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McCain plays it coy A Hideaway? Who's He Kidding?By Rick Horowitz
See, this is exactly why I don't spend my weekends with John McCain anymore. You've probably heard by now -- there are goat herders in Uzbekistan who have probably heard by now -- that the senior senator from Arizona recently had the senior senator from South Dakota to his Sedona ranch for a visit. Just a social occasion, McCain assured one and all -- the two men and their wives, another man and his wife. Hiking. Fishing. Gazing at the gorgeous red rocks. That sort of thing. Except for the fact that the senior senator from South Dakota was one Tom Daschle, a Democrat, who at that very moment was just days away from becoming Majority Leader of the Senate thanks to the defection of one of McCain's fellow Republicans. And except for the fact that the other man was one Bruce Reed -- another Democrat, the former domestic-policy adviser to Bill Clinton (also a Democrat), and now the president of the Democratic Leadership Council. All of which set tongues to wagging, all weekend long and ever since. "What's McCain up to?" "Is he jumping ship?" "Is he sticking it to Bush again?" And so on. And so on. If Daschle and Reed were hoping for some quiet time away from the office, away from all that high-level political intrigue, they picked the wrong vacation, and the wrong host. I could have told them that. "Rick, John here -- why don't you folks come out for the weekend?" He didn't have to say which "John." If the phone rang late on a Thursday afternoon, it was John McCain. He and Cindy were calling to invite us to spend a few days with them at the hideaway. "Fish are jumping," he'd say. "And the cactus is high." It always sounded too good to be true, so we'd throw a few things into our bags and catch the first flight to Phoenix; they'd meet us at the airport and drive us up to the cabin. From the first time we ever set foot in the place, I could see why they loved it so much. It was the perfect spot to kick back, to get away from it all. I could hardly wait to drop my line into the water. "Gimme a minute," he'd say. "I have to check CNN." And he'd go off into his little study and turn on the TV. A half-hour later, he'd come out, a big smile on his face. CNN was reporting our visit, he'd say. It was the lead story: "McCain hosts syndicated columnist." I was flattered, of course -- it's not every day I'm the lead story on CNN. But we weren't out there to make news. We were out there to relax. I'd remind him about the fishing. "Gimme a minute," he'd say. "I have to get my cell phone." Which he'd do, and then he'd throw all the rest of the gear into the back of a Jeep and the four of us would head up into the mountains toward one of their favorite fishing spots. Except that all the way up there, he'd be trying to get onto the Internet. "I know they'll have something on MSNBC," he'd say. "`McCain huddles with columnist' -- they wouldn't miss a story like this." And then he'd talk about how reception was so unpredictable in the mountains, how the cabin was the only place he could really be sure of a decent connection, how maybe we should forget about the fishing for a while and turn back. "Whatever you say," I'd tell him. I'd try not to let my disappointment show. So we'd return to the cabin and he'd run straight to the study. "Still the lead story!" he'd shout out to us. Sometimes they'd even have reaction to our visit from some of his Senate colleagues. He could watch this stuff for hours. Occasionally I'd get up the courage to interrupt him: Any chance of going for a little hike? It's so beautiful out here, it would be a waste not to -- "Gimme a minute," he'd say. "I have to put out a press release." He'd sit there at his computer, pecking at the keyboard until he was satisfied. Then he'd send it out and hand me a copy. "As I have said repeatedly," it would say, "I have no intention of leaving the Republican Party to become a syndicated columnist, nor do I have any cause to leave the Republican Party to become a syndicated columnist. I hope this will put an end to further speculation on this subject." Then he'd look at me with that grin of his. "They'll love the wiggle words," he'd say. We never did go fishing. Posted 6/5/01. Don't
you play coy about "Rick's" -- tell your friends!
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Rick Horowitz
