The Confirmation by Ralph Reed Page A

know my father very well if you think that,” he said. “Dad loathed Bob Long and Andy Stanton and everything they stand for. Believe me, if he had to stay alive on a respirator, he’d do it to keep Long from replacing him.”
    â€œThis isn’t about the Supreme Court. It’s about our father,” said Terry, the youngest of the three children.
    â€œThe heck it isn’t! This is all about the Court,” fired back Peter Jr. “Dad loved this country, and he stood for a set of principles. He wouldn’t want to quit, not with Long appointing his successor.”
    Silence hung in the air. “You’re right. Until Dad goes on his own, we have to honor him by hanging on as long as we can,” said Janet.
    Peter Jr. glanced at Terry. He silently nodded.
    â€œEnding Dad’s suffering is the easy way out,” said Peter Jr. “But it’s not how Dad lived his life, and it’s not how he would want to die. You know Dad. He’s going to go out swinging.” They all smiled knowingly. “Hell will freeze over before I stand idly by and let Bob Long nominate his replacement.”
    AT 7:45 A.M., THE president’s legal team gathered in the Roosevelt Room, across the hall from the Oval Office. The agenda: review the top candidates for the Supreme Court, narrow the list to those the president would interview, and discuss strategy for confirmation. No one knew if Franklin would live or die, but it was important to be ready. Everyone was a little jumpy.
    The door opened and the president walked in. He sat down as a steward brought him a cup of coffee in a china cup bearing the presidential seal. He was all business.
    Long asked Keith Golden to begin.
    â€œMr. President, we’ve presented you with memoranda on eleven top candidates,” Golden began. “Some of them have been on lists in previous administrations so they’re known quantities. Anyone on an appellate court—there are four in this group—has already been confirmed. They’ve been to the dance.”
    Battaglia noticed the president had not opened the briefing book containing the memos. It gave all the appearance of a backhanded slap at Golden.
    â€œIt’s not the dance. It’s more like triple-A ball,” Battaglia corrected. “A Supreme Court confirmation is a different ball game. Just because someone had a smooth confirmation to a circuit court does not guarantee them one for the Supreme Court.”
    â€œAgreed,” said Golden curtly. “But they’ve cleared an FBI background check and have been vetted.”
    â€œOkay,” said Long. “Give me the best and brightest.”
    â€œRobert Hillman on the DC Circuit is first-rate,” Golden said. “He graduated first in his class at Yale Law, clerked for Scalia, and served as solicitor general. He’s the gold standard.”
    Long nodded.
    â€œHillman is Bork redux,” Battaglia objected. “It’ll be a holy war. The Democrats hate his guts. He’ll be a very tough sell.”
    â€œAnyone who is a strict constructionist will engender fierce opposition,” fired back Golden, clearly irritated with Battaglia’s second-guessing. “I served on the Judiciary Committee. I know Penneymounter. He’s running for president, and he’ll never support your nominee.”
    â€œI don’t care about Penneymounter,” said Long. “But we have to pick off some red-state Democrats to win.” He took another swig of coffee, his eyes leveled at Golden. “Keep going.”
    â€œMarco Diaz, also on the DC Circuit, is solid,” Golden continued. “University of Chicago law, assistant attorney general, former district court judge. Great narrative. His father came to the U.S. from Mexico and turned a used car lot into the largest Hispanic auto dealership in North America. Diaz turned down offers from blue-chip law firms to return to the