DRAMA BEHIND KERRY DECISION
By STEFAN C. FRIEDMAN Post Correspondent
November 4, 2004 -- BOSTON — Three hours after he woke up in his 19th-century Federalist townhouse on Louisbourg Square, Sen. John Kerry was told his lifelong dream to become the president of the United States had died in Columbus, Ohio.
The news came in a phone call from Mary Beth Cahill, Ted Kennedy's hard-nosed chief-of-staff, who took over Kerry's floundering campaign in the primaries, when all but his most loyal supporters had written him off.
It was 10 a.m. She was in the "boiler room" of the Westin Hotel off Copley Square, where a gaggle of advisers had stayed up all night crunching numbers and plotting how to take back Ohio from inevitable defeat.
But there was no way around it — there were just too many votes for Bush on the ballots being counted in the statehouse in Columbus.
Kerry was surrounded, as he often is, by his family — wife Teresa, daughters Alex and Vanessa, brother Cameron and stepson Andre Heinz.
Sen. Kennedy and his wife, Victoria, were there, as were David Thorne, Kerry's former brother-in-law and closest friend.
When Cahill told him the numbers didn't add up, the candidate's reaction was immediate — he told her to put together a plan for a graceful concession.
Kerry's family was devastated. The legion of Democratic lawyers and operatives on the ground were eager to mount a challenge.
Kerry's running mate, the boyish John Edwards, said they shouldn't concede, the fight wasn't over.
But the more mature, 60-year-old Kerry would have none of it.
"He instantly made the decision that he didn't want to put the country through any lengthy litigation," Cahill said later. "To go forward [with a lawsuit] in a time of war — that was something he didn't want to do."
Kerry's decision ended a 20-hour roller-coaster ride that began long on hope and ended just a little short in a state the campaign believed it could win right up until the end.
Arriving in Boston on Election Day afternoon, Kerry's team was riding a wave of momentum, culminating with the release of exit polls showing the Massachusetts senator leading in nearly every battleground state.
Kerry — famed for being a good "closer," a guy who wins it in the waning hours — went straight to work. He hunkered down at the Westin and did a mind-numbing 38 local TV interviews over the course of four hours. Then he went back to the townhouse on Beacon Hill.
There, he had dinner with his family and settled back to watch the returns with them, friends and Cahill.
At the nearby Westin, Kerry strategists settled in for a long night. He talked to friends and colleagues as he watched the returns.
Early optimism began to fade at about 11 p.m., when Florida began to break for Bush and all thoughts of an easy victory disappeared.
Cahill rushed back to the Westin to start plotting. But after midnight, Florida was called — and the freefall began.
As more and more states came back as expected, all eyes moved to Ohio. Just in case, Kerry had his motor cade waiting outside his home to whisk him at any moment to Boston's Copley Place for a concession speech, but his team wasn't ready to give up just yet.
"We thought we had a very good chance of winning the raw vote total," Cahill said. "And [we felt that] if we had those provisional votes counted, we were in position to take control of the race."
Cahill sent out the now-famous statement: "The vote count in Ohio has not been completed. There are more than 250,000 remaining votes to be counted. We believe when they are, John Kerry will win Ohio."
It was 2 a.m. The candidate went to sleep shortly after conferring with Kennedy.
Edwards took over, addressing what was supposed to be a victory party in Copley Square. He sounded hollow, like he was trying to convince himself, when he said they would not concede Ohio — and, therefore, the election — for at least a few more hours.
"We've waited four years for this victory. We can wait one more night," he said.
But most already saw where the election was headed.
Rocker Jon Bon Jovi — who had traveled extensively with Kerry— sat behind the hustings at the Copley event with his head in his hands.
"Backstage was like a funeral," recalled one source.
Shortly before 3 a.m., Kerry operatives said the campaign would go dark for the night.
Kerry awoke four hours later — and immediately went back to work. At his request, Democratic lawyers in Ohio and Washington prepared to go to court in the Buckeye State to challenge the counting procedure.
But then it became clear the numbers were overwhelming. The Democrats determined that their earlier estimate that 250,000 provisional ballots had not been counted was extremely optimistic.
After the final 10 Ohio counties reported their provisional-ballot counts, the total was closer to 140,000.
That number was just 1,000 more than Bush's margin of victory in the state. It "was a margin that we could not make up," Cahill said.
Less than an hour later, despite the pleas of some lawyers and advisers, Kerry called Bush to say congratulations and plead for unity.
Three hours later — just more than 24 hours after Kerry arrived home and patted the ground at Hanscom Air Force Base — the Democratic nominee went to Faneuil Hall to concede.
Strategists, aides, staffers and family were still stunned — some openly cried, others just drooped from exhaustion and disappointment.
"It sort of slid away slowly over the course of the evening and then the morning," said a visibly upset Bob Shrum, Kerry's senior adviser.
Following the speech, the frustration of Kerry's daughters, who teared up during the concession after tirelessly stumping for their father, exploded backstage in a diatribe full of F-words.
It was Kerry himself who managed to stay the most composed in his hour of defeat.
"He's been great," Shrum said simply.
A crowd of thousands gathered outside Faneuil Hall to see him off. They cheered. He pumped his fist in the air.
He still has four more years left in his current Senate term — and aides are not surprised that he's eager to get back to work. |
