Blind Allegiance to Sarah Palin (20 page)

If Willis Lyford was wed to Andrew Halcro's campaign, he began a torrid affair with ours early on. Nevertheless, for months, while handling Halcro's media, Lyford offered Sarah free counsel and occasionally a bit of intelligence on his candidate's progress. Amazingly, Sarah embraced the relationship in spite of its unseemly nature.

Once again, the most important aspect wasn't our behavior but the fact that we kept it a secret.

Her words to us mirrored those surrounding our letter-and op-ed-writing factories. This was, she wrote,
“Totally confidential: don't let anyone know Willis wrote.”
As if he needed reminding, she warned Lyford,
“Don't tell anyone I'm asking you for free advice. Or any advice for that matter.”
On his end, Willis explained,
“I don't tell anyone I have any communication with you . . . Andrew
[
only
]
knows I talk to you once in a blue moon.”

The only way for Lyford's words to ring true would be if by “blue moon” he meant regularly communicating with our campaign and surreptitiously visiting our downtown campaign office as warranted. On the very day that he and Sarah shared their notes on confidentiality, June 13, Lyford composed a lengthy email offering advice on the primary campaign, which Sarah passed along to me and others. Among his recommendations:

In early July, Paul Jenkins of the
Anchorage Daily News
penned an editorial criticizing Sarah for using her Wasilla mayor's computer to help campaign for lieutenant governor four years earlier. Sarah solicited Lyford for his opinion on how to handle the crisis. Willis warned that the opposition would use the accusation to launch a
“two pronged attack; you ain't the ethics queen you pitch yourself as, and your under-qualitied for the job. . . . Take a deep breath. I still think you need to go on offense with paid media.”

When the lieutenant governor story was still a hot topic two weeks later, Sarah again begged for input, especially regarding a suggestion by attorney Wev Shea to put the matter to rest by writing the City of Wasilla a check compensating it for use of city resources. Ever responsive, Lyford dispensed more advice, such as,
“You need to do a few things right away. I would not do the check thing Wev suggests. Implies guilt. Who determines how much you should pay. . . . I mean, when did you stop beating your wife.”

Lyford offered important feedback throughout the primary campaign, even while Andrew Halcro was preparing to oppose Sarah once the general election cycle began in late August. He weighed in on such matters as uncovering dirt on Randy Ruedrich (
“do a google search for ‘randy ruedrich and political contributions' ”
), dealing with radio critic Rydell (
“he ain't your friend.
. . .
Whatever you are saying to him, he is passing on”
), how to handle the campaign's association with attorney Wayne Anthony Ross (
“the other side needs to be confused when Ross pops up defending you in these different media venues”
), and leaking information to the media (
“I would . . . give
them
[
an incriminating email from
]
Murky and make sure it is on the lodown”
).

When I needed to know of Andrew Halcro's progress in gathering enough signatures to get on the ballot for the general election, Lyford wrote back,
“We'll get the signatures. It just will take some work, right now I think he is a few hundred short, but there is a week left.”
In this same email exchange, Lyford offered intelligence he'd gathered on a final preprimary ad campaign against Sarah. He also suggested
“some thoughts about what SP should say Tuesday if she should win”
the GOP primary. Staggeringly, despite being knee deep in aiding Halcro in his run against Sarah Palin once the primaries were over, Lyford wrote me,
“Just ask SP if she wants me to write
[
her formal victory statement
]
up.”
Willis's rationale for doing so was
“Because what/how she says it will make a big difference, I think.”
After the primary, he recommended a pollster to help us in the general election. He rationalized that it was okay for us to hire this particular outfit because
“Andrew H. does not have enough $$ to use these guys, so there is no problem in me recommending them, and I'm not sure they would sign up for an independent campaign.”

No problem in recommending a topflight PR firm to Halcro's opposition? In other words, he was pointing the Palin campaign to people who might help defeat his candidate. When, in August, Lyford advised us to wrap Binkley together with Murkowski and Ruedrich in a hard-hitting ad campaign, Sarah asked again about Halcro's signatures:
“How's AH doing on the signatures?”
She followed that up with an affectionate sign-off,
“Folks are coming out to my house today to talk issues. 1:30. Wish you could be in the middle of all this Willis!”

Ever helpful, Lyford provided us with exactly what Sarah asked:
“Andrew will be turning in around 4K signatures on Tuesday afternoon, he needs 3100 or so to qualify, so I think he is there, fyi.”
Ever mindful, he added,
“Pls no discussion of this to anyone at all.”
It goes without saying he did not show up for Sarah's talk.

I am left to wonder how often in the annals of political history has a consultant for one candidate provided so much information to the opposition, going so far as to volunteer to write her victory speech?

While we welcomed the help, I knew that if someone from our camp handed out inside information, Sarah's wrath would know no bounds. One time, when she suspected Tony Knowles of ripping off material penned by our own Bruce Anders, she wrote him,
“I think you have a serious leak. The timing, his use of the EXACTLY same phaseology we've used (“don't tie our hands”), is simply too coincidental.”

In another instance, Sarah became so distraught that she suggested the staff work “in a large, open room ‘bullpen' with no cubicles and no closed doors anywhere” in order to “get a handle on leaks.”

As governor, when information from a closed-door meeting she'd attended wound up in Andrew Halcro's blog (ironically enough), Sarah became enraged and warned us:

Despite her own moral outrage at leaks from within and a desire to uncover and punish offenders, all of us—none more so than Sarah—embraced Willis Lyford's efforts on our behalf. On several occasions, Sarah referred to him as “my friend,” as did I.

Weeks later, in October, as we went head to head with Andrew Halcro in a bitter rivalry, we continued to hear from Lyford regarding his specialty: advertising expenditures. He reported that on our behalf, the Republican Governors Association (RGA)
“[d]umped a massive amount on money into tv late friday for SP. On KTUU alone for one week, it is nearly $52,000 for 8 days. Much more than they were doing previously. . . . Just thought you might want to know. I'd expect Tony to try to make even more hay with this than before.”

Willis Lyford was right that Tony Knowles did make hay out of our association with the RGA and what was a negative campaign strategy—something we swore we'd never condone—but so did Andrew Halcro.

At the time, none of us viewed our collaboration as inappropriate. I suppose we felt that the Golden Rule didn't apply to politics. Only later did I realize that everywhere we traveled in our campaign to make Alaska a better state, ethical challenges were so thick that we no longer had the ability to see them, except, as Willis Lyford suggested, in others.

14
 

The Republican Governors Association and our Limbo Dance with Truth

J
ust prior to the August gubernatorial primary and while fighting fatigue on a long drive back from a pair of debates in Kenai, I received a phone call from Republican state representative Bill Stoltze. The forty-five-year-old former legislative staffer, who eventually won office and now sat on the state finance committee, said, “You're doing great with this campaign, Frank. But we're getting to the time when you need to start thinking beyond the primary and into the general election season.”

While my own natural instinct was never to assume victory prematurely, Stoltze spoke confidently of our chances in November. “And I want you to know,” he continued, “that I've got people who will help.” While he didn't elaborate, I welcomed the sentiment, believing that we'd need all the people we could muster in a general election against Tony Knowles.

With one hand steering the pickup and the other hand pressing my cell phone to my ear, I said, “I really appreciate all your help, Bill. I'm sure I speak for Sarah when I say we're grateful. God willing, we'll win this thing.” After we hung up, the drive seemed less tedious. That
a man as savvy as Representative Stoltze had our primary race in the win column seemed a good omen.

True to his word, after our stunning primary victory, Stoltze visited me at campaign headquarters. Stoltze is a jovial Drew Carey look-alike on the outside but a cagey Karl Rovian political animal within. When he walked into my office and banged shut the door, I raised an eyebrow. Though it wasn't unusual for him to drop by, his manner was different. He had a wrinkled brow and a pinched forehead, the normal grin absent. Uncharacteristically, I shut off my BlackBerry so that we wouldn't be interrupted and leaned forward. Stoltze grabbed a chair, slid it forward, and began a one-sided conversation.

“Frank, remember those people I mentioned? Those friends that can help?” Bill wasn't talking about a handful of volunteers as I expected. No, what he had in mind was something that went beyond my limited imagination. We were, he explained, about to go national. His
friends
, as he put it, were running the Republican Governors Association (RGA).

There were thirty-six gubernatorial contests to be decided in November 2006, and in a media market as inexpensive as Alaska, the RGA, chaired at the time by Governor Mitt Romney of Massachusetts, felt that it could influence the race for governor.

“I'm talking some serious numbers,” he said. Meanwhile, I was practically wondering if we were on some show with a hidden camera. Stoltze mentioned a dollar amount that went into the hundreds of thousands. For a campaign that once had a four-way debate about whether or not to splurge on a $360 newspaper ad, we were suddenly staring at what seemed like an absurd amount of money.

“Frank, the RGA has a keen interest in seeing Republican governors gain power, and they want Sarah to win this thing.” Stoltze, an early supporter of Sarah before it was politically expedient, knew that he had her appreciation. As such, he stood to gain power if she won. More than once, he mentioned a desire to head up the reapportionment board—which controlled redistricting of the state house and senate districts—thereby giving him power to make or break political careers by redrawing political geography.

He leaned over my desk and reminded me that Knowles would
likely be doing a blitz of negative ads during the last weeks of the campaign. “The RGA wants to help counter that. I've got their contact info for you to reach out to them.”

“Sure, Bill, we'd like the help. And no question money is always an issue. But . . .” I hesitated, because what he said sounded good and the thought of national backing was flattering. “Look, it sounds great, but what about the rules?” I explained that I wasn't overly familiar with election law, but I believed that our campaign was not permitted to coordinate with any outside groups.

Stoltze seemed barely concerned and insisted that this was a game-changing opportunity. Without committing, I said only that I'd pass along the information to Sarah. “She's had experience running campaigns and should know more than me.”