Staying True (8 page)

I struck a deal of sorts. I agreed to stay, but we would engage others to lighten my load. I know we actually hired one person but there were quite a few people with serious campaign experience who joined us as volunteers, too, and their combined support helped relieve me of the exhausting fulltime detail. Nevertheless, we didn’t fully trust the agendas of all our new “friends” in this campaign, especially after the day we discovered two volunteers rifling through files they didn’t need to be looking through. When they couldn’t really explain what they were up to, we asked them to leave. From then on we kept an eye on all unknown newcomers. Mark and I continued to keep the real decision making between ourselves and our media adviser.

Late in September, Mark and I traveled to Washington, DC, so that he could sign Newt Gingrich’s famed Contract with America. It was on this trip that we began to feel like we were on a much larger team: We met so many other Republican candidates and U.S. Representatives who all wanted to help us win. As collegial as that began to make us feel, we learned that with these higher stakes came dirtier tricks, and we were naïve enough to take real offense, to be bothered by it. As we arrived at a Republican fundraising dinner that evening, there were picketers outside the entrance. Mark saw a few holding signs with his name on them that said things like “Sanford you’re eating the heart of the lowcountry.” Mark, honestly wanting to know what he had done that upset these picketers, went up to one to ask him directly. After tapping the man with the sign on the shoulder, he discovered the man had clearly been hired to hold the sign: He had no clue who Mark Sanford was and could barely speak a word of English.

During this brief trip, we also discovered how deeply the opposition would be willing to dig to oppose Mark’s candidacy. A reporter we met there showed Mark a full-page ad printed in
Roll Call
magazine and paid for by the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee that listed ten Republican candidates for Congress, including Mark. On the other column was a list of things these ten had done. The idea of the ad was to match the name of the candidate with their past. The list had all sorts of outlandish credentials like “claims that white, Anglo-Saxon men are an endangered species” or this candidate “claims Greeks and Romans were homosexuals” and so on. I looked at the list and had no clue which act was attributed to the man I was married to. After eliminating the ones I knew could not have been Mark’s doing, I narrowed it down to Mark having been a “goose exterminator.” I asked him if he’d ever been one. It turned out one summer during college he worked to control the goose population in New Zealand by shooting geese and injecting poison into unhatched eggs, something I’d never known, yet the press had managed to find out before me.

Goose exterminator or not, the contrast between Mark and his Democratic opponent Robert Barber was clear, no more so on display than when Barber falsely claimed Mark opposed hiring more police and that he advocated legalization of prostitution. When asked if he would support a specific bill on crime, Mark responded that he would not because of the wasteful spending in the bill. Barber used Mark’s stance, absurdly, to label him as “pro-crime.”

When Barber’s attacks on Mark’s positions on the issues didn’t cause him to gain any ground, he went after Mark’s personal life. He tried to paint Mark as a wealthy tourist from out-of-state, although in fact the Sanfords had moved to South Carolina from Florida fifteen years earlier and had spent every summer there before that. His tone implied that if you are successful or of means, you are unfit to represent a congressional district. Then he picked on Mark for not voting in every election, as he had not registered to vote during the year and a half he lived in New York City.

In my mind, this just meant he was a normal citizen; when he had moved away he hadn’t bothered to change a lot of things, including his driver’s license. He had known the move north would be temporary. That “normal guy” image was what we emphasized in our ads. The style was friendly and direct, with Mark speaking to the voters about the issues he cared about, no gimmicks or sleazy attacks. Perhaps that was what made people believe that they knew him. After just a few weeks of running our ads, Mark went from a virtual unknown to someone who was recognized on the street. Suddenly when he knocked on doors, he was greeted warmly. He relished it when someone gave him a thumbs-up or told him they agreed with his positions and would likely vote for him in the upcoming election. I think that even with all the perks and parties and praise that comes with political success, there is nothing quite as empowering in all of politics as the unsolicited thanks of someone on the street.

On election night, almost exactly one year after beginning our stitched-together campaign, we held our celebration at Calder’s Pub on King Street in Charleston. Mark won the election with sixty-seven percent of the vote, almost 95,000 votes: a very healthy total. We had run an almost flawless campaign—rising from two percent in the polls in just four months. We won despite spending much less money than our opponents in each of the three elections. By focusing exclusively on the issues Mark cared about, we ran an honorable and effective campaign, never once taking our eye off the ball. Republicans were elected in many districts all across the nation that same night as control of the House was transferred from the Democrats to the Republicans for the first time in decades. Through our victory we were joining up with a movement that pledged to take the country in a bold, new direction.

For me, however, that election victory was not as exciting as the primary had been. In such a heavily Republican and conservative district, Mark’s chances had been very good once he became the party candidate. My excitement was at the prospect of getting back to a more normal life. Marshall was now speaking in full sentences and potty training while Landon had just taken his first steps. They were swept up in the activity too but I yearned for more time with them, time when we could enjoy being instead of doing.

In an interview I gave to our local paper the next day about the election and my expectations, I said boldly that I’d never liked politics, didn’t want to be involved in politics, and, “now that this campaign is over, I’m finished with politics.” The story went on:

“I was exhausted,” she said. “I couldn’t answer one more stupid question. I couldn’t smile at one more person. I missed being with my children.”

Mrs. Sanford isn’t sure what comes next—whether she’ll stay in her Wentworth Street house or move to Washington.

Right now, she says, she’s focused on something more immediate. After the ten houseguests leave and the pillows are put away, she’s going to spend a night at home with her family. No one else. She’ll wear blue jeans and eat popcorn. She won’t answer the phone. Better yet, the phone won’t even ring.

After that, she wants to see her friends, read something beside political treatises, and play some tennis or golf.
(Post and Courier
, November 10, 1994)

Little did I know then that the busyness was far from over, the houseguests would linger, and my desire for time alone with my family would become the fight of my life thereafter.

Looking back I now realize this was the beginning of Mark’s unyielding loyalty to the conservative principles of fiscal stewardship and limited government. It is this unyielding loyalty to principle that is so rare in politics and yet it is perhaps this same unyielding focus on these conservative principles that caused Mark to lose sight, over time, of his personal values that I think matter more. It is one thing to campaign on the issues but I was soon to learn that in elected office one’s adherence to the issues is challenged continually. Mark’s loyalty to the issues from then on would be seriously tested and so would his loyalty to me and to himself.

SIX

A
T THE MOMENT WHEN MARK WON HIS SEAT IN CONGRESS, WE were the closest we’d ever been, victorious in something that we started from just a table in a chilly garage. My commitment to manage his campaign was one of those here and now choices. Mark had a dream and working with him to achieve it was a way to help him feel more fully alive. When I said I’d do it, I was taking the long view, imagining we would reminisce some day about what great fun we had that crazy time he decided to run for Congress. I gave it my all, and improbably, I became the wife of a politician.

We made another quick series of decisions about what seemed to make sense in the day to day. A congressional salary is nothing compared to Wall Street standards, or of one in real estate, so we had to think carefully about how we were going to live within our means. The first decision was whether our family would move with Mark to DC or remain in Charleston.

The House of Representatives’ two-year term makes it the elected body most responsive to the people. What this meant for a political newcomer like Mark is that he had to be home in the district as often as he could on weekends to remind the voters who he was and what he was doing for them. The government will cover the cost for a congressman to travel home if his time home includes official business. The government will not, however, cover the cost of flights to DC for visits by the representative’s spouse and children. We decided we would see more of Mark if we remained in South Carolina and saw him on trips home. Logical, yes, but amazing to me now, how naïve I was to agree to being a single mother four or more days a week. In my own defense, I know now that raising the boys didn’t give me much time to think!

Shortly after he was elected, I traveled to DC with Mark for orientation and to help him look at apartments. Of course, he was only looking at cheap places in neighborhoods that seemed very dangerous to me. When he decided to sleep in his office on a futon, my mother called me, alarmed.

“You can’t let him sleep in his office!” she said.

“Why not?” I responded. As if I could somehow get Mark to change his mind!

“Well that’s just not okay for anyone to live that way, and what will he do when you visit?”

“Mom, I think it’s just fine.” I said. “I saw the awful apartments he wanted to rent and I would be worried for his safety in them, and mine as well. If I were to visit him there, I would likely find myself cleaning the place. If he sleeps in his office, when I visit once or twice a year, I can stay in a hotel for a nice break and he can visit me,” I explained.

She saw immediately where I was coming from and agreed we had a good plan.

When I think back to the two of us at that time in our lives, I marvel at how wonderfully naïve and idealistic we were. We saw the world as black or white and were dismissive of those who saw it in shades of gray. Through the campaign for Congress, my love for my husband deepened as I saw him refuse to be swayed from his beliefs in order to pick up a few votes or an endorsement. He would rather lose the campaign than win it through sleazy compromises, and my idealistic young heart swelled with pride to be married to such a principled man.

But after our principled campaign, we took a crash course in the reality of rules-to-live-by for elected officials. It became immediately apparent to me that campaigns never end; they are a constant part of public life, and public officials follow an entirely different set of standards. I didn’t believe that Mark would get caught in these traps because of his loyalty to his core beliefs.

We’ve all seen many times how a candidate promises to lead courageously and follow ideals, then the endless horse trading of being an elected official causes those ideals to slip. In the crude reality that exists behind the scenes, every issue has a history, constituencies on differing sides, as well as lobbyists for or against flattering the legislators and offering them trips and lavish meals to curry favor. In order to get anything done, representatives trade a vote on a bill they don’t really believe in for promises of support on another bill. Bit by bit, those initial ideals and goals get chipped away. All the more reason, Mark and I believed, to keep them in focus and make every decision guided by a conscious appreciation of them. Mark’s constant struggle to hew to his own standards of frugality, for instance, was not just a virtue he would promote in government, but one that he would demonstrate in his daily life in Congress.

From the very first day, he closely watched expenses in the office, requiring the staff to save paperclips and copy on the reverse side of used paper. As long as the federal budget remained unbalanced, Mark refused to take a pay increase, instead donating the raise the representatives voted themselves to charity. (In his first year in office, with what he saved on administrative costs, Mark also returned more than $200,000 in funds to the U.S. Treasury.) Plus, on principle, he refused the franking privileges, which allow representatives to send mail for free. Mark believed this amounted to a campaign subsidy that protected incumbents at the expense of citizen legislators like himself.

Once he got to Congress, Mark’s Cinderella story captivated the national media, which was charmed too by the fact that Mark wasn’t just a deficit hawk on the stump. He caught the first possible plane home when voting ended, bringing his dirty laundry back each weekend. He bragged about how he could survive two weeks on a $20 bill by grazing at lobbyist-funded receptions and being driven by staff to required events. When the press found out where he was living, images of the futon in the middle of his grand congressional office space made great television. Mark found the attention difficult to refuse. In truth, he relished every bit of the glare and soon grew to seek it.

As the media lavished attention on him, the people in our district became more aware of his budding national presence. They called or wrote to tell Mark how proud they were of his election, and how hopeful they were that he would succeed. Where fundraising had been nearly impossible during our first campaign, suddenly unsolicited checks filled the mailbox, along with offers from complete strangers who wanted to host fundraisers for Mark’s reelection.

I learned immediately of “the almighty schedule” and of the importance of fighting for open time for our family. The scheduler booked Mark’s time in five-minute increments throughout each day and into the evening. If Mark allowed it (and he largely did), he could fully book each evening and weekend with speeches, dinners, parades, or even with travel to spots around the world to learn more about the issues being debated and discussed in Congress. There were many weekends when Mark was home in name only. He’d show up, hand me his laundry, spend a few precious hours with the boys and me, then be off to an all-day marathon of public events and fundraisers.

In the meantime, I was just as busy with our little constituents, to whom I was connected in a way that no one but they and I could see or appreciate. Mark’s connection was necessarily diffuse and to a broad public. Mine was intimate. I was wholly and completely engaged as I held down the fort in Charleston with my pack of babies, another of which, Bolton, arrived in the second year of Mark’s first term. One night in particular reminds me of the very different kinds of lives my husband and I were leading.

When Marshall was three and a half and Landon was two and a half, both had a violent stomach bug, and I found myself running around cleaning up after each one, repeatedly changing sheets and pajamas while trying to comfort them both and nursing baby Bolton as well. At one point, I got Landon back down in his crib and had Marshall with me in my bathroom. I pleaded with Marshall to wear a pull-up diaper because I just couldn’t keep up with all the mess. He insisted he was a big boy and didn’t need a diaper anymore. During a moment of clarity, I realized I would not win a negotiation with a stubborn toddler, so I got Marshall a pillow and blanket and placed them in the tub, and said, “Well then son, you are just going to have to sleep in the tub!” At the prospect of sleeping uncomfortably and alone in the bathroom, Marshall gave in and agreed to wear the diaper “just for one night.” Whatever you might say about the maturity of his colleagues, these were not the kinds of negotiations Mark was having in Congress!

The boys and I had our own pleasures and routines. I treasured my time with them. We loved sitting together with take-out pizza and watching movies while just a few channels away their dad cast his vote on an important bill on C-SPAN. Mark had a rare opportunity to serve the country, and all of us were pitching in. I reminded myself that my lot was no different than the wife of a busy salesman and a lot better than the spouse of a solider serving in one of our wars. And at least I could see my husband on C-SPAN if I really wanted to tune in. Job asked: “Shall we indeed accept good from God and not accept adversity?” We had been richly blessed. Doing my small part to accommodate Mark’s busy life while focusing on the blessings underfoot was minimal on the adversity scale; it was not too much to ask.

Knowing Mark’s extremely frugal habits, I knew not to expect much from Mark for birthdays or for Christmas, even if I felt it was surely nice to be remembered every now and again. After our first big primary and run-off wins in 1994, Mark surprised me over a romantic dinner one evening with a beautiful gold pin, a laughing elephant I have worn plenty over the years he has served as a Republican. Once in office, however, his habits deteriorated and he even forgot my birthday once. Thereafter, I nudged the scheduler to remind him. (My birthday is on September 11, and since 2001 Mark has learned to remember it without a reminder.)

One birthday during the later congressional years, Mark decided to do something very nice for me. He had a friend pick out a diamond necklace and he had a staff member hide it in my closet. Then he faxed clues to the campaign office in our basement as to where I should look to find my birthday gift. I had the boys join me in the scavenger hunt and, working together, we found it. I loved it! Not only did I love the necklace, but this reminded me of what I loved about Mark Sanford. The scavenger hunt was clever and his notes and clues were ever so boyishly sweet.

A few days later, he arrived home from DC. We had dinner guests, and I was proudly wearing my lovely new necklace. As soon as he saw me wearing it, he said
“That
is what I spent all that money on?! I hope you kept the box!”

He returned the necklace the next day, thinking it was not worth the money he had spent. He could see I was disappointed, but he promised to make it up to me. In truth, once I knew he thought he had overspent, I also knew it would pain him to see me wear the necklace had I insisted on keeping it. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable wearing it in his presence, so what was the point? I had married him, after all, knowing he was not a big-spending Wall Street type. I remained thankful for the thought and the sweet scavenger hunt nonetheless.

I wasn’t the only one to bear the brunt of Mark’s frugality. Mark had a standing weekly movie night with fellow congressmen Lindsey Graham and Steve Largent and they would rotate who was responsible for the movie tickets and snacks. When it was Mark’s turn to get the popcorn and soda, Mark chose the best deal. He bought one large bag of popcorn and a jumbo-sized Coke with three straws. I’m not sure if Lindsey and Steve thought Mark’s decision was stingy or hilarious. But his explanation was simple and true to form: The Coke had free refills.

In all fairness, I realize that seriously caring about saving money is an admirable (and rare) quality in a politician. Mark’s frugality isn’t for show. It is in his core. Spending money gets his attention. I learned to use this to my advantage.

We arrived home late one Sunday evening in January 1997 from a congressional retreat in Hershey, Pennsylvania, with Marshall and Landon. We’d left baby Bolton at home with a sitter, Zetta Brown. Upon return, Zetta told us Bolton was sleeping soundly upstairs, but she thought she had heard a bird in the house.

When I went upstairs to unpack and get ready for bed, I discovered two bats sleeping peacefully in my sink. I called for Mark, who calmly got the bats snug in a t-shirt. The older boys were enthralled as he gently released the bats out the front door. We proceeded to unpack and tucked Marshall and Landon into their beds. Then I went to bed too, only to find bats swooping through my bedroom as soon as I turned out the lights.

This time I called frantically for Mark, and he got a tennis racket and started whacking at bats throughout the house as the boys slept. (I later learned it is against the law to kill bats, a federal law Mark called worthless once I informed him of it.) Nine bats later, we went to bed, though I lay awake and kept one eye open for bats for too long.