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By Tony Hopfinger “Politics is a very fickle thing,” said Sen. Ted Stevens. “The ebb and wane of support in a state like ours covers such a short period of time that it’s hard to predict continuity… I see this election as determining whether the state wants someone with great seniority.” Sounds like Stevens is talking before he lost this fall’s election, right?
In fact, this is vintage Ted Stevens, back in 1988 when the state was trying to pull itself out of recession. The senator was up for re-election in 1990 but had already started talking about whether he planned to run again. “I just want people to understand the commitment I’m making if I stay on,” Stevens told an Anchorage Daily News reporter in 1988. “This is a period I could go out and make $1 million a year without any question… I would like to stay. But I think there is a mutual commitment that has to be made that we need to have during this period one of the senior senators.” A commitment? I recently came across this Stevens interview in the archives of the Daily News. It shows that Alaska’s one-time “Senator for Life” was already prone to a sense of entitlement and aloofness that would land him into trouble two decades later. When Stevens bid farewell to his Senate colleagues last week, the historical moment seemed to pass with little acknowledgment or interest. Part of that is due to the never-ending Sarah Palin show. Alaskans have also experienced fatigue with the ongoing federal political corruption scandal--the downfall of Stevens. Then, too, many Alaskans know little about Stevens’ past, in part because they came to the state later in his career. The personality traits that landed Stevens into trouble in recent years were well documented in the late 1980s—arrogance, stubbornness and selfishness. Stevens has more good qualities than bad, to be sure. But like any tragic hero, it was his character flaws that led to his demise. Michael Carey, the former editorial page editor of the Daily News, wrote about Stevens’ sense of entitlement in 1988, foreshadowing the senator’s troubles 20 years later in a column titled "Ted Stevens Has Met His Enemy and It’s Him": The story of the country lawyer who arrives in the Senate green as grass and eventually becomes an insider who has lost touch with his state is as old as Washington. Its last chapter ends one of two ways. The country-boy-become-insider dies in office and is mourned in the Capitol rotunda. Or the voters, tiring of their patriarch, decide “He's changed. He's not one of us any more more” and they throw him out. Here’s Carey’s column in its entirety from Feb. 4, 1988: Not long ago, Sen. Ted Stevens said that he would be pleased to stay in the Senate if Alaskans offered him a lifetime, no-cut contract. “I just want people to understand the commitment I'm making if I stay on,” he explained. “This is a period I could go out and make $1 million a year without any question.” (Presumably, he would remain in Washington to make his annual million. Nobody can make a million bucks in Alaska these days “without any question.”) Sen. Stevens' candor sounds more like dinner table bluster than an ontherecord remark for quotation. Senators just don't publicly speculate on longterm deals with the voters or openly brag about the dollars they could bring home outside government. Sen. Ted has such a lock on a Senate seat that he's more likely to leave Capitol Hill feet first than in defeat. He has been creaming election opponents for almost 20 years and could easily put together the biggest war chest in Alaska's history against a serious challenger. He's got a proven track record at the polls, seniority, and access to plenty of campaign money. What is Ted Stevens worried about? Well, politicians always are looking over their shoulders to see if anybody is chasing them. Older politicians in particular worry that the voters might be seduced by a younger and prettier face. People move, voters turn over, especially in Alaska. A Tony Knowles or a Steve Cowper might offer Alaskans new leadership in Washington and Alaskans might be foolish enough to forget everything Ted Stevens has done for them. What Ted Stevens doesn't realize is that his most dangerous challenger isn't some young buck with a pocket full of ambition and a little charisma. No, Ted's toughest opponent is the man in the mirror himself. While Alaska's senior senator has been bringing home the bacon and diligently answering Alaskans' mail, he has become a creature of Washington, an insider accustomed to the deference reserved for a duke. His colleagues make way for him, bureaucrats bow to him. Generals fear him, presidents consult him. By virtue of his title and power, Ted Stevens is a privileged character who doesn't have to endure the frustrations suffered by mere mortals. Years of power and prestige have made Ted Stevens arrogant, intolerant, and incapable of facing dissent. The man no longer listens to people; he lectures them. In discussions with Alaskans, he hears only one voice his own. Try stretching Ted Stevens' mind with ideas alien to him and this is what you will get in return: “You don't know,” “You don't understand,” and “That's not the way it works,” the aggressive certainty of a man who knows he's always right. The story of the country lawyer who arrives in the Senate green as grass and eventually becomes an insider who has lost touch with his state is as old as Washington. Its last chapter ends one of two ways. The country-boy-become-insider dies in office and is mourned in the Capitol rotunda. Or the voters, tiring of their patriarch, decide “He's changed. He's not one of us any more more” and they throw him out. Ted Stevens better tell the guy in the mirror to remember where he came from and whom he serves. If he doesn't, Alaskans just might give him a chance to make a million bucks a year in 1990. A United States senator can't pretend to be one of the boys on the block. But he doesn't have to be a knowitall. People still appreciate the common touch and a bit of humility from the powerful.
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