Free Tip and the Gipper: When Politics Worked by Chris Matthews Page B

came from a different generation and had a different set of skills. He somehow had the knack of knowing what was happening in the House each morning within minutes of arriving at his desk. It was uncanny. Because of this, the Speaker relied on him completely, always wanting Ari in the room and at his side whenever legislation was being discussed. Yet there was another, important fact to know about Ari, over and beyond his legislative radar, which was that he and Tip were rooted in a mutual past, despite the four-decade difference in their ages. “I knew his father and his mother,” the Speaker liked to say, and this shared history was, for Tip, the coin of the realm.
    The moment had now arrived for my first meeting with the man himself. It took place in his office on the East Front of the Capitol, secreted far away from visiting tourists. He was behind his desk and leaning toward me, his short-sleeved shirt showing off his huge forearms as I took my chair. He seemed to me at home in this world, organic to the place.
    He was curious about me, and the feeling was obviously mutual. It’s possible my notions before meeting him owed a lot to those caricatures I’d been recruited to help combat. With so many years intervening since then, it’s hard to remember now at what moment my imagined Tip O’Neill suddenly merged with the real one. Theone thing I will never forget is the “animal” aspect to him, something that dominated the space around him. If power is measured in physical presence, he projected it in strength. What sat before me was a bear of a man.
    One thing that was clear from the start was that this national figure whose reputation I’d long known about regarded me as a professional. I’d arrived on his doorstep with advance billing that told him I could help fix his problem. If I’d been a golf pro—or a plumber, for that matter—he’d have treated me the same. Beyond that, what linked us right off the bat was the way his need matched up with my readiness to get to work. There were also the stakes that brought me there in the first place. What he and I both knew—and neither of us wanted to say, certainly not at this meeting, at least—was that if he didn’t win this fight there wouldn’t be another.
    Given all this, I was relieved he felt no need for coyness. Looking me straight in the eye, he said, “Tell me what I’m doing wrong and what I’m doing right. Let’s have a little conversation.” After listening to what I had to say, he made an unforgettable declaration. “You know an old dog can learn new tricks,” he pronounced. And, when I heard him say that, my sense of anticipation about what lay ahead, and what we might do together, kicked in. And guess what else? I saw how it would be a way to tap again into the fighting energy I’d felt back on Air Force One, writing speeches for President Carter.
    It wasn’t long before I was reporting for work. The pattern of my days now weirdly echoed that of a decade earlier when I’d split my time between Senator Moss’s office by day and guarding the Capitol, armed and ready, by night. In the current era I would spend my mornings checking the national news and looking for ammo that Thomas P. O’Neill, Jr., the battling national Democrat, couldfire at Ronald Reagan. I knew that O’Neill needed to get larger, to grab some top billing by injecting himself into the fast-moving news cycle.
    Each day, too, I’d drop into Kirk O’Donnell’s office to discuss with him the current agenda, specifically the topics to be covered at that morning’s session in front of reporters. I soon began to produce short statements for Tip to use. They were designed to be what beat journalists call “news helper,” colorful copy to liven up what they’d go back to their desks and file. My hope was that those covering Tip would be more likely to quote him if he delivered such lively zingers. That was the idea. But for a good many weeks, I’m sorry to admit, the