At John D. Ashcroft's farewell ceremony yesterday at the Justice Department, acting Solicitor General Paul D. Clement rose to thank the outgoing attorney general "for the steady stream of work he's provided" to government lawyers.
He listed just a few cases: Ashcroft v. Free Speech Coalition, Eldred v. Ashcroft, Ashcroft v. ACLU, Ashcroft v. ACLU (another one), Georgia v. Ashcroft, Leocal v. Ashcroft, Ashcroft v. Raich. And coming soon to a court near you: Ashcroft v. Oregon.
"I literally wonder what we in the solicitor general's office will do without the attorney general around," Clement deadpanned.
It is a common lament. Love him or hate him, everybody in official Washington will miss John Ashcroft. Fellow conservatives will miss a reliable ally. Liberals will miss the best demon they've had since Newt Gingrich. And reporters will miss the torrent of copy he inspired.
Remember his installation of a blue curtain in the Justice Department's Great Hall to cover the exposed right breast of the "Spirit of Justice" statue? (Her modesty was still intact during yesterday's ceremony.) His warning that those who questioned the Bush administration's strategy were aiding and abetting terrorists? His sensational announcement that the FBI had "disrupted an unfolding terrorist plot to attack the United States by exploding a radioactive dirty bomb"? (Other officials quickly made it clear he dramatically overstated the threat.) His departing boast that "the objective of securing the safety of Americans from crime and terror has been achieved"? (A month later, Health and Human Services Secretary Tommy G. Thompson marveled that "it is so easy" to attack the nation's food supply.)
Ashcroft's radioactivity was just beneath the surface during his send-off yesterday, and occasionally broke into the open. Daniel Bryant, director of the Office of Legal Policy, allowed that the "caricature" of Ashcroft "has served as a full-employment program for cartoonists and pundits." He then cited David Letterman's quip: "They say Attorney General John Ashcroft may be stepping down. Apparently he wants to spend more time spying on his family."
With Ashcroft on the stage, occasionally nodding in agreement, eight of his subordinates rose to tell the world that his fire-and-brimstone reputation was undeserved. Bryant testified that Ashcroft is a "warm and lighthearted man" who loves the St. Louis Cardinals baseball team and leaves "basketball bruises" on his colleagues. "Dare I say it?" Bryant ventured. "He's been known to let loose with a not infrequent bad pun." The rascal! And there's more: "He wiggles his toes, slips off his loafers . . . and balances them against each other pointing up toward the ceiling like a teepee."
Bryant continued to expose the happy-go-lucky attorney general. "He rides motocross dirt bikes and he has been known to ski, well, like a maniac."
This parting portrait of the attorney general is somewhat at odds with the image of Ashcroft as father of the Patriot Act, champion of expanded government eavesdropping powers and of holding "enemy combatants" without charges.
On the contrary, speaker after speaker declared yesterday, Ashcroft was a champion of liberty. A commemorative booklet celebrating Ashcroft's tenure was titled "Preserving Life and Liberty." In his benediction, the Rev. Roswell T. Flower, an Ashcroft friend, spoke of "liberty and justice" four times. A speaker called him "passionate about freedom."
Though controversial in office, the departing attorney general, in his valedictory, compared his department to a symphony orchestra where the workers "embrace one another in unity." Recalling the story of the Creation, he said that "form was given life when God breathed into it." Likewise, each Justice employee has "devoted yourself to breathing life into one part of this department or another."
A beaming Ashcroft acknowledged the effusive praise -- he even got credit for the new Justice cafeteria and for "a big picture contest" -- and accepted a pile of souvenirs: plaques, medals, a sculpture and his leather chair from the White House Cabinet Room. "You only missed two flattering speeches," he told his wife, who had arrived late because of the weather. "And I figured you've heard about as much flattery as you could take, so maybe God sent the ice storm just to spare you the indignity."
