In My Time - Dick Cheney [60]
Celeste Colgan had shared an office with Lynne when they were both English instructors at the University of Wyoming. As the only four-year college in the state, the university is in many ways the common denominator of the state’s politics. I was lucky that after my detour to New Haven, I got my undergraduate degree at UW.
Celeste was from Riverton, in Fremont County, where her brother Bruce McMillan, a state legislator, ran the local feed elevator and farm implement store. The first time I went to Riverton, Bruce was my only contact. He wasn’t willing to commit to support me at that point, but he walked me around and introduced me to people—which was a start.
Over in Lander, Fremont County’s other main town, I went to see Jack Nicholas, Dave’s brother, who was the local county judge. Jack and his wife, Alice, introduced me to Judy Legerski, an active Republican and an ardent Catholic who was willing to support me because of my pro-life stance. Every time I went to Lander, I would stay with Jack and Alice and meet more of their friends and neighbors.
I arrived in Cody with only the name of the Republican county chairman, who kindly agreed to make some calls and get several women over to her house to meet this guy they had never heard of who wanted to run for Congress. One of the women was Mildred Cowgill, a former schoolteacher who had outlived two husbands, was tough as nails, and had a heart of gold. Mildred was one of the most respected people in northwestern Wyoming. If she vouched for you, you were good in Park County. She took me under her wing, and we stayed in her house whenever we were up there. She put me together with Gordon Brodrick, her stepson, who owned the General Motors dealership over in Powell, the next town. Gordon and his wife, Esther, hosted an event for me to meet all their friends. That’s the way things work in a state where a population of fewer than five hundred thousand is spread out over a hundred thousand square miles.
I knew that my campaign had to look and feel like Wyoming. The last thing I wanted was to import a lot of out-of-state guns for hire, who would cost me a lot of money, ride roughshod over the locals, and end up losing me more votes than they would gain. Friendship and professional expertise justified a few exceptions to that rule. I had worked with Bob Teeter during the Ford campaign, so I asked him to help us do our polling from his base in Michigan. And I asked Bob Gardner, another Ford alum and friend, to moonlight from his agency in San Francisco and help with our media and advertising. Kathie Berger, my White House staff assistant, had gone home to Pittsburgh, but when I called she agreed to drop everything and move to Casper. It was great to have her running the campaign headquarters, supervising volunteers, and managing my schedule.
Finally, I decided to do something the experts always tell you not to do, and that was to be my own campaign manager. While it was true that I was a first-time candidate, I was not exactly a neophyte where campaigns were concerned. I had done every job from passing out buttons for a governor to setting poll questions for a president. I couldn’t imagine hiring someone to tell me what to do.
EVERY MEMBER OF CONGRESS will tell you his congressional district is special, but that is really true for Wyoming. It’s big and it’s beautiful, with high mountains and prairies that go on forever.
During the 1978 campaign, on the road from Casper to Rawlins. (Photo by David Kennerly)
And the small population means that you can often drive a long way without seeing a soul. I once took Pulitzer Prize–winning photographer David Kennerly, whom I had gotten to know in the Ford White House, on a campaign trip between Casper and Laramie. “It’s a long way between