What the hell, I'll pile on. Here's the Salon article about Chenoweth. I love the fact that she says that she asked for God's forgivenes, and He gave it. What a Guy.
Lives of the Republicans, Part Two
The strange case of Helen Chenoweth shows that
playing the sex card against the Democrats as a political
strategy can be, in Idaho parlance, as "dumb as a mud
fence."
BY DAVID NEIWERT
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
PART ONE
She may have committed
adultery and lied about it,
just like President Clinton.
But Helen Chenoweth has
one up on the president, so
far -- she says she's had a chat with the Lord, and
he says it's OK.
"I've asked for God's forgiveness, and I've received
it," she reports.
Whether Idaho voters will forgive her is another
matter. The two-term Republican representative
from the conservative rural state's northern district
has always made a big deal about morality -- after
all, she was first elected over the back of a
Democratic incumbent who stumbled when he
admitted (in an increasingly familiar-sounding
scenario) to a one-time sexual relationship with a
former co-worker after earlier denials.
Chenoweth's own vulnerability in the sexual arena
came to light when she decided to go on the attack
over Clinton's troubles in the Lewinsky affair. A
longtime champion of "family values" (only one of
a wide range of right-wing causes she's associated
herself with over the years, including support for
the militia movement), she ran a series of ads that
sought to link her opponent, a Democrat named
Dan Williams, to Clinton.
"Our founding fathers knew that political leaders'
personal conduct must be held to the highest
standards," intoned Chenoweth in the first ad.
"President Clinton's behavior has severely damaged
his ability to lead our nation, and the free world.
"To restore honor in public office, and the trust of
the American people, we must affirm that personal
conduct does count, and integrity matters. Where
do you stand, Dan?"
A couple of veteran political reporters from Boise's
Gannett-owned Idaho Statesman, who like nearly
everyone else who worked the state's political beat
had heard rumors of several Chenoweth affairs,
decided it was time to ask her about one in
particular: a longtime sexual relationship with an
associate named Vernon Ravenscroft. Chenoweth
confessed.
She admitted that she had carried on a six-year
illicit romance with Ravenscroft, now 78, a rancher
from Tuttle who is something of a right-wing legend
in his own right: Ravenscroft was the architect of
the "Sagebrush Rebellion," a 1980s anti-federal
land-use movement popular in Western states like
Idaho and Nevada. Chenoweth and Ravenscroft
had the affair in the 1980s, when she worked for
his natural-resources consulting firm.
Chenoweth was quick to point out that there were
key differences between her case and Clinton's:
She's single (divorced in 1975 and never remarried)
and she was not in public life. "My private life was
my own life. I am a single woman. After the
divorce, I dated," she told the Statesman, adding
that unlike Clinton, she hadn't lied about it.
"As a member of Congress, I'm concerned about
the president's ability to lead our nation in this time
of worldwide economic crisis. And I think you have
to look at the facts squarely. You have to tell the
truth. It's not a matter of whether one forgives the
president. It's a matter of trust."
The revelation, arriving at a moment when
Clinton's troubles were hitting a feverish pitch on
the television networks, suddenly propelled
Chenoweth onto the evening broadcasts -- most of
which featured quick hits of her confession as a
seriocomic leavening to the day's gloom.
Chenoweth quickly ducked from view and
continues to refuse to grant further interviews,
issuing only a few terse press releases with her
official position on the matter.
The day following her confession, she was hit with
another barrage: Turns out she actually had denied
the affair when questioned about it in 1995. When
the Spokane (Wash.) Spokesman-Review's Ken
Olsen had asked her about the Ravenscroft affair in
an interview, she had acted offended and aghast at
the mere suggestion.
"For heaven's sakes, that is low," Chenoweth
reportedly sputtered. "That is so bizarre. I'm utterly
speechless. My official answer would have to be,
this indicates a measure of desperation. When they
can't debate the issues, they turn to character
assassination ... People who know me, know better
than that. People who know Mr. Ravenscroft and
his fine family know better."
Olsen, however, did not tape-record the interview;
though he did keep notes in his reporter's notebook.
Chenoweth said she couldn't remember ever
making the remarks and hinted that Olsen's notes
were incorrect.
Chenoweth's problems may have just begun.
Rumors had swirled around her for years linking
her romantically not just with Ravenscroft, but with
a bevy of Republican figures. These ranged from a
former attorney general to her former boss, retired
U.S. Sen. Steve Symms. Chenoweth had been
Symms' chief of staff in 1977-78, when he held the
same seat in Congress she now occupies, and the
rumors had begun circulating then. They continued
through all the years prior to her sudden 1994
ascension aboard the anti-Clinton wave that swept
the GOP to majorityhood. Since then, they've
quieted down considerably.
Chenoweth had been the beneficiary of the same
gentility that spared her old boss. Symms, too, had
gained something of a sexual legend over his eight
years in the House that grew larger once he was in
the Senate; it was widely known among reporters
that he was a big-time D.C. party animal and could
be seen most evenings in the company of a woman
other than his wife, Fran. She in fact was a kind,
sweet woman who suffered terribly from arthritis
and couldn't socialize much. Most of the state's
political reporters knew about the situation but
figured it was no one's business unless Symms
made it an issue. However, when Fran finally had
enough and divorced him, the emergent details of
his philandering -- and the ensuing shelled-out poll
numbers -- persuaded him to not pursue reelection
in 1992.
Likewise, the tales were ripe surrounding
Chenoweth. And the breadth of the rumors, most
of them related to her term as a lobbyist for the
timber industry, is impressive. One veteran political
reporter told Salon: "On Thursday (the day
Chenoweth made her confession), there were a lot
of nervous legislators down at the Statehouse." As
one GOP political operative in northern Idaho once
told a reporter in an unguarded moment: "Helen is
living proof that you can fuck your brains out."
(Chenoweth is widely considered, in Idaho
parlance, dumb as a mud fence.)
However, other than reporter Olsen, no one had
broached the subject with Chenoweth on the record
(though now-deceased Twin Falls Times-News
reporter David Morrissey once confronted her with
the rumors about Symms off the record and she did
not deny them). Most reporters simply felt that it
wasn't anybody's business -- a sentiment that seems
now to have vanished with the ascendance of an
ethos built around the Starr and Drudge reports.
Chenoweth changed the landscape by striking what
is now a familiar Republican pose: outraged
moralist shaking her finger at the naughty
Democrats. To her regret, she discovered that
making your private morality a story by questioning
the president's is a really bad campaign idea. The
ads that provoked the Statesman reporters promptly
disappeared. Asked if they -- or any further
references to Clinton's morality -- are likely to
reappear in the campaign, Chenoweth spokesman
Chad Hyslop replied tersely: "Probably not."
It's hard to gauge at this point how much the
backfire has damaged Chenoweth's reelection
chances. Dan Williams was likely to give her a
close race as he had done in his first try in 1996,
and the revelations may have tipped the scales in
his favor -- but only for the short term. While many
Idahoans have little trouble spewing bile about
Clinton, they seem to be relatively forgiving of
Chenoweth's frequent gaffes, and may be shrugging
off this latest. "The reaction has been supportive to
this time," says Hyslop. "There's been a lot of calls
to our office, and they've run very supportive of
Helen on this issue. Basically, they've said, 'You
made a mistake and you did the right thing in
admitting it, and now it's time to go on.'"
Several observers of the Idaho political scene say
that Chenoweth, who has looked unbeatable up
until now and whose seat was considered locked up
for the GOP, could prove to be vulnerable if
Williams delivers a good campaign this time around.
Chenoweth's example, combined with the more
high-profile evisceration of Dan Burton, is likely to
freeze into place any other Republicans in Congress
hoping to capitalize on Clinton's failings. It's a
reminder that the sword Clinton has handed them in
the form of the Starr report is sharply two-edged in
nature. If they're not squeaky-clean themselves,
any past misdeed is almost certain to catch up to
them now -- should they play the "Clinton card."
Republican leaders in Washington already are
signaling that people like Chenoweth will be cut
adrift on the sea of their own mischief. Senate
Majority Leader Trent Lott warned Monday that
anyone with such skeletons in his or her closet
would have to face the consequences if they were
discovered. Lott told the Hill: "If anybody's got a
problem -- and I'm not talking about one mistake,
but a problem over years -- maybe they shouldn't
be in this business" -- a note that doubtless sent a
chill down many spines in libido-laden Washington.
Whether that is Chenoweth's fate will depend
somewhat on the strength of the opposition building
against her back home for the bold hypocrisy of her
now-buried attack ads. Harriett Ravenscroft, the
wife she wronged, was among the many who were
steamed by the ads. She voiced what probably
crossed many voters' minds when she told the
Statesman: "I don't see how Helen can live with
herself and do this."
Luckily, Chenoweth at least has gotten God's
forgiveness. Clinton, with his new coterie of
spiritual advisors, can hardly be far behind.
SALON | Sept. 16, 1998
David Neiwert, a former political reporter and editor in Idaho
and Montana, is now a freelance writer in Seattle. His book
"In God's Country: The Patriot Movement and the Pacific
Northwest" will be published this spring.
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