Then Russert asked if I “regret[ted] misleading the American people” and whether I wanted to apologize for “branding people as part of a vast rightwing conspiracy.”

  Although I was taken aback by the question, I had to respond, so I did: “You know, Tim, that was a very painful time for me, for my family and for our country. It is something I regret deeply that anyone had to go through. And I wish we all could look at it from the perspective of history, but we can’t yet. We’re going to have to wait until those books are written…. I’ve tried to be as forthcoming as I could, given the circumstances that I’ve faced. Obviously I didn’t mislead anyone. I didn’t know the truth. And there’s a great deal of pain associated with that, and my husband has certainly acknowledged …

  that he did mislead the country as well as his family.”

  The questions also covered school vouchers, the environment and other local issues, and that’s when Lazio made a critical mistake: He said that the upstate economy had “turned the corner.” But to anyone who lived upstate or who had spent time there, Lazio sounded out of touch. By then I had visited the region frequently and had held extensive discussions with residents about the problems of job loss and young people leaving the area. I had also developed an economic plan for the region that voters were taking seriously.

  When the focus of the debate turned to campaign commercials and the use of socalled soft money―funds spent by outside political committees on behalf of a candidate or an issue―Russert showed clips of a Lazio commercial featuring the Congressman in a photo juxtaposed with Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan, a coupling that had never taken place. The ad distorted the truth and exploited the popularity of a venerable New York public servant. It was paid for with soft money, large contributions that could be used by political parties or outside groups to support a candidate or attack his opponent. In the spring, I had called for a ban on all soft money, but I wasn’t going to commit to it unilaterally.

  The Republicans had refused to forswear the use of soft money from outside groups, some of whom were busily raising $32 million in support of Lazio’s Senate bid.

  Near the end of the debate, from behind his podium, Lazio began hectoring me about soft money and challenging me to ban large Democratic Party contributions in my campaign.

  I could barely get a word in when he marched over to me, waving a piece of papercalled the “New York Freedom from Soft Money Pact”―and demanding my signature. I declined. He pressed in closer, shouting, “Right here, sign it right now!”

  I offered to shake hands, but he kept badgering me. I only had time to utter one sentence in response before Russert ended the debate. I don’t know whether Lazio and his advisers thought they could fluster me or provoke me into anger.

  Throughout the campaign, I had steeled myself for the possibility of personal attacks and was determined to stay focused on the issues―not on Lazio as a person. Like an internal mantra, I repeated to myself: “the issues, the issues.” Besides being more helpful to voters, it seemed a more civilized way to run a campaign.

  The debate was another turning point in the race that helped push some voters into my corner, although I didn’t realize it right away. When I got off the stage, I had no idea how I had done and wasn’t sure how Lazio’s confrontational ploy would be received. His campaign immediately declared victory―and the press was buying it. Many of the first stories highlighted Lazio’s stunt and all but declared him the winner.

  Nonetheless, my team was upbeat. Ann Lewis and Mandy Grunwald sensed that Lazio had come across as a bully rather than the nice guy he was trying to project. Public opinion polls and focus groups soon made it clear that a lot of voters, especially women, were offended by Lazio’s tactics. As Gail Collins wrote in The New York Times, Lazio had “invaded” my space. And many voters didn’t like it.

  The public reaction didn’t stop Lazio from continuing a campaign that was largely negative―and personal. He sent out a fundraising letter stating that his message could be summed up in six words: “I’m running against Hillary Rodham Clinton.” His campaign was not about the people of New York; it was about me. So I began to tell audiences around the state: “New Yorkers deserve more than that. How about seven words: jobs, education, health, Social Security, environment, choice?”

  Lazio also dredged up health care reform in a series of ads designed to touch a nerve with voters. But, as I had learned from months on the road, New Yorkers generally seemed to appreciate my effort to reform health care, even if it had not succeeded in revamping the whole system. In the intervening years, health care costs had soared, and HMOs and insurance companies were more restrictive in their coverage. On the campaign trail, I frequently talked about specific incremental reforms that I had helped push through and ways the Senate could address rising health care costs through legislation.

  Late in the campaign, on October 12, the USS Cole was attacked by terrorists in Yemen. The powerful explosion killed seventeen American sailors and ripped a hole in the destroyer’s hull. This attack, like the embassy bombings, was later traced to al-Qaeda, the shadowy network of Islamic extremists led by Osama bin Laden that had declared war on the “infidels and crusaders.” That label applied to all Americans and many others across the world, including Muslims who denounced violent tactics and extremism. I cancelled my campaign events to go with Bill and Chelsea to Norfolk Naval Station in Virginia for the memorial service. I had met with the families of the American Embassy bombing victims in August of 1998; now I offered condolences to the families of our murdered sailors, young men and women who were serving their country and providing security in a critical region of the world.

  I despise terrorism and the nihilism it represents, and I was incredulous when the New York Republican Party and Lazio campaign insinuated that I was somehow involved with the terrorists who blew up the Cole. They made this despicable charge in a television ad and an automatic telephone message directed to hundreds of thousands of New York voters twelve days before the election. The story they concocted was that I had received a donation from somebody who belonged to a group that they said supported terrorists―“

  the same kind of terrorism that killed our sailors on the USS Cole. “The phone script told people to call me and tell me to “stop supporting terrorism.” It was sickening.

  This last-minute desperation tactic blew up, however, thanks to a vigorous response by my campaign and with help from former New York City Mayor Ed Koch, who cut a television commercial scolding Lazio: “Rick, stop with the sleaze already.”

  By the final weeks of the campaign, I began to feel confident that I would win. But we had one last campaign scare the week before the election, when the race suddenly began to tighten. Lazio had been running an ad with two actresses playing suburban women who wondered how I had the nerve to show up in New York and think I deserved to be Senator.

  We didn’t know whether voters were responding to Lazio’s ad or were influenced by the terrorism phone calls, or whether the shift in the race was simply a momentary fluke.

  I hashed it over with Mark and Mandy until two in the morning and decided to make one last effort to reach out to women who might still be ambivalent about my candidacy.

  Lazio was particularly vulnerable, I thought, on breast cancer research, an issue that I had worked on for eight years. After he entered the Senate race, the House leadership allowed him to hijack an important breast cancer funding bill that had been the brainchild of California Rep. Anna Eshoo and enjoyed broad bipartisan support. House leaders listed him as the lone sponsor of that bill, so that he could point to it in the campaign as a sign of his commitment to women’s issues. That was bad enough. Worse, when the bill finally passed, he supported cutting funding for the program. I cared passionately about breast cancer treatment and research and was disgusted when I learned that Lazio had played politics with such an important and emotional issue.

  Marie Kaplan, a breast cancer survivor and advocate from Lazio’s own district on Long Island, had become one of my most faithful campaign volunteers. “Why not ask Marie to make an ad?” I suggested. And we did. In many ways, it was the best ad of the campaign. Marie explained what Lazio had done to the breast cancer funding bill and then said: “I have friends with questions about Hillary. I tell them, ‘Get over it. I know her.’ On breast cancer and health care and education and a woman’s right to choose, Hillary would never walk away. She’ll be there for us.’” She summed up everything I wanted people to think about as they cast their ballots.

  I worked up until the last minute, campaigning in Westchester County with Representative Nita Lowey early on Election Day, November 7. Bill and Chelsea voted with me at our local polling station, Douglas Grafflin Elementary School in Chappaqua. After seeing Bill’s name on ballots for years, I was thrilled and honored to see my own.

  As the results came in during the evening, it was clear that I was going to win by a much bigger margin than expected. I was getting dressed in my hotel room when Chelsea burst in to deliver the news: The final tally was 55 percent to 43 percent. Hard work had paid off, and I was grateful for the chance to represent New York and to contribute to our nation in a new role.

  The presidential race, meanwhile, was a roller coaster. Little did we know at the time that thirty-six days would elapse before the country learned who the new President would be. Nor could we imagine the demonstrations, lawsuits, appeals and challenges that would arise over the disputed votes in Florida or the addition to our political lexicon of terms like “butterfly ballot” and “dimpled chad.”

  The uncertainty in the presidential race tempered my elation on election night, but it did nothing to subdue the joyful victory party at the Grand Hyatt Hotel near Grand Central Terminal in New York City. The ballroom was packed with campaign staffers, friends, supporters and loyal Hillaryland aides who had taken leaves of absence from the White House during the last week of the campaign to help with “GOT” (get-out-the-vote) activities. I was overwhelmed by the generosity and openness of New Yorkers, who listened to what I had to say, got to know me and took a chance on me. I was determined not to let them down. I joined Bill, Chelsea, my mother, and scores of supporters in a deluge of confetti and balloons.

  Dozens of hugs and handshakes later, I stood at the podium to thank my supporters. I told them: “Sixty-two counties, sixteen months, three debates, two opponents and six black pantsuits later, because of you, we are here!”

  After eight years with a title but no portfolio, I was now “Senator-elect.”

  Two days after the election, with the outcome of the presidential race between Al Gore and George W. Bush still in dispute, I returned to Washington to host a celebration of the White House’s two-hundredth anniversary. It could have been an awkward evening, given the political tension in the air. All the living former Presidents and First Ladies were there (except President and Mrs. Reagan, who stayed at home in California because of President Reagan’s Alzheimer’s disease) as well as descendants and relatives of other Presidents. The magnificent black-tie gala sponsored by the White House Historical Association turned into a testament to American democracy as each former President spoke eloquently about our nation’s endurance in the face of controversy and upheaval.

  “Once again,” said President Gerald Ford, “the world’s oldest republic has demonstrated the youthful vitality of its institutions and the ability and the necessity to come together … after a hard-fought campaign. The clash of partisan political ideas does remain just that-to be quickly followed by a peaceful transfer of authority.”

  Here was living proof that America’s foundation was stronger than individuals and politics, and that while Presidents, Senators and House members come and go, the continuity of the government remains unbroken.

  In the end, Al Gore won the popular vote by over 500,000 ballots but lost the presidency in the Electoral College. The Supreme Court voted 5-4 on December 12 to stop a recount of votes in Florida, effectively sealing the victory for Bush. Seldom if ever in our history has the people’s right to choose their elected officials been thwarted by such a blatant abuse of judicial power.

  Even before the merits of the appeal were heard, justice Antonin Scalia telegraphed the irrationality of the partisan decision to come by granting a stay which abruptly stopped the counting of ballots in Florida on December 9, 2000. Continuing the recount, according to Scalia, might cause “irreparable harm” to Governor Bush. Scalia wrote that counting the ballots might “cast a cloud upon what [Bush] claims to be the legitimacy of his election.” His logic seemed to be: Counting the ballots must be stopped, because the ballots might show that Bush did not win after all. The decision in Bush v. Gore turned the normally conservative Supreme Court on its head. Instead of deferring to the highest court of Florida on pure matters of Florida state law, the Court reached out to find federal issues on which to overrule it. And rather than continuing its narrow view of equal protection claims, the majority went out of its way to find a violation of equal protection.

  The majority said Florida’s recount standard, requiring any ballot to be counted if it reflected the clear intent of the voter, was not specific enough because it could be interpreted differently by different vote counters. Their solution was to deny the right to vote to all citizens subject to the recount, no matter how clearly their ballots were marked.

  Amazingly, the Court carefully warned that “[o]ur consideration is limited to the present circumstances, for the problem of equal protection in election processes generally presents many complexities.” They knew the decision was indefensible and had no intention of letting its reasoning be applied to other cases. It was just the best argument they could come up with on short notice to achieve the result they had already decided to impose. I have no doubt that if Bush, rather than Gore, had been behind in the incomplete count, the five conservative justices would have joined in a decision to recount all the ballots.

  Americans have now moved beyond that controversial election and accepted the rule of law, but as we look to the next elections, we must ensure that every citizen is free to vote without fear, coercion or confusion at polling places with modern equipment and trained poll workers. We can only hope that the Supreme Court exercises greater restraint and objectivity if it ever handles a disputed presidential election again.

  Bill and I were dismayed by the outcome of the election and concerned about what a return to the failed Republican policies of the past might mean for our nation. My only comfort was that I would soon begin my new job and have the opportunity to use my voice and vote on behalf of the values and policies I thought best for New York and America. Finally, the day arrived. Since only members of Congress and their staff are allowed on the Senate floor―with no exceptions for Presidents―Bill had to witness my swearing-in from the visitor’s gallery, along with Chelsea and other family members. For the past eight years, I had watched from above as Bill shared his vision for our country in this same building. On January 3, 2001, I stepped onto the floor of the Senate to swear to “support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic … and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter.”

  When I turned and looked to the gallery above me, I saw my mother, my daughter and my husband smiling at the newest senator from New York.

  Three days later, on a rainy Saturday afternoon, we held a farewell party under a big tent on the South Lawn for everyone who had worked or volunteered in the White House over the previous eight years. People showed up from all over the country to see friends and reminisce about their work in the Administration. It was a spirited reunion that gave Bill and me the opportunity to say one final “thank you” to hundreds of men and women who had endured long hours and made personal sacrifices to join Bill’s Administration in service to our country. From the twenty-three-yearold office assistant to the sixtysomething cabinet secretary, these were the men and women who helped advance Bill’s agenda and his vision of America.

  As our staffers toasted each other, Al and Tipper Gore joined Bill and me several hours into the party.

  “Here is the candidate who won the most votes in the presidential election,” I said, introducing Al to a cheering ovation. Al asked for a show of hands for everyone who had found spouses or had babies during their time in the Administration. Hands shot up throughout the crowd. And then, in a surprise that Capricia had arranged, the curtain on stage rose and Fleetwood Mac emerged from the wings. When the band broke into the opening chords of “Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow,” the anthem of Bill’s 1992

  campaign, the crowd erupted in a loud, joyous and off-key chorus wailing the refrain.

  I had taken those lyrics to heart. It may have been a cliché, but the phrase that best summed up my political philosophy was: “It’s always about the future,” about what must be done to make America safer, smarter, richer, stronger and better, and how Americans can prepare to compete and cooperate in a global community. As I thought about my own tomorrows, I was excited about serving in the Senate but also overcome by nostalgia for the people who had been part of our journey, especially those who were no longer with us.

  For the next two weeks, I wandered from room to room taking mental snapshots of all my favorite things in the White House, marveling at the architectural details, gazing at the pictures on the walls, trying to recapture the wonder I felt when I first arrived. I lingered in Chelsea’s rooms and tried to hear in my mind the laughter of her friends and the sound of her music. She had grown from a child to a young woman in this place. Many of her memories growing up in the White House as the daughter of a President were happy. I was sure of that.

  Every morning and every evening I found myself sinking into my favorite chair in the West Sitting Hall, a comfortable retreat where for eight years I had welcomed Chelsea home after school, met with staff, gossiped with friends, read books and collected my thoughts. Now, I reveled in this extraordinary time and this extraordinary place, watching the sunlight stream through the glorious fan-shaped window.