November 4th, 2002
By Mark Leibovich
The Washington Post
Tom Daschle makes a small entrance. He arrives commotion-free, a few
minutes early for a campaign rally for Sen. Tom Harkin (D-Iowa) at the
University of Iowa's Memorial Union. As he waits for Harkin, Daschle doesn't
so much work the room as mill through it, gently, shaking hands and telling
everyone how "terrific it is to be in Iowa" in a deep voice that's barely
audible.
Daschle comes with no discernible swagger, no extra noise and no entourage
other than three security guards who provide the only clue that he is a
pivotal figure and popular target. Daschle started getting threats on his
life several years ago. They began well before he became the Senate majority
leader, well before opponents started comparing him to Saddam Hussein and
well before someone sent anthrax to his office. Friends say that Daschle
rarely speaks about the threats except to say that he tries to forget them,
that he endures them with the same apparent nonchalance that he brings
to what might be the toughest political job outside of the Oval Office.
No one besides George W. Bush has stood so prominently -- and precariously
-- in the middle of so many recent Washington news cycles as Tom Daschle.
He is a political figure wholly ensconced in this American moment, someone
who always seems to be standing on the brink of, or in the aftermath of,
something monumental. Daschle, 54, has just come to Iowa from Minnesota,
where he had spent the weekend comforting the family and staff of Sen.
Paul Wellstone, who died in a plane crash the previous Friday. He is just
a few days from the election that will determine whether he keeps his job
as majority leader. Nearly everyone in this Democratic crowd admires Daschle
-- although few seem to realize that he's even here, in a smallish ballroom
that holds about 120 people.
"He is?" says Holly Berkowitz of Iowa City, when informed of Daschle's
arrival. She is, at this moment, just four feet from where the South Dakota
Democrat has been standing for several seconds.
Daschle sleeps five hours a night but has a knack for looking well rested.
He has sharp and lively blue eyes and a morning-fresh pompadour of excellent
brown hair. When standing stationary, Daschle evinces a nervous energy
by tiptoeing his lean runner's body up and down in quick bounces. "Hi,
Tom Daschle," he says here shaking the hand of a voter who of course knows
who he is.
A few minutes later, an antiwar protester confronts Daschle. The protester
is holding a "Regime Change Begins at Home" sign and is questioning Daschle
about his support for the prospective war in Iraq. Daschle trots out the
standard deflective rhetoric that politicians use in these situations:
He tells the protester, Jimmy Moore of Fairfield, Iowa, that he respects
his right to speak out, that dissent is the American way and that he really
admires him for taking a stand.
Daschle's face is frozen in a slight and joyless grin as he turns in
search of a friendlier audience. This turns out to be Harkin, who has just
barreled in to loud applause. "Hey, leader," Harkin yells, and he envelops
Daschle in a bear hug as Daschle buries his head in Harkin's torso.
Other than a brief conversation prior to the Iowa City rally, Daschle
declined to sit for a formal interview for this article, saying -- through
a spokeswoman -- that until Election Day, everything he does will be focused
on keeping his party's majority in the Senate. After that, there will be
plenty of time to talk, plenty of time to look back, take four-mile jogs
through his Northwest Washington neighborhood and solitary drives across
the 66 counties of South Dakota (as he does every summer). Things might
even get calm enough for Daschle to contemplate other matters -- such as
whether he'll run for president in 2004.
In fact, time has not slowed for Tom Daschle in more than a year. His
life has been a speeding political treadmill since May 2001 when Jim Jeffords
quit the Republican Party and Daschle took over as the Senate majority
leader by one vote. After Sept. 11, 2001, he became the Democrat's main
face of bipartisanship; the next month, when 20 members of his staff were
exposed to anthrax, "Tom became a national victim," says Sen. Richard Durbin
(D-Ill.).
Since then, Daschle has shot past Ted Kennedy and Hillary Clinton as
the Republican Party's chief demon on numerous issues -- economic stimulus,
judicial appointments and homeland security, among others. He has been
called an "obstructionist," "empty-headed," "unpatriotic" and worse. The
invective has only mounted during this election season and Daschle's name
is reliably invoked at Republican campaign events -- and just as reliably
it's been booed.
"I'm going to make it a little personal," Minority Leader Trent Lott
said at a recent rally in Arkansas for Republican Senate candidate Tim
Hutchinson. Lott (R-Miss.) promised that Arkansas would fare much better
with Hutchinson in the Senate and with Lott as majority leader, not "Tom
Daschle from North Dakota." Booooo.
One conservative group is running ads in four states that portray Daschle
as a bobble-head doll -- standing next to Clinton and Kennedy bobble-head
dolls. The Daschle doll shakes its head no as a narrator reads White House
proposals on homeland security and "job-creating tax cuts." Bush has made
several trips to South Dakota. He does not mention Daschle by name, but
it's clear that the majority leader, like Bush, is as central a candidate
as there is in this election, even if his name will appear on no ballots
tomorrow. At rallies, Republicans dutifully deride the opposition as the
"Daschle Democrats." Booooo.
At various times, Daschle has enjoyed good working relationships with
both Lott and Bush, but those relationships have deteriorated, according
to sources close to all parties involved. (Neither Lott nor any White House
official would return calls seeking comment for this article). When Daschle
is asked, in Iowa City, whether the president has one of those cutesy Bush
nicknames for him, he replies, "No, no," and does a smiling grimace as
he shakes his head. "Although I'm sure he's got a lot of nicknames for
me when I'm not around."
Daschle enjoys the role of Democratic boogeyman. "He sees it as a sort
of badge of honor," says Sen. Christopher Dodd (D-Conn.), whom Daschle
defeated by one vote to become minority leader in 1994. "If he weren't
effective, no one would bother going after him."
Despite the pelting Daschle has received, his negative ratings remain
relatively low. Only 26 percent of respondents said they viewed him unfavorably
in a Gallup Poll conducted in September. The attacks on Daschle "probably
gets the Republican base excited," says former Senate majority leader George
Mitchell (D-Maine), "but I don't know if they're convincing to anyone else."
Daschle cuts a strikingly unembattled figure, which is not to say he
is insensitive to criticism. Indeed, he is far more so than his unflappable
demeanor would suggest, friends and adversaries say. He rarely raises his
voice, but will frequently lower it in stern anger. He follows what is
said and written about him as closely as any senator does, perhaps more.
"He is not a softy, but he is a sensitive person," says Larry Piersol,
a federal judge in South Dakota and a close friend of Daschle's. Some Republican
Senate staff members have coined the term "Tommy burns" to describe Daschle's
quiet simmerings of temper.
Daschle's publicly stoic air masks a formidable cache of political ambition.
This drive was displayed notably in 1994 when, in just his second term,
he ran to replace the retiring Mitchell as his party's leader in the Senate.
Daschle was a long shot to Jim Sasser of Tennessee, but Sasser lost his
election to Bill Frist and then Daschle went on to defeat Dodd, 24-23.
It was one in a series of tight victories that have marked Daschle's career
from the time he won election to Congress in 1978 -- by 139 votes.
He is skilled at finessing delicate situations, especially his one-vote
majority in the Senate. He has repeatedly thwarted the White House's plans
by keeping a caucus of titanic egos together despite varied agendas and
a tiny margin of error.
Daschle is self-deprecating but works hard at likability. Aides say
he is obsessive when it comes to making the well-placed sympathy or congratulatory
call, and after a political trip, Daschle will, more often than not, finish
all of his handwritten thank-you notes (to his driver, to his hosts) before
his plane has touched down.
Again, this hardly makes Daschle unique among good politicians. But
beyond the mechanics of political affability, Daschle has intangibles.
"There are not a lot of people in politics who really understand friendships
like Tommy does," says Tony Coelho, the former House Democratic whip who
served with Daschle in Congress. He possesses "this fascinating ability
to appear genuine at all times," Coelho says. This gives Daschle the benefit
of the doubt in many situations, Coelho says, just as his quiet style makes
it easy for adversaries to underestimate him.
Bill Clinton was famous for his large FOB network, Coelho points out.
Clinton would make unexpected phone calls and engage in late-night conversations.
"But if you were in trouble, you would never think of calling Bill Clinton,"
Coelho says. "You knew it was a political relationship with Clinton. With
Daschle, there's a feeling that it's a real friendship."
Like many U.S. senators, Daschle is also sufficiently ambitious to believe
he can be president. He said he will decide sometime after Election Day.
One wonders, however, how well the understated savvy that has served Daschle
as majority leader would translate to a presidential run.
Daschle is the consummate double-take pol: You see him, you look again,
and then it registers -- oh, it's him. He is 5 feet 8 -- much shorter than
he appears on television. He is a solidly comfortable presence when he's
in front of you, or on television, "someone you find yourself nodding along
to," says Rep. Jan Schakowsky (D-Ill.), who is campaigning for a Democratic
House candidate in Iowa City.
But Daschle is less compelling when he tries to elevate that presence
on a podium. This is revealed in Iowa City, when he follows a fiery speech
by Harkin.
Daschle begins in a slight and conversational voice. He is self-effacing
-- saying that Wellstone was one of the few senators shorter than him,
that the main reason he's campaigning for Harkin is that Harkin supported
him for majority leader.
All you need to know about politics, Daschle says, you learn while driving
a car. "You wanna go forward, what do you do? You put it in D," he says.
"You want to go back, you put it in R." Everyone laughs, and some applaud
and that would seem a tidy enough ending, except that here it gets slightly
weird.
Daschle starts yelling, seemingly trying to match Harkin. He is at his
most unnatural when yelling. "You got the drivers right here," he says.
"You got the designated drivers right here."
Daschle's voice carries awkwardly, it cracks and his words come in a
series of muffled barklike sounds. He bounces up and down, hugging and
high-fiving local candidates and yelling something that's lost in the crowd's
cheers.
Afterward, a small group walks to the front of the room to get his autograph.
But by the time they get there, Daschle is outside in a waiting Ford SUV,
gone as quietly as he had arrived.
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