THIRTEEN
With some difficulty I reoriented myself to the present reality that it was Wednesday morning, September 23, and I was lying in my own bed.
A dream had awakened me, but it also left me in a quagmire of confusion and distress. I was Ulysses in the dream, sailing for landfall in Thrinacia for necessary re-provisioning. Having warned my crew about the Sirens and their seductive singing, I instructed each man to have his ears stopped with wax and to guard me like a prisoner. “...We must pass through the narrow strait where dwell two sisters called Sirens whose voices you must not hear,” I told them. The crew lowered the sail and lashed me to the mast at my instruction, as though I was a dangerous captive, and, as we neared the rocky shoals at the head of the strait, I heard the sounds — the irresistible sounds that men love. I was filled with such desire that I broke through the flimsy rawhide bonds like thread. Fortunately, my men saved me before I could dive over the rail to my certain death. Then they refastened me to the mast with the mighty anchor line. Finally, I saw the Sirens, wretched looking they were, giant bird-women with feathers for hair and claws for feet, perched upon the bleached bones of shipwrecked sailors. I was horrified that I could have been so tempted — lured by the lilting beauty in their voices — that I would have risked my life to go to them, and to my doom. But the men rowed on, and we passed between them.
I woke with the specter of their appalling appearance still before me. I shook off the dream like water from a dog’s back, but its vestiges remained, clinging to me like a winter chill. My mood was sullen and dark. In the pre-dawn hush, I realized that summer was all but gone, swept away with the rain. The long march back to spring begins today — with the equinox and the sun’s departure to the southern hemisphere. There are those of us who will live only marginally without the sun’s warm rays, hunkering down for six months, bearing up as best as we can beneath the gray gloom, dreading the unrelenting wind and snow and cold. Oh, for a peek at the sun, for a kiss of the south wind, for the sweet fragrance of a spring morning. Yet I have passed this autumn way before, many times. And I shall again.
After arising I crept downstairs to put on coffee, then quietly returned to shower. Maryanne showed signs of stirring, but the hour was still too early for her. Today would prove to be incredibly hectic, and I wanted to get into action. Both the senate and house had votes scheduled on the RLA. I had a column to write, or at least to begin, an investigative news piece on the governor’s sordid past to finish, and there would be hell to pay with John. The Sirens were calling, seductively calling.
The Ledger is half-asleep when I arrive. Reporters who aren’t still in bed or piloting their cars through the morning rush are elsewhere — perhaps out gathering facts for their stories and columns. But today’s train of news has not yet left the station; hardly a soul is even on board. John Harrington, however, sits in his office sipping coffee and lingering over a doughnut.
I peek inside. “Got a minute, John?”
“Well if it isn’t my latest troublemaker, Chip Halick. What a surprise. I thought you were out on the lam.” He motions to a chair. “Sit down. I can’t wait to hear your story.” He seems in a better mood this morning. I’m thinking how smart it was to wait till now to respond to his message from last evening.
Finding the edge of the seat on one of John’s guest chairs I am careful not to relax. “That’s just it, John. There is no story, at least not yet.”
“Well, the governor certainly thinks you have a story. Or do you have a better reason that explains why he turned his lawyer loose on the paper yesterday?” John squeezes the last of his doughnut into his mouth and follows it with a gulp of coffee.
“It was strictly a power play designed to head off my investigation.”
He wipes his mouth with a napkin and sucks air between his teeth to dislodge something stuck there. “And what investigation is that?”
I take my best stab at sincerity. “I would desperately love to tell you John...”
“But...”
“The story is just too prejudicial, that’s all. If I tell you and it turns out to be nothing, you will be inclined toward a negative view of the governor.”
He gasps in frustration. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. What business do you think we’re in here — PR? Whatever you have on the governor, you can be damn sure he’s guilty of it. Otherwise he wouldn’t have taken the time to dispatch his lawyer with a truckload of threats.” John’s face has turned crimson all the way down to his collar. Given his age and his assortment of rather unhealthful habits, this conversation could prove life-threatening to him.
I make a snap decision to call a truce. “Okay John, you win. I’ll let you in on the story. But you’ve got to give me your word on something first.” John may be a lot of things, but he’s not a man to go back on his word. I know this from experience.
“Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do. You’re running the paper now; they just don’t know it yet upstairs.” He slaps both his hands down onto the desk in disgust.
“No, that’s not it at all. I just want you to give me your word that, if I decide not to go with the story, you’ll drop it as well.”
“You know I can’t do that, Chip. Not at least until I know what we’re talking about.”
“So we’re in a Catch-22,” I say, resigned to stick to my earlier offer.
“Doesn’t this just beat all...” He shakes his head in disgust. “If you can’t trust me, Chip, who in God’s name can you trust?”
Before I have a chance to respond with, Me! I can trust me, Marilyn Greer, John’s secretary, pops into the office and interrupts, “John, I have Governor Rierdon on the phone for Chip.” She looks toward me, “Would you like to take it in here?”
“No, please put it through to the conference room, Marilyn. I’ll take it in there.”
Before exiting John’s office, I turn back to face him. “It’s not personal, John. This is my struggle, that’s all. I’ll fill you in later.”
I enter the conference room and shut the door behind me. As I sit down, the phone buzzes. I feel a twinge of apprehension springing from the fact that, once again, Colin has me at unawares; he possesses the advantage.
I lift the receiver to my ear. “Hello, governor. This is Chip Halick.”
“Chip, I’m glad to find you in. I was afraid I might be calling too early.”
“To what do I owe the honor, governor?” Considering what I now know of him it seems rather foolish to continue the charade of courtesy. But I was brought up to behave decorously, and besides, I must give the office, if not the man, its due respect.
“I owe you an apology, I’m afraid.” He pauses, but I’m not quite sure how to respond. After an awkward moment of silence, he goes on, “Listen, Chip. We got off on the wrong foot yesterday, and it was my fault. I was arrogant and rude. Anyway, I’ve given this thing a lot of thought; in fact, I don’t think I slept a wink last night for thinking about it. And the truth is...well, you know the truth.”
“Are you admitting to Kathy Nichols’ accusations?”
“There’s no point in denying them any longer. Sooner or later this day had to come. I guess I always knew it would, even though I did everything in my power to prevent it. Anyway, it’s here. But I was glad to see that the story didn’t come out in the paper this morning.”
“Thank yourself for that, governor. It seems that the paper had an intimidating phone call from your lawyer yesterday.”
“I know...I needed some time to think.”
Moments ago, I thought he may have had a change of heart, but now I sense that this is just another manipulation, a clever ploy from a suddenly desperate man.
“Chip, what you had to say in your column today hit me like a ton of bricks. I suppose you could say that I’ve been playing at the game of freedom, but I have no business being on the team. So things are going to change. And I know that you have every right to print the story, but I’d like to ask you to indulge me with a couple of things first.”
“What are they, governor?”
“Come to the senate today for the vote on the Right to Life Amendment. I’ve asked Bob VanderVeen to give me ten minutes to talk before the roll call. Then I’d like to buy you lunch if you have time afterward.”
It seems that I tried a similar technique with John not ten minutes ago. I can hardly refuse under the circumstances. “Well, I was planning on being there for the vote anyway. As for lunch...well, where would you like to meet?”
“There’s a private dining room at the Radisson I can reserve. How about meeting me there at noon?”
“All right, I’ll see you there.”
“Good-bye then,” he says.
“So long.”
“My column in the paper today ‘hit him like a ton of bricks,’ he said.”
John looks skeptical. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know John, but I aim to find out. He’s invited me to meet him for lunch after the vote in the senate.”
“Just don’t get taken in with his sweet talk, Chip.” He waxes parental, “When you have the truth, you’re the guy in control.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to say to you, John. Don’t worry. I’ll do the right thing.”
The Michigan Senate chamber anchors the statehouse on the south end of the building. It is more or less a replica (though a somewhat smaller version) of the House of Representatives, whose chamber is situated at the opposite end of the capitol. Between the two stands the great, domed rotunda with its unique glass-paned floor and triple, circular balconies ringed about with the portraits of the former governors of Michigan. Visitors to this jewel of architecture stand justifiably in awe of its grandeur and at how meticulously it has been restored to its original, Victorian splendor.
In the senate chamber four enormous, crystal chandeliers hang from a daylight ceiling paneled with glass, each pane painted with the coat of arms of one of the fifty states. Before the 120 year-old chandeliers were converted from natural gas to electricity, though, every light had to be separately lit in the morning and then extinguished by hand at the end of the day’s assembly. Those of us who have been born into the latter half of the 20th century can hardly appreciate the labor-intensive lives that our forebears must have conducted.
In noticeable contrast with the Victorian period hall, each senator’s desk contains a computer terminal, through which salient information can be accessed and recorded with information-age efficiency. Votes are also cast electronically and results are illuminated on a scoreboard-like panel adorning the front wall of the chamber. Here, in the halls of government, the antique and the thoroughly modern coexist.
There is a U-shaped balcony surrounding the hall where the public can observe the proceedings. It is in this lofty viewing area that I am seated, along with hundreds of others, jammed in for today’s vote. I don’t think more than two feet of real estate remains on the benches. Many folks had to be turned away. Other politically active and aware citizens have come to participate in the mini-demonstrations out on the lawn. Upon my arrival I passed between two groups carrying placards and chanting slogans for their respective causes. Their signs expressed the strong sentiment this issue always manages to bring to the surface: Stop the Killing NOW, Death Penalty for Abortionists, Save a Life and Save Our Future. And from the other side: Preserve Reproductive Rights for the 21st Century, and The Religious Right ISN’T.
Senators have been gathering down below for the past fifteen minutes. Some are milling around, talking, others quietly working at their desks or on their computer terminals. The atmosphere is light and congenial; there is no sign of any partisan bickering. The imaginary line down the aisle between republicans and democrats is evidently not in force at the moment. Everything is off-the-record until the gavel gets sounded. Then, every legislator present will assume an air of stiff, senatorial etiquette.
Many of the attendees around me are also members of the press corps. Our contingent at these sessions has shrunken steadily since the advent of MGTV a couple of years ago. Now, most important meetings of the legislature are televised locally. It saves a lot of time, effort and shoe leather to simply tune-in from the privacy of one’s office, or to set the VCR, especially if there is something more pressing to do.
Today may prove to be an historic event, however, in addition to being the last, scheduled meeting of the senate before the election and the, as yet uncertain, lame duck session of the late fall. I have greeted a few of my friends and colleagues, making small talk and commenting about various and sundry things: the crowd, the coincident votes in both chambers today, the republican convention which starts tomorrow, the weather and other such mindless chit-chat. The address by the governor today is going to come as a surprise to almost everyone — except me, of course (and perhaps a few, select members of the senate delegation). So far, no one I’ve spoken to has made mention of Colin being on the agenda.
* * *
The lieutenant governor and president of the senate, Bob VanderVeen, mounted the steps to his chair on the dais, overlooking the assembly. He arranged some papers at his desk before sounding the gavel to bring the session to order.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this meeting of the Michigan Senate is now in session.”
First on the agenda, there was a recap of the accomplishments of the past nine months. Before the final adjournment for the year, Bob evidently wanted the record to state all the laws he and his republican colleagues have been able to push through under their leadership. Jack Tinsley, the Majority Whip, read the account from a prepared script — just the highlights, of course. Next, there were some housekeeping formalities. The crowd was beginning to show signs of restlessness. I balanced my notebook computer on my lap and began capturing ideas for future columns, but the atmosphere was too distracting for any serious writing. Finally, Lt. Governor VanderVeen announced that the floor was open for discussion on the Right to Life Amendment. He cautioned the assembly that he planned to cut off debate at approximately eleven-thirty, when Governor Rierdon was expected for some brief remarks on the bill. Then, following Colin’s remarks, at approximately 11:45 A.M., the vote would be taken. With the mention of the governor’s guest appearance, sidebar conversations began to rumble through the hall like a rendition of “the wave” at Oldsmobile Park. Guests seemed genuinely thrilled; they were going to get their money’s worth. Down below, the reaction was somewhat difficult to gauge. I could only imagine it being decidedly mixed: conservatives glad to have their leader at the controls, pushing all the right buttons, liberals feeling as though they were about to be hornswoggled, lectured and belittled. According to my watch, we would have just under an hour of fasten your seat belts, no holds barred debate. It was everyone’s last chance to pontificate, scold, equivocate, speculate, criticize, shame, wheedle, grandstand and beg. In other words we’d all get to see our elected officials do what they do best: speak on the record. Strangely enough though, as nearly anyone else close to this issue might predict, very few minds would be changed, even if the debate continued all day and half the night. We would witness a lot of neighing and preening and kicking about at the gate, but it would all be just for show. I did not see how any of it could meaningfully affect the outcome of the vote. So the governor must have something else in mind besides the vote tally. We’d soon find out what that might be.
While the podium was momentarily empty, I thought about how we in the press, who are experienced in these things, come here merely to listen for a few sound bites or a new twist on an old tale that might look good in print or on the six o’clock news. Otherwise, we could have had the bad luck to get assigned to the “news beat” where our time would get spent riding around town drinking gallons of coffee and slowly going insane to the schizophrenic bursts of a police scanner and the mind-numbing madness of city traffic.
First with the floor was Senator Harden Maier, a republican and the sponsor of the senate bill designed to amend the U.S. Constitution outlawing abortions except in cases of rape and incest, or when the mother’s life is threatened. His remarks were predictable and unmoving: ...We should all be grateful to our friends who have labored across the length and breadth of this great country to inspire legislators like ourselves to seize the opportunity to restore the sanctity of life in America, blah, blah, yadda, yadda. He babbled on for five minutes saying nothing in particular that we didn’t already know — his main theme being that the RLA bill should be passed. But what would you expect? He sponsored it.
Senator Maier was followed by yet another shill for the conservative majority — a three-term workhorse for the right from the Bible belt of West Michigan. Then, two more Republicans spoke before yielding the floor to the opposition. They showered the gallery with facts: statistics on the annual number of abortions in Michigan (nearly 30,000); medical accounts of the gruesome butchery of tiny lives; the fact that our nation was founded and built upon moral underpinnings; the fact that six other states had already passed RLA bills; and the most astonishing observation of all: that, according to the Bible, America would be cursed into oblivion if we, her citizens, did not turn from our evil ways which included the murdering of innocent children. All this was said without so much as a groan from the assembly.
I have often wondered why our legislative sessions are so prim and solemn while in England, the country of the stiff upper lip, meetings of the parliament are punctuated with raucous, vocal displays.
Nonetheless, the democrat opposition finally got its opportunity to enunciate the liberal view. The Minority Whip, Timothy Richmond, a seasoned politician from Washtenaw County made the case for the Right of Privacy. This so-called right was the foundation for the opinion of the U.S. Supreme Court on Roe v. Wade in 1973. It argues that the Constitution implies a right to reasonable privacy, prohibiting the government from interfering in decisions that are the sole prerogative of the governed — in this case, women.
“It’s a freedom thing. Some of you just wouldn’t understand,” Senator Richmond proclaimed. (A little biting satire from the junkyard dog of the left.)
Then a couple more democrats sounded off about freedom and the separation of church and state, implying that this whole movement to outlaw abortions was somehow unconstitutional at its roots. An argument was posed regarding how much better off the country was with legal abortions as opposed to the way things were before Roe v. Wade. A particular point was made concerning the increased number of unwanted, abused children we could expect if the RLA passed, children who would likely become delinquent and prey upon society, or who, as wards of the state, would pose additional societal and funding burdens. The point was made dramatically, but few appeared moved by it. That particular cheese was not inclined to travel. Finally, a moderate democrat from Midland, Jenny Larson, articulated the view of most women (so I believed, at least, based upon my conversations with them over the years). Women had reason to fear, she said, if this amendment passed. Abortions would not stop, regardless of the law. So, were we suggesting that back alley abortions could somehow be made safer than they had been in the past? And what about the desperate women who, however reluctantly, sought and received illegal abortions? Would they be arrested, tried, convicted and imprisoned? Such consequences made the abortion ban repugnant to women and absurd to any civilized person of this country. “We would live to regret its passage,” she proclaimed.
When Senator Larson sat down, the hall fell eerily quiet. It was 11:28.
Bob VanderVeen, well practiced in the grandiloquent style of senatorial decorum, gave an overly long and patronizing introduction to the governor. Colin Rierdon ascended to the lectern.
“Thank you, Mr. Lieutenant Governor, for this opportunity to address your session. And good morning, my fellow public servants. It hardly seems possible that it was just a year ago when I sat where you are sitting today. So much has happened in a year. And many of you deserve the credit for the marvelous things we have been able to accomplish since I took the oath of office as governor on New Year’s Day. You have worked tirelessly and unselfishly, and your legislative record speaks for itself. As the representative-at-large for the entire state of Michigan, allow me to say thank you from the bottom of my heart.
“Many of you are probably wondering why I wanted to speak here today — aside from expressing my debt of gratitude to you, as I have already done. Many of you in the majority may believe that my words would be better directed to the meeting in the house this afternoon. After all, predictions are that this bill will pass here today with votes to spare. Let me state for the record that I believe the predictions are correct — if the vote were taken now, the bill would probably carry. All the more reason, I believe, for me to direct my remarks to you. What I say may have little or no effect on the outcome of your vote. Additionally, there is probably nothing anyone can say or do to get the companion bill passed this afternoon in the house. Looking a bit further down the road, the experts are all weighing in with the same opinion: The RLA is a dead issue in Michigan. And, though we all hate to admit it, the pollsters and statisticians are seldom proved wrong. It follows then, that what I am about to say has no underlying political motivation. On the contrary… You see, if I had purely political motives, I would be better off keeping my mouth shut on this issue. But I am nevertheless here to express some feelings from my heart.
“First things first. Abortion is clearly not the ideal answer to anything. I know that; you know that; everyone knows that. Those unwilling to admit as much, publicly at least, know it in their hearts. Moreover, aside from all of the arguments to the contrary, no one here today would have volunteered to be an aborted fetus if they had had such a hypothetical opportunity.
Some of you, though, want to explain away the pro-life position by objecting to abortion on the grounds of a woman’s privacy, on women’s rights. Or by claiming that pro-life advocates tend to be religious zealots. But these arguments are patently disingenuous. What you are essentially saying is: ‘Pull the ladder up, I’m all right.’ If you doubt my words, then, in demonstration of your beliefs, perhaps you would like to step forward and become the first to volunteer to relinquish your life today, along with all the opportunities for living that may yet remain in your future.”
He was momentarily silent, as was the entire chamber.
“I see that no one is volunteering. Perhaps you’d like a moment more to think about it, or a year or two to get in all the things you’ve always hoped to do, but for which you haven’t found the time. The point is simple: Abortion is patently indefensible. And, I for one, cannot see the point of any further debate on the issue.”
From my vantage point in the gallery, the body language on the floor seemed to indicate that Colin was striking some harmonious chords on the republican side of the aisle. On the democratic side, however, most senators appeared as stiff as trees, no doubt bracing themselves to withstand the remainder of Colin’s fury. After all, he had only ten minutes or so left to blow and then he’d have to yield the floor for the vote. In time, and with the aid of the press, the democrats would probably find a way to get back at him for this tongue lashing anyway — extremist that he is.
“Still and all, each day we have abortions in this state, and unborn children are not getting the chance to speak up for themselves. So the question comes down to this: Do we call for a Constitutional Convention to legislate a ban on abortions as we are considering here today? Or is there a better way to deal with the issue?
“Well, before I attempt to answer those questions, let me first say that the main reason I wanted to address you this morning is to ask all of you, on both sides of the aisle, to please stop playing partisan politics with this topic. If we ever had an issue that deserves our honest appraisal and vote of conscience — this is it.
“When you leave here today, you will be heading back to your respective districts and taking some needed time off. None of you has to face re-election in November. Like me, you have the extraordinary opportunity and the freedom to do the right thing here and now. And the RLA is not something you will just be talking about or attempting to deal with in the future. It is something you have within your grasp — right now!
“Next, let me make it clear to you that if by some unlikely circumstance this RLA bill passes, both here and in the house, and subsequently lands on my desk, I will veto it.”
Talk about a bolt from the blue! Nobody expected to hear these words from the governor’s lips, not even me, especially after his pointed, anti-abortion preamble. Whatever I suspected he might say here this morning, this was not it. The thought occurred to me that he might have just committed political suicide by alienating his most ardent supporters. Certainly this must be what he promised Kathy Nichols, and the reason she abandoned her crusade. He would personally see to it that, regardless of how the vote went in the legislature, the RLA would be dead on arrival to his desk. Clearly there were not enough votes to overcome his veto, so Kathy could rest easy; her hero was in the game — on her side.
A buzz of whispers rose off the floor and through the gallery near my seat, like a swarm of bees following a wind-borne fragrance. Colin had deliberately paused his delivery to allow the unanticipated remark to sink in. I felt exhilarated on the inside, not so much because of being thrilled about the position he suddenly assumed, but due to the manner in which he fractured the prevailing notion of his beliefs, dramatically twisting the well-known, tiresome plot of political understanding and discourse.
Then he continued, “Over the past week, I have come to realize a few things. Among them is the fact that freedom is an endangered species in today’s world, even here, where we have attempted to enshrine it as a cardinal virtue. You all know that I have made freedom the cornerstone of my administration. But I must tell you that I am just beginning to understand what freedom truly means. One thing it definitely means is that we must be careful about the laws we pass, laws that abridge the rights of individuals in this society. We cannot have it both ways. If we preach freedom, we must practice freedom, even when it is someone else’s freedom that needs defending. As I have already stated, I do not believe in abortion, but I do believe that the freedom of a woman to make choices about her own life and body is something worth protection, or at least worth our diligent consideration here today.”
Colin’s rhetoric and tone have begun to take on the characteristics of a Sunday sermon, expressed from a gifted evangelist, a true convert, a genuine believer. “On the other hand, some of you may wish to argue that the right of privacy which underlies legal abortions is not worth defending...that such a right is not constitutionally guaranteed...or that it is based upon a faulty reckoning of the original intent of the framers of the Constitution. But the U.S. Constitution is entirely mute concerning the so-called right to life of the unborn that the RLA is designed to protect. The constitutional mandate to clarify and defend such a right is equally as vague as the right of a woman’s privacy that the RLA will supplant. So, it is left to us to decide which right stays and which one goes. And, naturally, we in government believe that legislation is the answer, the cure-all. And while we’re at it, let’s chisel our beliefs into the sacred stone, the U.S. Constitution, in order that all future ages and generations will have a code to live by.
“Well, it is about time we acknowledge publicly that morality cannot be legislated. Another law will not change the views and beliefs of those who may wish to consider abortion as an alternative to an unwanted child. Besides, who is to say that such a decision is not morally acceptable, or even advisable to the person that is in dire personal and family conflict? Were we elected, and are we here to make that decision as well? The struggle of young mothers, the quality of life of children, the state’s responsibility to prevent child abuse and to support dependent children: These issues are all integral parts of this debate. Yet hardly anyone seems to want to risk talking about these points, un-prejudicially and on-the-record. We would rather argue our parochial views...split our caucus along party lines...pit conservative against liberal...decide the issue strictly based on who can gather the most votes in support of a particular, partisan view.
“Another thing we must not forget is the law of unintended consequences. As Senator Larson has been brave enough to point out, the eventual passage and ratification of the RLA will create a whole new class of criminals. And who among us is considering what we should do about the women who break this new law, and the men who act as willing accomplices to the crime of abortion. Perhaps we should pass a companion appropriations bill to authorize the building of more prison cells around the state. We will certainly have a lot of women and their husbands or lovers, not to mention their doctors, to incarcerate. And let us not forget that we will be creating a black market for abortions in this country if the RLA becomes law. Certainly, as we hope, some people will be dissuaded from seeking abortion, because it will be against the law and somewhat less readily available. But abortions will not end in this country, or even within our state. They will, however, become hideously expensive and more dangerous than any of us can imagine. Health plans will not pay for them. Criminal organizations and people operating underground will get rich feeding off the misery and desperation of others.”
Colin had by this point captured everyone’s undivided attention. Clearly he was acting out the role the people of Michigan elected him to assume, that of a leader, willing to lead intelligently and courageously, and not simply a follower of a particular set of beliefs.
“We must resist the temptation to solve this complex problem with an oversimplified approach. Those of us opposed to abortion must be willing to use a proper means to our hoped-for end: education, the influence of our churches, compassion, volunteerism, the public presentation of our convictions in the manner of our founding fathers — not by acting mean-spirited or judgmental. We must be willing to provide practical alternative solutions to those faced with tough decisions, even if it costs us the sweat of our own brows, our own hard-earned cash or our self-righteous dignity — every means possible but the rending of the fabric of freedom that we all hold so dear to our breasts. If nobody believed in abortion, we would not need a law making it illegal. The rights of the unborn would naturally be upheld. Women would remain free to make the decision that is morally right for them; they would not be marginalized and criminalized. Families would win. Society would win. America would once again provide inspiration to the rest of the world as a tangible example of democracy and freedom in action...and how self-government works...and why its principles are worth preserving.
“I cannot tell you how to vote on the RLA today. You have been elected to represent your districts and to act in the public trust. I simply ask that you keep these points in mind when you cast your votes. There is no better time than now to begin the work of a statesperson. Let us all pledge to put politics behind us, and do the right thing.
“Thank you.”
Colin stood down and exited the chamber without a flourish. Throughout the gallery faces could be seen wearing various and distinctive looks — shock, disbelief, joy, excitement. The political persuasion of each guest could be determined from the telltale expressions on their faces.
On the floor, emotions appeared to be near the boiling point, but there would be no more debate, no more blowing off steam. The governor got the last word. It was as if he had just jogged off the field with the game ball after scoring the winning touchdown while the clock ran out.
Meanwhile, every reporter remained trapped in the grandstands for the vote, insulated from the man of the hour.
Looking like a character out of a Bela Lugosi film, Bob VanderVeen methodically prepared the assembly for the procedure. He had the RLA bill read in entirety. Since the measure was brief, this exercise took only a few moments. There would be no more time to think about the personal, political, societal, moral and ethical ramifications of a yes or a no. He asked for the vote.
I watched the tally board begin to light, indicating who voted for and who voted against. (The party line division of the senate is twenty-two republicans vs. sixteen democrats, a comfortable margin on partisan issues.) When the counting was complete, the vote in the senate on the Right to Life Amendment came out like this: 16-for, 18-against, and four abstentions. Colin’s words and his persuasive and impassioned arguments drew away enough support for the bill to defeat it. And I understand clearly how this became possible — how a bill heading for certain passage could be toppled in a compelling and influential moment — for even I felt drawn to him as he spoke, the man whom, only this morning, I set out to destroy. Yet I wondered, if I looked beyond the words, the arguments, past his imperious expression and impassioned look, deep into his heart, what would I see?