Trent Lott, Bounding Back From the Storms

"Who knows what the future will hold?" Lott tantalized further from the podium.

It is a throwaway line from the lips of most pols, but one that packs special resonance from Lott. To wit: the weeks following the GOP's 2002 takeover of the Senate, which would have restored Lott to the position of majority leader. But then came the firestorm over Lott's remarks at Strom Thurmond's 100th birthday party in which he seemed to endorse the former segregationist's 1948 presidential campaign.

The subsequent flap forced Lott to resign as majority leader -- a downfall that left him bitter toward many of his GOP Senate colleagues (such as Frist) and White House officials (such as Karl Rove). He settled in, nonetheless, became chairman of the Rules Committee, wrote a book, left people guessing about his future.

"On odd-numbered days, I was guessing he wouldn't run," said Martin Wiseman, director of the Stennis Institute of Government at Mississippi State. "On even-numbered days, I thought he would."

"I thought it was a done deal," said Cochran, speaking of what he believed would be Lott's decision not to run.

Katrina changed everything. It destroyed much of what Lott had, but also proved oddly rejuvenating.

"I admit sometimes that I am a sentimentalist," Lott said at the news conference. The remark came during a 13-minute answer to a question about Amtrak. But Lott could just as easily have been discussing a broader life philosophy -- one that had gotten him in trouble in the past, but which also was a deciding factor in his decision to run again.

"I don't want to come back here just to be an older member, or chairman of the Rules Committee," he said. It didn't hurt that some of the same Republicans Lott felt had abandoned him in 2002 were now begging him to stay, fearing his departure would open his seat to a Democrat.

More ping-pong:

Has Lott talked to any of his colleagues about a possible leadership run? "Colleagues are always talking," Lott said, grinning. "We're in politics. So we talk politics."

"That doesn't sound like a Shermanesque statement," one reporter yelled, referring to an airtight denial ("If nominated, I will not run; if elected, I will not serve") uttered by William Tecumseh Sherman, the Union general in the Civil War.

"I don't make Shermanesque statements where I'm from," he said.

"Erase that one," Lott added, curtailing this latest public dalliance with Southern political history.

Lott kept his left hand stuffed in his pants pocket. His pinstriped suit was impeccable pressed, his hair immovable as ever. He was smiling and looked like he could go all day. Until an aide yelled "thank you" and Lott declared that "the boss has spoken."

And that was that, except for an impromptu press gaggle outside the gallery.

Did Lott talk to the president about his decision?

Yes, but . . . "I'm going to try to remember the old rule: You don't say what you told the president, and you don't say what the president told you."

How about what Rove told him?

"I don't have a lot of communication with him," Lott said, grinning.