Campaigns & Elections' Politics - February 2008 - (Page 31) For 13 years, from 1994 3 years f through 2007, I was hired by scores of clients, most of them working behind the scenes for a campaign or political group that wanted dirt on a rival. I’ve investigated politicians in 30 states, from county commissioners to presidential candidates. It was easy to get hooked on the adrenaline, seeing my investigations wind up as blaring newspaper headlines and my negative ads change the face of many campaigns. However, like others in this business, I hadn’t planned to go into opposition research. Most of us start out in Washington doing some sort of political or government policyrelated job. In my case, I was press secretary for Steve Wilson, a candidate for the U.S. Senate from Tennessee who lost to Bill Frist in the Republican primary in 1994. In that position I saw how opposition research works and why it is so tion, works, important. hen I decided to make opposition research my fulltime profession, I joined a very niche business; there aren’t too many of us who do it for a living. It’s also a profession with a colorful history. America first heard of this shadowy part of politics back in the 1970s, when G. Gordon Liddy and his henchmen were literally known as the “Rat Fuckers” at the Republican National Committee and at CREEP, the Committee to Re-Elect the President. Can you imagine calling a campaign, or the Republican or Democratic National Committee, and asking for the department that digs up dirt on the opposition, and being put through to a guy who says, “Rat Fuckers. How can we be of service to you today?” Of course not. Hence, the more civilized euphemism “opposition research” was created. Or to those inside the Beltway, it’s become known more simply as “oppo”—as in, “Can I get some oppo on that guy?” Who contacts oppo specialists? All kinds of folks—sometimes campaigns themselves, sometimes groups like the RNC or DNC, sometimes special interest PACs working to elect or defeat certain candidates, sometimes 527 groups, sometimes other political consultants. Besides the normal research we do—analyzing courthouse records, voter records, financial records, and so on—we’re also often handed leaked rumors that have to be checked out, no matter how outlandish or unlikely. Occasionally they turn out to be true, but the vast majority of times they’re bupkis. The 2001 New Jersey governor’s race was the only campaign I’ve ever worked where every one of the rumors leaked on a particular candidate turned out to be accurate. It all began in 2000 when President George W. Bush named New Jersey Gov. Christie Todd Whitman to head the Envi- W ronmental Protection Agency. There is no lieutenant govProtectio ernor in New Jersey and, in fact, the governor is the only Jerse elected statewide official. That meant the next-in-line to o become governor was then-state Senate President Donald w DiFrancesco, the friendly back-slapping pol known quasifr affectionately as “Donnie D.” “Do In 2001, Donnie D. was named acting governor and began D running to be elected governor in his own right. I’d been elect hired by someone working for DiFrancesco’s opponent in w the GOP primary, Bret Schundler. B First, rumors were leaked to the Schundler campaign about Donnie D. having questionable real estate dealings. It was all q true. Not only were there lawsuits resulting from multiple wer delinquencies on properties he owned, some of these proppr erties had gone into default. One of the failed real estate int deals was even funded through a personal loan from a family funde friend who ended up with a portion of a state contract. u I forked over my findings to my client and they were quickly leaked to the New York Times, which ran a big story on the subject. The New York Post followed, running its typical National Enquirer-style headline: “Donnie D.-Faults.” It got worse as I confirmed a rumor that DiFrancesco’s personal choice to be state treasurer had been fired from Citibank in New York after allegedly misusing travel expenses so she could continue an extramarital affair. Pressure started mounting within Republican circles for Donnie D. to drop out of the race. The next thing I knew I was checking out another rumor, which turned out to be one of the most off-the-wall experiences I’ve ever encountered. According to this rumor, DiFrancesco had been named in a divorce case in some obscure South New Jersey county. Documentation in the case file supposedly indicated that the marriage was being dissolved because the wife had an affair with Donnie D. Once in that county’s courthouse, I found the file number of the divorce case in question. I then went up to the counter and asked one of the clerks to retrieve the file for my perusal. This is a commonplace request at every county courthouse. I anticipated one potential problem: If DiFrancesco had already gotten to the judge of that divorce case, the judge may have sealed the case. (They were both Republicans and likely to know each other personally.) Instead of receiving the file from the clerk, I was ushered by a police officer into the chamber of the judge who handled the case. In all my years as an opposition researcher, this definitely was a first. Soon, a fat jovial judge was welcoming me into his office with a handshake. In his other hand was the file I wanted to see. The judge began with some idle small talk and remained February 2008 Politics 31
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