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Empty chair Mr. Lay Sends RegretsBy Rick Horowitz
Poor Ken. He so wanted to be there on Capitol Hill on Monday morning, but he had to wash his hair, and -- Let's try it again, shall we? Poor Ken. He was so looking forward to getting together with his chums in Congress, but he simply had to rinse out a few things, and -- One more time. With feeling. Poor disappointed Ken. He was so excited at the chance to attend those hearings and swap a few Enron stories, but wouldn't you know it? He'd made a prior commitment to keep his butt out of prison, and -- Now we're getting somewhere. Were you surprised that Ken Lay was a no-show? All that buildup, all that fevered anticipation, and then -- drum roll, please -- zilch? "I have instructed Mr. Lay to withdraw his prior acceptance of your invitation." (That's his lawyer.) "He cannot be expected to participate in a proceeding in which conclusions have been reached before Mr. Lay has been given an opportunity to be heard." Apparently our Ken is allergic to the word "pokey." As in, "Maybe somebody ought to go to the..." But were you surprised that he bailed? You shouldn't have been. It's right there on Page 11 of the Scoundrel's Playbook: "Tell the world how eager you are to take an oath and answer every question, how you know in your soul that if only you could tell your side of the story, your innocence would be obvious to everyone, but that you've concluded (with the greatest reluctance) that you need to follow your attorney's advice and withhold any comment for the time being -- not that anything you might say would put you in any jeopardy, of course, but nonetheless..." You've seen this dance more times than you care to remember, haven't you? It's the "Lemme at 'Em! Hold Me Back! I Can Take 'Em! Hide Me Quick!" polka. The last thing the guy wants to do is testify. The next-to-last-thing the guy wants to do is admit that he doesn't. So what we get instead is a double helping of false bravado. Here's the interesting thing, though: In Ken Lay's case, the bravado might have been real. And why not? You look at the guy's track record -- his wealth, his pals, his clout -- and you can understand why he really thinks -- really thought -- he could walk into the lion's den and walk out wearing a lion-skin suit. After all, this is a guy who for years has had politicians rolling over and licking his face -- though that was as much about his checkbook as his charm. This is also a guy who had his employees buying totally into his vision, devoting themselves utterly to his dream. The Cult of Ken? It had everything but the Kool-Aid. And even when it started to go rotten, even when doubts began to surface and some of the faithful started getting nervous, this was a guy who could stand up there with the stink all around him and sell it as perfume. So why wouldn't he think he could make everyone, even congressional committees, see it his way? He'd be among friends, wouldn't he? Plenty of these folks had already been bought and paid for. And don't forget the lovely Linda out there ahead of him, all over the tube, spinning their teary-eyed tale of woe. The perfect one-two punch: Linda's pathos and Ken's patter. Only someone with a heart of stone could resist. Or someone who didn't appreciate being played for a fool. Or someone with outraged constituents. Or a campaign coming up. Or a feeling that this one was different, that this one had gone way over the line -- and that somebody had to be held accountable. Poor Ken reconsidered his options. And suddenly, there was a lot to be said for saying absolutely nothing. Posted 2/5/02. Make
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Rick Horowitz
