Ashcroft on 9/11, America's security and more

When John Ashcroft was President Bush's attorney general, he was noted for his no-apologies approach to fighting terrorism and his take-no-prisoners speaking style. Ashcroft retired in 2004, and now heads a Washington lobbying firm. He visited “Today” to discuss his memoir, “Never Again: Securing America and Restoring Justice.” Here's an excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE
CRASH IN THE NIGHT
A Nightmare While Awake
I’m a country boy at heart. Few activities are more enjoyable to me than getting out in the country, working on a tractor, or fixing up an old shed on the edge of a green pasture. That’s why my wife, Janet, and I hung on to our property near Springfield, Missouri, at the northern base of the Ozark hill country when I was elected to the U.S. Senate in 1994. By 2000, even though we now lived at least half our year in Washington, D.C., I relished every opportunity to spend time at our traditional, two-story, white farmhouse located near a gently rippling river.

Ten miles from town, the serenity of the farm with its bucolic beauty beckoned me away from the stark severity of city life. Something about returning to the farm, a sanctuary amid the hustle and bustle of the workaday world, refreshed me, restored my spirit, and reminded me that life is more than the latest opinion poll or Washington intrigue.

The old farmhouse provided a welcomed respite for me, especially when the weather turned ugly, as it had earlier on this mid-October night. The sturdy construction offered a place of warmth and security, impervious to the pelting rain and the flashing lightning. Eventually, the booming thunderstorm moved off eastward, leaving behind a persistent drizzle and a dense fog that painted a thick gray mist across the hillsides, shrouding the valleys, and casting an eerie pall over the area. I glanced out the window at the soupy sky and shook my head. I’m glad I’m not traveling in that mess tonight. I tossed a stack of papers aside and moved to my favorite chair in the TV room, kicked off my shoes, and reached for the remote control. I wasn’t really interested in watching any more news coverage, and it was still too early in the year for a basketball game, but it was nice to have a bit of background noise in the house. Janet was in Washington, D.C., attending to her teaching responsibilities at Howard University, so I had returned alone to our Springfield home following a televised Sunday night debate in Kansas City against Mel Carnahan, the governor of Missouri, my opponent in the upcoming election for U.S. senator.

The jangling of the farmhouse phone jolted me out of my silent reflections. I pulled myself out of the chair and ambled over to the telephone. David Ayres, my former Senate office chief of staff and my current campaign manager, was on the line. David had worked with me for years and was one of my most trusted advisers. It was not unusual for him to call me after office hours, but late night calls were rarely ever good, and this call was no exception. I could tell quickly from the tone of David’s voice that this was no ordinary call.

“John, there’s a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” I asked, still relatively at ease. Problems go with the territory when running for office or serving in office, so I was not surprised or alarmed to learn that another issue had popped up three weeks prior to election day.

“I just received a call about a press report that Governor Carnahan’s plane is missing ... apparently, it has disappeared from the radar.”

“What?”

“Word is that Carnahan and his campaign aide Chris Sifford were attempting to fly from St. Louis to New Madrid tonight, and the air traffic controllers lost contact with the plane sometime around seven-thirty or eight o’clock. Carnahan’s son, Randy, was flying the plane, and they can’t raise him on the radio.”

“No ...” I was stunned as the full realization of David’s words began to sink in. “You don’t mean ...”

“We don’t know,” David anticipated my question. “But the weather here in St. Louis has been awful tonight, and there’s fear that the plane may have crashed in the woods south of the city, in Jefferson County. We’re checking with local authorities and all the news services right now, but it does not look good. We also need to start thinking about what we’re going to do if the reports are accurate.”

“Do? There’s only one thing to do. Pull down the campaign ... put everything on hold until we find out what’s going on here.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” David concurred. “Try to settle yourself. I’ll call you back as soon as I hear anything.”

I had no sooner hung up the telephone and turned the television to a local station for news when the phone began ringing, one call after another. “John? Have you heard? Is it true? Is Carnahan okay? Have they found the plane yet? Is Mel dead or alive?”

My mind was racing. How could this be? Just a few weeks ago we had accepted an invitation for a debate to be held on Monday, October 16, in southeast Missouri at Cape Girardeau, but the Carnahan camp had declined the invitation, opting instead for a fund-raiser in St. Louis that day, and then a trip to the boot heel of the state later that evening. Now I couldn’t help but wonder how the events of the evening might have been different had we still been on the debate platform in southern Missouri.

Mel Carnahan and I had served together in Missouri politics for a couple of decades. Mel had been the state treasurer during my first term as governor of Missouri, and the lieutenant governor during my second term. Missouri’s term limits allow for only two consecutive terms of office, so after serving eight years as governor, I stepped aside and planned on retiring from politics.

But when the Missouri seat in the U.S. Senate opened, my friends and family encouraged me to run for office. I won the Senate seat in 1994. Meanwhile, Mel had won the governor’s job in 1992. He went on to serve two four-year terms as governor, although he quickly let it be known that he wanted a broader sphere of influence. He publicly announced his intention to run for my U.S. Senate seat the day after the 1998 midterm elections, a full two years before he would complete his second term as governor.

I had no animosity toward Mel; our dealings were properly cordial, but tension filled our relationship from the early days of our working together, when he was the lieutenant governor and I was governor. At that time, Missouri had a law that allowed the lieutenant governor to assume the position of governor whenever the chief executive was absent from the state.

The whole idea was based on an antiquated notion that remained when I took office. Clearly, a modern governor continued in office when outside the state conducting state business. Nevertheless, whenever I traveled outside Missouri’s boundaries for an extended period of time, I’d sign a document designating Mel Carnahan as governor until I returned.

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