Burnt Orange Report

The Maxwell Files - Life as an opposition researcher

By Matt Hardigree

(Ed Note: As a part of my day job I work with many commercial real estate appraisers. Most of the conversations I have with appraisers relate directly to the property that I'm working on, but one day I met an appraiser with a former occupation that interested me. It turns out that this average looking, early thirty-something professional was once one of the toughest and lowest opposition researchers/investigators in Texas.

Over the last few weeks I've been collecting stories from him about politicians and campaign politics during the last decade. His tales are both amusing and cautionary, bringing to light the cold machinery of our electoral process. He's out of the business for good, he says, and allowed me to share these stories with the agreement that I don't reveal his name, the name of the people he worked for or the people he was investigating. Thus, all of these individuals will have pseudonyms. He's chosen the name Sam Maxwell for himself, though he wont reveal to me why.

This isn't the first story he shared with me; however, he said that it represented a turning point for him and I should post this first. We've done our best to disguise everyone involved, so if you think it's you or someone you know… it is probably best to keep quiet.)

The Wedding

Opposition research has to be one of the least glamorous political jobs there is. You spend all of your time reading and rereading documents, trying to find a connection between one bad thing and another. All people do bad things, politicians are just people who work harder to cover it up. And this job sucked even harder before everything was on the internet and was googleable.
What I did most of the time was a little more interesting. Instead of searching files, microfiche, tax records and newspaper clippings I went to talk to candidate's enemies, relatives, close business owners (strip clubs owners) and friends (strippers). Something about my young looks, slight Texas drawl and naïve grin convinced people they could share the worst they knew with me.

If you've haven't seen the movie Wedding Crashers, I like it a lot, the two main characters go to weddings in order to meet ladies. Well, a lot of what I did was crash weddings. You get your weird mix of jealous ex-boyfriends, drunk relatives and bitter bridesmaids at the reception that usually yields some great information. Unlike Vince Vaughn, I rarely was able to turn it into sex.

What makes this job easy is making enemies for yourself. I was working for a State Senator that was fearful of losing his seat to a Republican challenger, a bank man, so I made that guy my enemy. By extension, his son was my enemy and he was getting married.

I generally go to weddings and receptions as a Smith. Everyone knows a Smith (Aaron Smith, Robert Smith, Chris Smith, Tyler Smith). Someone always asks "The Smiths of Longview?" which is a stupid question as there are probably 1,000 smiths in Longview. I usually respond "no, the Smiths of Lufkin," which somehow always elicits a bull-shit nod of recognition. Wear a nice brown suit and no one asks too many questions.

Making the son an enemy this time was easy because his bride-to-be was a knock out. I was soon to learn that she grew up poor in the valley, worked her pretty tail off and got a mostly full ride to the ivyist of ivyies where she met the son of Mr. Bank Man while she was working at the school book store.

That lucky prep school jerk. I felt sorry for her, though. He wants to bang out six more kids like him, just like daddy. Her womb, like an abandoned midtown building, about to be gentrified and populated by rich yuppies.

She works her entire life and ends up with some sliver spoon-fed jackass who didn't work a day in his life before landing a job at his daddy's bank. I knew guys like him in my frat. They're not all bad, it's just that they don't deserve bad shit and all they get is the nicest shit. The other thing I know about these guys is they think they can get away with anything, so they do some stupid stuff.

That's where his friends come in. It wasn't hard to spot the other ivy-league prep school trash, drinking cocktails and chasing bridesmaids with a sense of entitlement as foul-smelling as their cologne. I joined in, leering and making jokes with them about all the little Mexicans at the party. Jerks.

I tried to pump them for information but they weren't biting. They asked if I knew the bride. I said I didn't. They asked if I'd like to know more about her. I said "Whatever." Then one of them leads me out to his ugly, maroon Volvo where he shows me some pictures.

It turns out, before she met Mr. Bank Man's son, she did a little something else to earn money. Nothing really awful, in fact, the Polaroid's were kind of artful in a way. I asked him where he'd gotten them, he said that he knew the guy that "commissioned" them. I asked him had the groom seen them, he said no and not to tell him. It was kind of an inside joke amongst the friends.

We went back to the party and laughed some more and drank some more. I slipped out to my truck to retrieve my slim jim to quietly break into the car. Just my luck, the drunk bastard didn't even lock his doors. I took Polaroids of the Polaroids and left the copies where I found them and pocketed the originals.

As I snuck back to my truck I had the awful luck of running into the bride. She was seeing off some cousins or something. She stopped me and asked if I was a friend of her new husband. I said yes, we went to the same prep school. She said I didn't seem like any of his old friend and I nervously laughed and said "Thanks." Which made her laugh.

I told her how lucky I thought he was, and meant it. She said she thought she was lucky. She said she worked a lot in college and didn't have time to make many friends, but that he was always there for her. She said she never thought she'd end up with a banker's son, let alone a Republican, but that love just has a way. She was so sweet and sincere, something I was beginning to think didn't exist.

I told her congratulations and quickly sped out of there. I felt like I was going to puke. I'd usually be high-fiving myself for such a find. Thinking about how I'd spend the money. It's what I was good at. I'd think about taking down my enemy. But, shit, I kept thinking about what was going to happen to her. Did he love her enough to endure this?

A mutual friend of the banker and the senator showed the photos to Mr. Bank Man and he quietly withdrew from the race to pursue his "business interests." The happy couple was still together last time I checked, so I don't know if either of them found out. Maybe he already knew. Maybe she told him.

It was the first time I actually thought about the consequences of what I was doing other than winning, which is why I didn't last much longer at the job. When someone is cheating on their wife, being blackmailed by strippers, evading their taxes or stashing drugs in their offices exposing them feels like some kind of justice.

This just felt mean and pointless. Especially because I was fairly sure the Senator was just as bad, maybe worse. He and his were just better at covering it up.

- Sam Maxwell