Outsider in the White House (12 page)

The negatives of a run for governor were that it would be, in Yogi Berra's words, déjà vu all over again. If the Establishment had gone berserk when I was mayor, what would they do if I were governor and the stakes were much higher? We would most certainly face enormous political and economic opposition, and some of us wondered whether we had the statewide political infrastructure and strength to sustain ourselves against such an onslaught.

If I won we could expect that the Democrats and Republicans who controlled the legislature would vigorously oppose the progressive initiatives I brought forward. Would I be able to win more than a few votes on our key pieces of legislation?

There would also be enormous opposition from the big money interests. If we demanded that the wealthy and large Vermont corporations pay their fair share of taxes, would some of them leave the state and throw Vermont workers out on the streets? As we fought for a statewide health insurance program for all Vermonters, would the insurance companies and health care establishment sabotage our efforts and cut back on medical services? Would Wall Street lower Vermont's bond ratings and plunge us into a financial crisis? Would we be able to get our point of view out through the conservative media organs? Most importantly, did we have a strong enough political organization to keep our supporters mobilized and fighting? Could we hang in for the long haul, or would they blow us away after two years?

There was also a practical consideration: it was unlikely that I would carry 50 percent of the vote in a three-way race. The Vermont Constitution mandates that if no candidate wins 50 percent, the legislature elects the governor. While there would be a tremendous uproar if the legislature failed to seat the candidate with the most votes, it was a distinct possibility. Many Republicans and Democrats in the legislature would
never
cast a vote for Bernie Sanders.

My third and final option was to run for Congress against Peter Smith, again. While it is very tough to knock off an incumbent, I had lost the last race by only three-and-a-half points. Given the fact that the Democrat in 1988 had come in a distant third, it was unlikely that a strong Democrat would enter the race. It was probable, therefore, that I could get the lion's share of the 19 percent that Poirier had received. Further, the developing savings and loan fiasco—which in the end cost taxpayers hundreds of billions of dollars—had revealed the degree to which both parties in Congress worked to represent the interests of wealthy special interests, and exemplified what I had been talking about for years.

Should I run for governor? Should I run for Congress? After a great deal of discussion with progressives all over the state, and amid enormous media speculation, I decided to make another run against Smith.

If the congressional campaign of 1988 had been friendly, positive, and issue-oriented, the election of 1990 was the very opposite. It was one of the most bitter campaigns in Vermont history. It was not fun.

But there were a number of key elements in my favor. First, Smith had voted for the 1990 budget reconciliation bill, which proposed major cuts in Medicare. He had to make a tough choice, and he made the wrong one. I strongly opposed that legislation, and the bill was unpopular in Vermont. Senior citizens in Vermont were strongly Republican or Democrat, and not necessarily comfortable with a progressive Independent. After Smith's vote, however, I began to win more support among seniors.

Second, the 1990 congressional session went on and on and on. Smith was trapped in Washington for much of the campaign. Unlike in 1988, when I had the responsibility of being both a mayor and a candidate, I could campaign full time in Vermont. I didn't have to spend half my time running a city. That was a clear advantage, which allowed me to get around the state and meet voters.

Third, the National Rifle Association turned against Smith. In 1988, the NRA had supported both Smith and Poirier, and had opposed me. During that campaign, I was very clear that while I opposed the Brady bill because I felt that a handgun waiting period could be dealt with at the state level, I supported a ban on certain types of assault weapons, which was clearly a national issue. Both Smith and Poirier adopted the anti—gun control position of the NRA.

A few months after taking office, Smith suddenly announced that he would now vote
for
the ban on assault weapons. The NRA and other elements in Vermont's sportsmen community were furious at his about-face. They felt betrayed and worked hard to defeat him. While the NRA has never endorsed me or given me a nickel, their efforts against Smith in 1988 clearly helped my candidacy. (I should add here that in 1992, '94, and '96, the NRA strongly opposed me.)

Fourth, as I expected, no strong Democrat entered the race. Dolores Sandoval, a professor at the University of Vermont, ran a weak campaign with little party support.

Fifth, many Republicans thought Smith had been rude and disloyal to President Bush, who flew into Vermont to stump for him. At a big Republican fundraiser in Burlington, with the president at his side, Smith announced that he disagreed with Bush and supported increased taxes on the rich. Since everyone in Vermont knew that this had been my position from day one, many Republicans felt that Smith was being opportunistic, and should not have embarrassed the first sitting president to visit Vermont in many years. Republican support for Smith turned tepid.

Last, the political climate in Vermont and America was changing. The excesses of the 1980s were becoming more and more apparent, and it wasn't just the savings and loan scandal. The rich were getting richer, the middle class was shrinking, the new jobs being created were low-wage jobs, and the people of Vermont were increasingly dissatisfied with status quo politics. The idea of going outside of the two-party system became more and more appealing. In this context, an Independent candidate began to look attractive.

Throughout the campaign, polls indicated that the race was close, with Smith slightly ahead. After Smith voted for the budget bill and the cuts in Medicare, however, the momentum shifted to us. Several weeks before the election, we were up by four to six points. Smith then panicked and made the biggest mistake of his campaign: he listened to his Washington consultants and produced the most negative television ads that anyone in Vermont had ever seen. One of the ads, taking a statement of mine out of context, described me as becoming “nauseous” upon hearing John F. Kennedy's inaugural speech. Another redbaited me by putting me on a split screen with Fidel Castro.

A week before the election, Dennis Gilbert, who was rapidly becoming a very adept pollster, put together a quick tracking poll. Not being “sophisticated” and having the poll done by big-time operators in Washington, we were able to tabulate the polling information immediately. In fact, Dennis and I counted some of the results in my car after picking up the raw data from one of our volunteer phone banks. The poll confirmed what we had been feeling out on the streets: Smith's ads were backfiring, and we were winning big. The people of Vermont did not like ugly, negative advertising.

Our momentum was palpable. Everywhere I went there was tremendous support. As I walked down streets, people honked their horns and shouted from their cars, “Give 'em hell, Bernie,” “Shake 'em up.” Hester McKinney, our office manager, was fielding calls of support from all over the state. Our campaign slogan was “Making History in Vermont.” That's what we were about to do—and everyone knew it.

Election night was euphoric. As television stations reported victories for us in town after town, what stuck in my mind was how two years before we had been ahead early in the evening, but had ultimately lost. The last thing in the world I wanted was to show up at the celebration, presume victory, and then lose. So my family and I, along with some close friends, waited out the long night at home.

But 1990 was not 1988. Our support was amazingly strong all over the state, and we carried thirteen of Vermont's fourteen counties. The final results were Sanders 56 percent, Smith 40 percent, and Sandoval 3 percent. When we finally headed off to the celebration, well over a thousand people had already filled the basement of Memorial Auditorium. There was pandemonium. I could barely fight my way to the podium.

It is hard to describe my feelings at that moment. We had come such a long way, against such incredible odds. So many wonderful people, from one end of the state to the other, had come together to make this victory possible. Twenty years before, I had run for statewide office and had received 2 percent of the vote. As I climbed onto the platform for my victory statement, I was now the congressman-elect from the state of Vermont, the first Independent elected to Congress in forty years. It was almost incomprehensible.

All of us were exhausted, but the adrenalin of victory kept us afloat for many days. There were people all over the state to visit and thank, and a million phone calls to make. There were radio, TV, and newspaper interviews to do all across the country. I was a true novelty: the only Independent in Congress
and
a socialist. Whatever “socialist” might mean to the media, it was sure new and different. Media heaven. Among other shows, I appeared on
Nightline
with Ted Koppel. Paul Wellstone, who had just been elected to the Senate, and Gary Franks, the first black Republican in Congress, were also on that night. I did the show from the ABC affiliate in Burlington, and it was the first time that I had to answer questions while staring into a blank camera. It was a disconcerting experience. A short time later I appeared on Larry King's radio program. King and I reminisced about Brooklyn, where we had both grown up.

A new member of Congress, whether a socialist Independent or a right-wing Republican, must deal immediately with housekeeping chores. I headed for Washington and jumped in. First, I had to familiarize myself with a congressman's annual budget, about $877,000, and the legal guidelines for allocating funds to staff, mailings, general office expenses, etc. Along with other new members, I had to select an office in one of the House office buildings—Rayburn, Cannon, or Longworth—by drawing a number out of a box. I ended up with an office in Cannon, on the fifth floor. Coincidentally, this same office was used a few decades before by an aggressive young congressman from California, Richard Nixon. Now where did he hide those tape recorders?

Bells sound in the office buildings fifteen minutes before a vote, and it's down the elevator, through the halls, and across the street to the Capitol. On a vote-heavy day, you can spend an hour on trips to the Capitol and back. It's one way to stay in shape. The best offices (in the Rayburn building) are closest to the Capitol. Needless to say, new members don't get them.

The next order of business was organizing district congressional offices, along with assembling a competent staff, installing telephones, figuring out which outrageously expensive computer system worked best for my needs, and requisitioning furniture from the General Administrative Services. (We inherited some of Peter Smith's old desks.) Burlington is the largest city in Vermont, and that's where I decided to open the main district office. However, during the campaign I had promised the people of Bennington, who are in the southern tip of the state and often feel slighted by Vermont government, that if I were elected I would also establish an office there. That we did.

Unless you're a total nut who wants to make some kind of weird political statement by sleeping in your office (as some freshmen Republicans did in 1995), you need to find a place to live. Jane and I wanted to live on Capitol Hill and be able to walk to work. We found an apartment about five blocks from the office that turned out to be too big and expensive. We later took an efficiency one block from the office.

Now that I was a congressman, I had to establish goals for the next two years and decide what I could realistically accomplish. An important component of this agenda-setting was selecting the appropriate committees to serve on. This involved an enormous amount of political maneuvering.

Dealing with all of these matters at the same time must be difficult for any congressman. But they are even tougher without a party apparatus behind you and when you're the lone representative from your state. (Vermont, Alaska, Delaware, Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota, and Wyoming are the seven states with a single representative in Congress.) Patrick Leahy, Vermont's senior senator, kindly offered me the use of his offices during the transition period, and I began tackling what needed to be done.

Jane, who became an unpaid “special assistant,” and Jeff Weaver took turns covering the orientation for Chiefs of Staff, sifted through hundreds of resumés, and interviewed potential staff members. A young man named George Stephanopolous, who at that time was an aide to Dick Gephardt, proved very helpful in showing us the ropes in Congress. He later went on to become George Stephanopolous.

To head the D.C. office, I brought in Doug Boucher, a former college instructor and environmental writer, who was extremely knowledgeable on foreign policy issues and Latin America. Ruthan Wirman, a veteran on Capitol Hill, came aboard as our office manager, and John Franco and Jeff Weaver took on the legislative work. A remarkable young woman named Katie Clarke was assigned phone duty, and within a few years became our legislative director. Carolyn Kazdin, who had worked on several of Jesse Jackson's campaigns, focused on economic issues and our relationship to organized labor.

For the Vermont staff, I hired Anthony Pollina, the founder and director of Rural Vermont, as district director. Saving the dwindling number of family-owned dairy farms in Vermont was a priority, and Anthony is one of the most knowledgeable people around on agricultural issues. He also has a great deal of expertise on environmental matters. Rachael Levin, who had helped manage the campaign, came on board as our office manager. (Rachael's mother Ruth had been a member of the Liberty Union twenty years before, and I remembered Rachael as a baby.) Jim Schumacher, who had been active in Burlington city government for many years and served very effectively as our field director during the campaign, became our outreach director. Liz Gibbs-West took over scheduling and general office management.