Read Online Roger Ailes: Off Camera by Zev Chafets - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Zev Chafets
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people will go back and argue that the Lyndon Johnson daisy-plucker ad made a difference. The truth is, that ad was run once on network television. In this particular campaign, Roger’s ads worked. . . . We have now come of age in presidential campaigns, with tough, hard-hitting negative comments in the arena. They will be here from [now] on.”
Much of the 1988 Harvard seminar was given over to a discussion of the flaws of the American electoral process. Ailes himself raised the issue, and offered a typically pragmatic analysis. “When I get hired by a candidate, my job is to help him get elected. I would like to change the system. I would like to spend all of my time on deep issues and talk about the homeless problem and figure out how to solve it, but it’s damn hard to do it in a ten-week campaign when you are getting banged around by the opponent and the press is interested in pictures, mistakes, and attacks.” Ailes said that no single consultant or campaign manager could effect change. “Unless we are all willing to admit that we have a stake in it, to admit that we had a part of it and discuss mistakes we’ve made, it ain’t ever going to change, folks. It’s going to get tougher. And next time it’s going to be six-second sound bites.”
There is etiquette among political professionals. Like defense lawyers and prosecutors, they accept the verdict and move on. Politics is business; personal animosity is for amateurs. Ailes has always set an example. In the eighties, the top Democratic consultant was Bob Squier. He and Ailes faced each other in a series of campaigns and, for five years, as debate partners on
The Today Show
. They would put each other down on the air and then go out to dinner afterward. When Squier died, Ailes wrote a glowing eulogy in
Time
magazine and spoke at his funeral.
Most of the pros at Harvard observed this rule. But one, Jack Corrigan, a senior Dukakis operative, insisted on refighting old battles. He accused Ailes of running a dirty campaign. “The difference between the two campaigns, and the way we [portrayed the two candidates] . . . is the difference between truth and fiction,” he said.
“Oh, come on,” said Ailes in a dismissive tone.
Corrigan was undeterred. “Michael Dukakis took very specific positions on all of the issues. Your candidate had fundamentally flip-flopped on basic values, in particular on the abortion question and on what he once called ‘voodoo economics.’”
Ailes reminded Corrigan that Dukakis, too, had changed positions on trade and weapons systems.
“That’s not true,” snapped Corrigan. “The positions as you characterized them are not correct . . . he ran on his values. He had a firm set of beliefs.”
“I don’t believe that at all,” said Ailes. “He ran to the right. He ran as a moderate. He didn’t run as a liberal.”
“You can’t imagine a different worldview than your own,” said Corrigan.
“Don’t attack me personally. There’s no need for that,” Ailes said.
The exchange was an excellent illustration of why Ailes was so effective. Corrigan saw the election as a battle between virtue and sin. If an Ailes opponent insisted on believing in fairy tales about the virtuous Sir Michael and the evil George Bush, so much the better. Corrigan was making the cardinal mistake of campaign operatives. He believed his own bullshit. And he took it personally.
Ailes never did. In fact, he used the Harvard seminar to network with the enemy. You never know when a senior liberal might come in handy. Eventually he hired Susan Estrich and Bob Beckel as commentators at Fox. He also hired Geraldine Ferraro, a liberal New York Democrat who in 1984, as the first female vice presidential candidate, had been Beckel’s candidate.
• • •
The 1988 election made Ailes into the first superstar political consultant, so famous and infamous that his mere participation in a campaign became an issue. George Voinovich
Much of the 1988 Harvard seminar was given over to a discussion of the flaws of the American electoral process. Ailes himself raised the issue, and offered a typically pragmatic analysis. “When I get hired by a candidate, my job is to help him get elected. I would like to change the system. I would like to spend all of my time on deep issues and talk about the homeless problem and figure out how to solve it, but it’s damn hard to do it in a ten-week campaign when you are getting banged around by the opponent and the press is interested in pictures, mistakes, and attacks.” Ailes said that no single consultant or campaign manager could effect change. “Unless we are all willing to admit that we have a stake in it, to admit that we had a part of it and discuss mistakes we’ve made, it ain’t ever going to change, folks. It’s going to get tougher. And next time it’s going to be six-second sound bites.”
There is etiquette among political professionals. Like defense lawyers and prosecutors, they accept the verdict and move on. Politics is business; personal animosity is for amateurs. Ailes has always set an example. In the eighties, the top Democratic consultant was Bob Squier. He and Ailes faced each other in a series of campaigns and, for five years, as debate partners on
The Today Show
. They would put each other down on the air and then go out to dinner afterward. When Squier died, Ailes wrote a glowing eulogy in
Time
magazine and spoke at his funeral.
Most of the pros at Harvard observed this rule. But one, Jack Corrigan, a senior Dukakis operative, insisted on refighting old battles. He accused Ailes of running a dirty campaign. “The difference between the two campaigns, and the way we [portrayed the two candidates] . . . is the difference between truth and fiction,” he said.
“Oh, come on,” said Ailes in a dismissive tone.
Corrigan was undeterred. “Michael Dukakis took very specific positions on all of the issues. Your candidate had fundamentally flip-flopped on basic values, in particular on the abortion question and on what he once called ‘voodoo economics.’”
Ailes reminded Corrigan that Dukakis, too, had changed positions on trade and weapons systems.
“That’s not true,” snapped Corrigan. “The positions as you characterized them are not correct . . . he ran on his values. He had a firm set of beliefs.”
“I don’t believe that at all,” said Ailes. “He ran to the right. He ran as a moderate. He didn’t run as a liberal.”
“You can’t imagine a different worldview than your own,” said Corrigan.
“Don’t attack me personally. There’s no need for that,” Ailes said.
The exchange was an excellent illustration of why Ailes was so effective. Corrigan saw the election as a battle between virtue and sin. If an Ailes opponent insisted on believing in fairy tales about the virtuous Sir Michael and the evil George Bush, so much the better. Corrigan was making the cardinal mistake of campaign operatives. He believed his own bullshit. And he took it personally.
Ailes never did. In fact, he used the Harvard seminar to network with the enemy. You never know when a senior liberal might come in handy. Eventually he hired Susan Estrich and Bob Beckel as commentators at Fox. He also hired Geraldine Ferraro, a liberal New York Democrat who in 1984, as the first female vice presidential candidate, had been Beckel’s candidate.
• • •
The 1988 election made Ailes into the first superstar political consultant, so famous and infamous that his mere participation in a campaign became an issue. George Voinovich
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