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POLITICAL APPOINTEE
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Spitzer's fall from grace
may take others, too
of TheColumnists.com
No one really cares about them very much, nor should they, I suppose, but as a former political appointee myself, I cannot help but wonder a little about the fates of that particular tribe of people affected by the dizzying fall from grace of former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer.
Political appointees are people who work in government, but are not civil servants or legislators. They are hired by elected officials and serve at the official’s “pleasure,” to use the hoary term that means they can be fired any time, for any reason. If the boss decides to hang it up, or is defeated in an election, or quits amid scandal, you’re out on the street. So some folks in Albany are looking for work.
Karl Rove notwithstanding, unless you are the president’s press secretary, cabinet secretary, or chief of staff, you don’t usually become well known. I was the “special assistant”--press secretary--to Wilson Riles, the California state school superintendent, in the mid-70’s. As Wilson’s spokesman, I got my name in the papers a bit, and, because Wilson Riles was quite a fellow, it was a wonderful job.
We traveled all over the state, got taken to lunch by the editors of The New York Times, met Nelson Rockefeller and lots of other big names of the era, got taken to lunch with the editors of The Los Angeles Times, had members of the Capitol Press Corps to dinner (we paid for the drinks) and spent time, I swear, in every television studio in California. I had a rollicking good time, mostly.
It had its odd moments. There was, for instance, the time that Wilson, Deputy Superintendent Don McKinley and I were summoned one evening to the Malibu residence of Lawrence Welk. Mr. Welk had some ideas about paternalistic leadership that seemed to him to work in dealing with members of his band, and he wanted to impart them to Wilson. He imparted them until very, very late at night.
I created and produced a radio program for Wilson where he played journalist and interviewed various California bigwigs. Once, when we were doing the program in Los Angeles, thanks to the courtesy and generosity of station KMPC, a prominent leader in California higher education did the program with Wilson, then, off-mike, had something of an emotional breakdown. It turned out he was undergoing a painful divorce, Wilson was a friend, and this Big Name tearfully unburdened himself. I have thought occasionally since then that sitting before a microphone was not the time or place, but nothing ever came of it.
There was the time that Wilson, 6-feet-four inches in height and African-American, his bodyguard Randy, six feet and Hispanic, and myself, 5 feet-10 inches and Anglo, were walking down the street in front of the Biltmore Hotel in downtown Los Angeles. A Japanese tourist, obviously amazed at the ethnic diversity on constant display in America, jumped out in front of us and snapped our picture.
“Humph!” I said, not used to being a tourist attraction.
“Well, he has a right,” Wilson said. “After all, it was pretty amazing to him.”
Once in Santa Barbara, the anchor of the evening news, Wilson and I were standing outside the anchorman's television studio, which was located on a picturesque bluff. As the three of us admired the resplendent view of the city and the ocean, the anchor told us the TV station was the only one in existence that was “built on a foundation of rubber.”
“What?” we chorused. “How did that happen?”
“This used to be a spot for lovers,” he told us. Harty har, har.
The travel at times was wearying beyond belief. I don’t know how Clinton, McCain and Obama and their staffs do it. I remember sitting in the bar at Los Angeles International one night, waiting for a plane that would take us home to Sacramento after three weeks on the road. I looked at my two companions and realized that African-American Wilson, Hispanic Randy and Anglo Chuck were all the same shade of gray.
Almost every official--I’ll bet Spitzer was no exception--who heads a major government operation starts out by ignoring the civil service staff--the “career employees.” Coming in, the newly elected official surrounds himself or herself with a tight group of appointed advisors who in effect run things.
The California State Department of Education at the time Wilson was elected had a reputation of being one of the most unresponsive bureaucracies in Sacramento, and Wilson did the usual thing--:unning the department with a tight group of maybe a dozen people, leaving the 2,300 civil service employees to do their thing.
In some cases, that changes and the official comes to appreciate the wisdom of those who have been around a while. Wilson moved in that direction by spotting and elevating maybe half a dozen bright bureaucrats, but that was about it. I spent some time giving media-relations advice on how to clean up one mess or another created by the career employees. The civil service employees about once a year would raise hell about being neglected by the top brass, and so we would throw them a bone of one sort or another. I remember ghostwriting a prayer for an employee breakfast one year. Pretty moving stuff, I thought.
By some accounts, the group of young people who served Eliot Spitzer was as arrogant and hard-edged as he, managing to make lots of enemies around the state Capitol in Albany. If so, they are probably not going to be successful in finding new employment as political appointees. They made the basic mistake of thinking they were immortal in their positions and didn’t need to be nice to anyone.
Who knew? One minute you’re sitting as a member of the inner councils, lapping up all the perks, and the next minute: Oops! you’re looking for a tin cup and a supply of pencils.
The special assistant to Wilson’s predecessor in office was a particularly pathetic case. Since Wilson had defeated his boss, and there were at that time only two appointee slots available, (“special assistant” and deputy superintendent) there was obviously no place for him in Wilson’s administration. But he pleaded to be kept on, somehow. He even offered to carry Wilson’s luggage. I don’t know what ever became of him.
I left Wilson’s service to take another position in 1977, and he went on to serve another term in office before being defeated in his try for a fourth term. Wilson died in 1999.
It was an education. I’ll bet young people on Spitzer’s gubernatorial staff are getting one now.
©2008 by Charles M. McFadden. The McFadden caricature is ©2001 by Jim Hummel. The illustration is from IMSI's Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA. This column first posted March 17, 2008.
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