Pete Ashdown’s Journal

In January of 2005, I had a meeting with Bill Orton. My campaign for U.S. Senate was in the exploratory stage, and I had heard through the grapevine that Bill was considering running. I had never met Bill before, but he worked nearby and came in to talk with me without even knowing what the subject was. We talked for over two hours that afternoon. He detailed how he had tried to negotiate with President Clinton and Bruce Babbitt before Grant Staircase Escalante was declared a National Park. They overrode his concerns and left him out of the process. He exclaimed to me the concern of his constituents, “If you’re a Democrat and your own President doesn’t listen to you, then what good are you?” He said, “And you know, they were right!” Bill Orton was the last Democrat to represent Utah’s third district. If President Clinton had listened to the Democratic congressman from the region in question, and made Utahns stakeholders in the process of creating a National Park, Bill Orton would have continued to be elected every time he ran.

I asked Bill why he considered himself a conservative Democrat instead of running as a Republican. “Because I couldn’t live with myself!” “I couldn’t get out of the shower each morning because I wouldn’t be able to get clean!” he laughed.

Bill told me that he was considering running for U.S. Senate, but the pains due to his back injury were preventing him from doing so. He told me that unless a miracle cure happened, he couldn’t do it. I waited until March before I realized that miracle wasn’t coming.

When it came time for the 2006 Democratic State Convention, it was necessary to select a party member to put forward my nomination. Bill Orton was my first choice and I was deeply humbled when he accepted. In spite of losing his written speech, he gave a fantastic, firey, and fluent oration that had the crowd cheering. He was a hard act to follow.

I ran into Bill a few times after the election. Last year, at the Salt Lake Valley Science and Engineering Fair he was especially proud of the work his son Will had done for his entry. It demonstrated the gravitational attraction between bowling balls and was far beyond what standard science fair entries cover. Bill beamed when he told me that a University physics professor had said that the entry was beyond the level of what his graduate students were capable of. It was apparent to me that Bill was a committed and loving father, even if it meant clearing out the garage for a month for a science fair experiment.

Bill Orton died this weekend in an accident at the age of 60. He was the very model of a Utah Democrat — honest, forthright, connected, and capable. He was my mentor and my friend. I will miss him.

I set my alarm this morning for 7:00AM planning to get up and get out to collect my tickets to the inauguration. A foreign bed and sick kids conspired against me and left me groggy when the alarm went off. For some reason I figured that there probably wasn’t going to be that big of a crowd when I managed to get down to the congressional office buildings, so I went back to sleep.

Standing in the subway at 10:00AM, I fully realized how wrong I was. In the dimly lit D.C. Metro, you realize the precariousness of your situation when there are thousands of others packed into a small space waiting to get out. I eyed possible escape routes (jump off the railing? parkor up the walls?) while I held any traces of claustrophobia back. Eventually I emerged from the Capitol South station into the bitter cold air of a Washington January day.

The lines snaked around the respective congressional office buildings to get through security. Due to security or scalping, there was a decision somewhere that ordered the majority of 250,000 tickets to be distributed on one day. Although I have never waited in longer lines, what was odd about the spectrum of people standing with me is that everyone had a big grin on their face. Nary an angry or impatient comment was heard. I had been waiting the past eight years for this moment, another 24 hours wasn’t going to hurt. What I realize now is that others had been waiting decades, if not the entire history of the United States for the affirmation of equality and freedom that will occur tomorrow. I am fortunate to be present.

When I was eight years old, I was walking in downtown Salt Lake City with my mother. As we crossed a street with my hand in hers, she stopped to talk to a man who I didn’t recognize. I don’t remember what the conversation was, just that it was complimentary. As we left the stranger, my mother turned to me and said, “Do you know who that was?” I shook my head. “That was the governor of Utah.”

Cal Rampton was my first contact with the political world. He remains an inspiration to me. In early 2005 when I was just finding my sea-legs as a candidate, I was introduced to a group of longtime Democrats who met regularly for lunch. Cal Rampton was among them and as they questioned me and told stories of their own, I found a well of courage to draw on. It was stunning to me to find out that Cal was a Bountiful boy too and that he had a friendship with my grandfather’s brother.

I had to leave early to catch a flight to a Western Caucus meeting in Montana. Cal shook my hand and told me, “Whatever I can do to help, please let me know.” Whether he realized it or not, Governor Rampton had already done enough. Along with my own efforts, I know that many other people have been inspired by Cal’s tenacity and the legacy he gave Utah.

Governor Calvin L. Rampton passed away last night, Sunday September 16th. I will remember him always.

Just over a month has passed since election night. Sitting next to my son reading him a bedtime story is a pleasure that rarely happened while travelling over 25,000 miles campaigning in Utah. Doing it now makes the past two years seem like a faded dream.

A relaxing Thanksgiving trip to a beach in Costa Rica helped clean the slate. About the most notable thing that happened between attempting to surf, fish tacos, and sleep was seeing luminescent bugs for the first time in my life. I was emptying the garbage one night and had a hard time digesting why there were blinking Christmas lights over the small hill behind the can.

Right now I’m catching up on emptying the detritus of my life and trying to archive the rest. It is slow digging.

Being a candidate also presented many opportunities where it was apparent the government was failing in a spectacular fashion. I didn’t even have a chance to lick my wounds from the door that just slammed shut before another door opened before me. This new opportunity is equally exciting, but not public. However, if you’ve got a couple million kicking around, I’d be happy to give you a preview.

On the evening of October 10th, my wife Robin began to have her contractions start to close in frequency. Our baby was not due until the 21st, but somehow we had the feeling all along that she was going to be a little early. I timed the contractions with my cell phone’s timer and figured we would head to the hospital when they got to be a minute apart.

“You didn’t read anything did you?”

“Oh sure, of course I did. I read a lot.”

I recognized my wife’s growing fangs from the last time she was pregnant. I apologized, then immediately apologized for apologizing. Then realized it was probably just best to keep my mouth shut as we closed in to the arrival.

Reading the owner’s manual by the bedside, I found that it was best to go to the hospital at five minutes apart. At around 11:30 PM, she was at three minutes apart. I called the hospital. Yes, they wanted us to come in. No, the jacuzzi room was occupied. I packed up Madeleine, Henry, and the numerous bags and accoutrements, then helped my wife get from the house to the car.

Robin’s first labor with Madeleine was 48 hours and an utter misery. Henry came in a comparative flash, about two hours after we got to the hospital. It looked like this one was in a sprint too. When Robin got on the bed, she said she wanted to push but didn’t know if she should wait for the midwife to arrive. The nurse said to push, the midwife was on her way. Robin was dilated to 8 cm.

Robin was on her side and our friend Dana was behind her. Dana pushed on her back when she had a contraction. I made sure that the cameras were operational and properly documenting. The midwife arrived and checked everything out. The water hadn’t broken yet, but the baby was definitely on its way. Robin continued to have a severe pain in her back every time she had a contraction. This made me realize my one contribution to the evening. Something that I learned in the birth classes was that it was actually easier and more natural to give birth on all fours than on the side or back. I suggested Robin get up on all fours and the midwife agreed. Robin didn’t want to, but as soon as she did, the midwife broke the water and our baby started to come out.

My five-year-old son Henry had been busily engaged with his Gameboy up to this point. I went over to him and said, “Henry, Momma is having the baby.” I think this is probably the one thing that can tear my boy away from the middle of a game. He put down the Gameboy on his own and his face lit up with awe as the birth happened. Immediately he exclaimed, “I love that baby!”

I am always broadsided by the swell of emotion a birth gives. Like a tidal wave it comes rushing in and drenches everyone in the room. I gave my wife tear soaked words of encouragement and looked over to my 11-year-old daughter Madeleine to see that she too had tears rolling down her face. Politics, work, all of that seems so petty as this moment gives a glimpse to the infinite.

Greta Dagmar Ruth Ballard was born on 1:29 AM, October 11th. At 7 lbs, 2 oz, she is a healthy 20 inch long baby girl. Robin and I have an agreement that instead of using hyphenation or my name for our children, girls get the Ballard name and boys get the Ashdown name. “Greta” was my mother’s name, “Ruth” was Robin’s grandmother. “Dagmar” is Madeleine’s contribution, a Danish name meaning “queen” that she fell in love with.

Momma and baby are doing well.