked Reid’s record on its Web site, citing the Los Angeles Times story on his family, in which Reid was accused of voting for legislation that benefitted his sons and son-in-law. (One passage quoted on the R.N.C. Web site said, “So pervasive are the ties among Reid, members of his family and Nevada’s leading industries and institutions that it’s difficult to find a significant field in which such a relationship does not exist.”) On the Senate floor, Reid denounced the story as “scurrilous” and rebuked the President. Coincidentally, Bush had invited the Reids to dinner at the White House that night, along with three other senators and their wives. Reid initially thought about not going, but decided that “it would be too easy for them for me just not to go.” Still, it was clear that he and Landra were angry. Reid recalled that Bush said, “You know, I didn’t have anything to do with that. I don’t know what they do.” Reid wasn’t mollified. The next day, he reminded reporters of Bush’s campaign pledge to be a “uniter.” “I’m beginning to think those statements were just absolutely false,” he said.
There is no longer anything about Reid’s family on the R.N.C. Web site. The offending lines were removed on orders from Karl Rove. According to Rove, following the dinner Bush told him to tell Ken Mehlman, the chairman of the R.N.C., to “never mention Reid’s family again.” When I asked Reid about this, he said he was aware that the section had been deleted, but not of Bush’s role. “That’s nice of him,” he said.
Reid said that relations with Bush got worse in April, during the filibuster dispute, at a breakfast meeting in the White House between Bush and the congressional leadership. Reid said that he appealed to Bush to stay out of the fight, telling him, “I hope you’re going to help us on this nuclear option.” The President, he said, “was very direct and blunt: ‘I have nothing to do with this. This is your business. It’s not mine.’ ” Reid thought that would remove one powerful obstacle. But, within days, Vice-President Dick Cheney announced that, as acting president of the Senate, he would provide the tie-breaking vote if it was needed to change the rule. Bush, Reid said, had pulled a “halfback’s stutter step”—a fake—on him. “He was just trying, it appears to me, to mislead me. He just wasn’t telling me the truth at that breakfast meeting. No question about it. He could have said to me, ‘What you’ve done is wrong and I’m going to do everything I can to get it exercised. I want all my judges.’ But he didn’t.” Reid paused. “Just tell me what I have to work with. Don’t mislead me. How do I say this—because I don’t want to appear holier than thou—but relationships are built on trust, and that’s the problem that I’m having with the White House today. It’s that I don’t think they want to establish trust with me.” Reid paused again and shrugged. “I’m not important to them. They can just go around me.” He sounded weary, but then his voice strengthened. “He’s not a dictator. He’s a President. And he has the same power that I do. He individually may have more power. But his branch of government has no more power than mine.”
About a month later, at a point when negotiations on resolving the filibuster issue seemed to have stalled, Reid made his only phone call on the issue to the White House—to Rove. “This thing should be worked out,” Reid said he told Rove. “It’s craziness.” At the time, Bush had re-submitted the names of seven appellate-court nominees whom Senate Democrats had previously blocked, using the filibuster tactic. “We let this continue to go on, twenty years from now, if either of us is still alive, we’re going to look back and be ashamed of what we allowed to happen,” Rove said. He said that harsh attacks were driving out possible nominees who were leery of the confirmation process. “I get it,” Reid responded. He told Rove that he had been trying for years to improve the process, and added, “I’m just trying to find a way out of this.”
For Rove, the most painful example was Miguel Estrada, who had worked in the Solicitor General’s office, and who was Bush’s first appellate-court nominee, in 2001. Estrada withdrew his name twenty-eight months after being nominated. During the confirmation struggle, Estrada’s wife miscarried; in November, 2004, she died, of an overdose of alcohol and sleeping pills. The death was ruled accidental by the medical examiner. Rove said that Mrs. Estrada had been traumatized by the nastiness of the process. Reid told Rove that he empathized with Estrada, but said that the Republicans’ treatment of President Clinton’s nominees—more than sixty were never voted on by the Judiciary Committee—had created victims, too. Rove, according to Reid, replied, “We need to sit down and talk about this,” adding that the ugliness of the confirmation process had reached a new low.
Rove recalls that the conversation was mostly about making a deal on the judicial nominees. According to Rove, Reid said, “They’re all unqualified, but you can pick the one you want,” and eventually it got to two. At one point, Rove asked Reid, “If they’re unworthy, why are you letting us have any?” And he said, “Harry, it’s like you’re asking us to pick one of our children and kill them.” He said that Reid kept jumping around with the numbers: “It was a nutty conversation.” For Reid at this point, the individual nominees were a secondary issue. “I didn’t like the judges,” he said later, “but there was a principle higher than any of those men or women”—the preservation of the Senate filibuster rule. When the discussion ended in an impasse, Reid was disappointed, but he said, “I wasn’t owed anything, that’s for sure.”
Reid had always regarded a full Senate vote on the “nuclear option” as a gamble. Frist appeared to hold the advantage; with Cheney in the wings, he needed only fifty senators to make the rules change, while Reid needed to persuade six Republicans to cross over. And although Reid thought that he had those six votes, he was certain only of four. “Each day, I started losing people,” he recalled. By May 23rd, the day before the scheduled vote, Reid believed that neither he nor Frist really knew for sure who had the votes, and when the seven Democrats in the Gang of Fourteen told Reid that they were ready to make a deal with the Republicans he acquiesced. “I thought we might have the six votes, but I wasn’t positive, and I wasn’t willing to take the chance. He”—Frist—“didn’t know that he had the votes, but he was willing to take the chance.” In the final compromise, three of the seven Bush judicial choices that Reid and Rove had discussed were approved by the Senate, and it was simultaneously agreed that senators could filibuster a nominee “under extraordinary circumstances”—somewhat vague language that has yet to be tested. For the Democrats, though, the agreement preserved the power to block a Bush Supreme Court choice.
Standing before reporters, Reid, who had worked behind the scenes for this result, looked euphoric. Frist, who appeared later, looked glum—understandably, some observers thought. Frist had staked a lot on the issue; he has said that he plans to retire from the Senate in 2006, and it is believed that he may seek the Presidency. “I was not a party to that agreement nor was the Republican leadership,” Frist said. “Now we move into a new and uncertain phase.” The Senate that Frist purportedly led had suddenly been taken over by a bipartisan group beyond his reach. And, for Reid and others, it is not a stretch to see the connection between the filibuster compromise and the relatively noncontroversial nomination of John G. Roberts.
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