William Bernhardt - Capitol Threat

Ben rose to his feet. Bening saw him from the corner of his eye.

“…and so as we consider the nomination of Judge Roush—”

Ben sat back down. Very smooth transition.

“…this is not an all-or-nothing proposition. It is not as if the rejection of this candidate will create a permanent vacuum on the Supreme Court. It only means that we can return to the drawing board and reconsider, perhaps make a more measured analysis of what this Court needs, what this country needs. I think you all share my conviction that—” He glanced toward Haskins, sitting in the gallery, and smiled, “—that it will not be difficult to find an alternative candidate.”

He paused, then looked squarely into the television camera. “Ladies and gentlemen. When you have the chance to go with a hero, why settle for anything less?”

Despite their previous conversation, Ben was still surprised when Keyes’s fickle finger of fate turned next toward him. “The Chair recognizes the junior senator from the State of Oklahoma.” He smiled thinly. “You have five minutes, sir.”

There was an audible stir in the chamber, including the gallery. Ben wasn’t the only one who was surprised.

“Then I’d best get started.” Ben stood beside his desk and turned so he could see the entire assemblage. He’d never spoken to such a large group in his entire life, certainly not if you considered the countless people who must be watching on television. He felt his knees wobble a bit just thinking about it. So, he reasoned, it was best not to think about it. Concentrate on what he was doing. Even if this wasn’t a courtroom, the primary rule of closing argument for the defense was the same: bring it back to the person.

“This has been a very long process,” Ben began, trying to slow the pace of the rhetoric a bit. “At least, it seems like a long time to me. It seems like an eternity to me.” Mild chuckles from the gallery. “But imagine how it must feel for Thaddeus Roush. Imagine how it must feel to have your name dragged through the public dirt, to have your secrets revealed, your previously unblemished reputation tarnished, and for what? Because the President chose you for the Supreme Court.”

He turned, wondered briefly if his better profile was to the camera, then got on with his speech. “Thaddeus Roush never asked to be on the Supreme Court, never expected to be asked. Sure, he didn’t turn it down when it arrived—what sane jurist would?—but he never asked for it. The President came to him. And where is that President now? Well, as we all know, the President has silently withdrawn his support from his own candidate. What can you say about a President who commits his people but then does not support them? And what is the basis for the President’s withdrawal of support, and the vast majority of the abuse that has been heaped upon Judge Roush since his nomination? The fact that he refused to hide in somebody else’s closet. He resolved that if he was going to present himself to the American public, he was going to present himself as the person he truly was. He wouldn’t try to fly under the radar. He wouldn’t try to be bland and innocuous so he could slippery-slide through confirmation, even if what he did was controversial, even if it might destroy his chances of confirmation. Why would anyone do such a thing? Because, for some people, honesty is more important than popularity. Integrity is more important than success.”

Ben paused, hoping some of this would soak in. “Isn’t that the kind of man we want on the Supreme Court?”

He turned again, facing a different part of the floor. He didn’t have as much room to maneuver here as he might in a courtroom, but he would have to make do.

“I know some of you are disturbed because, when Judge Roush was a very young man, he assisted a woman in obtaining an abortion, a fact which, I would remind you for the record, he has never attempted to deny or excuse. The fact is, Thaddeus Roush regrets it more than anyone. He considers it the greatest mistake of his life. But which of us did not make some mistake when we were young, hmm? I’d like to see that person cast the first stone. We all make mistakes when we’re young because, frankly, we’re so stupid. And I’m not sure I’m that much smarter now. But I know this: a good man should not be rejected because of a mistake he made twenty-some years ago and has regretted ever since. If youthful transgressions, even serious ones, were a prohibition to public service…” He smiled a little. “…this chamber might well be empty.”

He paused. Was this getting through to anyone? Was he persuading the undecideds? Were there any undecideds to persuade? There was no way of knowing.

Less than two minutes on the clock. He had to plow ahead.

“I listened with great interest to the remarks made by Senator Bening, but I must respectfully disagree with his conclusion. It is not appropriate to reject one candidate because we think we have inside information about the President’s mind and prefer another choice to this one. You don’t reject your meat and potatoes because you think there might be dessert. And it seems particularly inappropriate when the dessert has been stage-managing events from behind the scenes, promulgating negative information about the current nominee, actively campaigning for the job in contravention of the history of judicial practice in the United States.”

The stir in the chamber wasn’t loud enough to drown out the clattering of the gavel or the outrage of the senator from Colorado. “Will the speaker yield?”

“I will not,” Ben replied.

“Mister Chairman, I move that the speaker’s remaining time be revoked!”

“Senator…”

“I will not stand here and allow this partisan advocate to tarnish the reputation of a great Coloradan, a bona fide hero. I ask him again to yield.”

“And I say again that I will not.” Ben glanced up at Chairman Keyes. “And I’d like the time consumed by the senator from Colorado’s interruptions added back to my remaining time.”

“It will be,” Keyes answered. “You have a minute and a half remaining, Senator. Speaking for us all—this had better be good. Congressional immunity won’t save you if you’re making accusations without proof.”

“In my world, Mister Chairman, we don’t say boo without proof. Wish that were the case here in Washington.” He turned back toward the chamber. “Many people have remarked upon the coincidence that the dirty secrets of Thaddeus Roush’s past were only revealed after he was approved by the committee. Almost as if someone was holding them in reserve, only using them if it became necessary. There was a great deal of inquiry directed toward determining whether the information was correct. But I’ve heard very little inquiry about where that information came from. There’s a reason, of course. Ultimately, the information was revealed by a reporter for the Post, and there is a tradition of journalists not revealing their sources even when ordered to do so by the courts. There was a widespread feeling that even if the reporter in question were brought before the courts or the Congress, she would remain silent. She had committed no crime and did not appear to have abetted one. There was no reason for her to talk.”

Ben took a deep breath. “So I didn’t bother asking. I sent her a Congressional subpoena for the original documents that were leaked by her anonymous source. And then I had them fingerprinted.”

Creased brows crisscrossed the gallery. Everyone seemed to be practically leaning out of their desks. He had their attention now.

“Good thing all law students preparing to take the bar exam are required to be fingerprinted. Guess who touched the documents?” He paused a beat. “Judge Haskins.”