Marching to the Same Drummer

My point is that the Sanford I knew, however superficially, actually seemed like a different kind of pol. He cried in front of a reporter. He protested too much. He couldn't make basic chit-chat. He'd rather talk about riding a raft as a kid than his latest policy proposal. And he clung, despite the homogenizing influences of our political process, to a stubborn, impractical libertarianism. For years, this refusal to compromise, this individuality, had served him well politically; Sanford slept on his couch in Washington, got trims at Supercuts (with coupons!), railed against spending and won each of his six election contests. When we met, his fortunes were flagging; in the real world, refusing $700 million meant for teachers and cops has a dire effect on your poll numbers. But Sanford, however misguided you may have considered him, still seemed like someone worthy of that rarest of political commodities: respect.

Not anymore. In today's press conference, I saw flashes of the same old Sanford. The tears. The almost uncomfortable earnestness. The unpolished offer to "give you more detail than you'll ever want on this." (I could almost hear his staffers tearing their hair out.) But rather than a different kind of politician, he had become just another in the seemingly endless string of callous, power-drunk officials who betray their families for sex: John Ensign, Eliot Spitzer, Mark Foley, Jim McGreevey, Bill Clinton—the list is too tedious to repeat.

It's clear now that Sanford has no shot at the presidency. But I can't help wondering whether he ever really wanted the job in the first place. When I asked the governor last spring if he was looking forward to returning to business after his term expired, he responded before I could even finish my sentence. "I am," he said. "Absolutely. Yes." There was a pause as Sanford waited for me to pose the obvious follow-up. And then he just started blabbering. "I mean, people always say, 'Are you going to run for president?' and all that stuff. And the truth is, it's sort of this double-jeopardy question, 'cause I always say the same thing: 'I don't know. It's not my intention at this point.' Which is absolutely accurate. And they say, 'Would you positively, absolutely rule it out?' And I say, 'Well, no.' 'Well that means you're contemplating it.' And I say, 'No, well, it's not my aim. It's not where I'm focused.' I just learned long ago in life that the day you got's the day you got. Doors will open and doors will close."

At the time, I interpreted Sanford's outburst as a sign that he was eager to throw his hat into the ring. But now I see it as something else: the wavering of an ambitious man whose political side is flattered by all the attention but who knows, in his heart, that it would never work. Until today, I thought Sanford was too "different" to make it through that door. Turns out he was just more of the same.

© 2009