The Retro Man

About 20 minutes into my sit-down with House Minority Leader John Boehner, I am overcome by the desire for a drink. Scotch, maybe. Or a bone-dry martini, extra olives. It’s not that the Ohio congressman is shaping up to be confrontational or unresponsive or in any way unpleasant. Quite the opposite: Tucked into a corner of the comfy sofa in Boehner’s office, watching the dapper, deeply tanned pol pull languidly on a Camel 99 and talk shop in that low, rumbling voice, I feel more like I’ve wandered into the Shadow bar at Caesars Palace than a formal interview with one of the nation’s most powerful Republicans.

Jacketless, kicked back in one of those starchy, wood-and-leather armchairs that populate the Capitol, the 60-year-old Boehner radiates retro cool. His charcoal pin-striped trousers, crisp white shirt, and black tassel loafers are worthy of his inclusion on Esquire’s 2007 list of “The Best Dressed Men in the World.” A lime-green tie supplies just a dash of flash. Earlier in our talk, the congressman had risen to retrieve a behemoth crystal ashtray from his large, tidy desk, depositing it on the side table between us; now, right arm propped upright on his chair, cigarette burning down toward his neatly manicured fingers, Boehner ponders politics with the wry manner of someone who has seen it all, lived to tell about it, and can’t be bothered to get worked up about much these days. His rocky relationship with movement conservatives? Just a matter of style. “It’s really interesting,” he chuckles. (“Interesting” is a word that tends to pop up when Boehner ventures into ticklish territory.) “Because I’m not harsh, because I’m not a bomb-thrower, people think that I’m not really a conservative.” Rumors of competitive friction with his whip, the aggressive, hyper-ambitious Eric Cantor? Stories about their supposed rivalry are “interesting,” he says, but there is “no daylight” between them. The campaign drama then unfolding in New York’s twenty-third district, where the moderate candidate tapped by local GOP leaders was being pilloried by the base? “It’s a mess!” he laughs. “There’s no other way to say it.”

The longer I luxuriate in the minority leader’s soothing aura of smoke and sangfroid, the tougher it becomes to envision the affable, low-key Boehner riding herd on the pack of snarling, hard-right crusaders who increasingly dominate his conference. I am not alone. Despite his conservative voting record and small-government, pro-life sympathies, Boehner has long been viewed with suspicion by the Republican base. This stems in part from his occasional heresies (for instance, his opposition to the tough border-security bill in 2005) but even more so from his basic affability. Boehner comes across as ill-suited for today’s brand of abrasive, full-frontal political warfare; he is, many Republicans agree, an anachronism.

And yet, since the early days of the Obama administration, this anachronism and his leadership team have helped a shrunken, depressed minority regain its sass, achieve unity in opposition, exploit Democratic missteps, post wins at the polls in November, and, generally, make trouble for the president. Incongruously, a non-rabid non-crusader brilliantly described by a former GOP leadership aide as “the Dean Martin of Congress” is somehow managing to steer a party overrun by ideologues with pitchforks. Which raises two questions: How exactly has he done it? And--perhaps more interestingly--how long before the pitchfork wielders come for him?

To some degree, Boehner’s success stems from the fundamental nature of being minority leader. Even he admits that maintaining unity when your party is buckled snugly in the backseat is vastly easier than driving the car. “One of the great shocks of 1994 was--we had won the majority, and no one in our caucus had ever been in the majority--no one realized how much more work it is,” he stresses, grasping for the appropriate sports metaphor: “You hand the football off to a fullback, and he’s gotta run with it.” By contrast, being in the minority may stink, but it dramatically simplifies the leadership’s mission. With Dems in charge, Republicans’ primary business is to thwart the will of the majority. And it is far simpler to rally members around “no” than to line them up in support of even the most basic measure.

Still, imposing a modicum of order on Congress’s raging egos and ambitions is never easy. And Boehner, by most accounts, has done an admirable job. How? The key to his leadership style, say members of “Boehnerland” (as the congressman has dubbed past and current staffers), lies in his Midwestern, Catholic roots. “The important thing to remember about John is how heavily influenced he was by the large family upbringing,” says former spokesman Kevin Madden. One of twelve kids raised in a small house (one bathroom!) on the outskirts of Cincinnati, young John learned early the merits of compromise, conflict management, and everyone pulling their weight. At age ten, he went to work mopping the floors of the family bar, where he honed his listening and people skills. (Is there any better prep for congressional leadership than dealing with ugly drunks?)