Inquirer Staff Writer
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HARRISBURG - It was a look flashed at an exhausted man by his equally exhausted wife - a look that said, "You've got to be kidding me."
For eight straight days in the summer of 2000, eight long days, Mark Schweiker played cohost to the Republican National Convention in Philadelphia, chaperoning fellow GOP leaders from across the country.
As lieutenant governor, he knew it was his role. Still, as the convention was wrapping up, he had had enough. He missed his children and he wanted to go home. But he was told he had one more event to attend.
That's when his wife shot him that look.
"Kathy was looking at me like, 'One more event? You've had eight days of this. And it's past midnight,' " Schweiker recalled. With that unspoken exchange between husband and wife, Schweiker's possible run for governor was about to end.
The two talked. Both agreed. If he sought a political promotion, Schweiker said, it was "going to be like this for eight solid years."
"If you find yourself laboring over it, your decision is already made," he added. "And I realized it."
In an interview in his mahogany-paneled office in the state Capitol, Schweiker recently reflected on his decision to forgo a run at a full four-year term - a move that shocked Pennsylvania's political community.
It all came down to time: He wasn't spending enough of it with his family.
"I [recently] had Sunday dinner at home with the family," Schweiker said in a voice part proud, part surprised. "I couldn't count how many Sundays I've had to give up because of travel or being at public events. Simple things. Things people take for granted in private life."
A recent example: being there for his older son, 14-year-old Brett, during an admission interview to attend a new school. Both parents were expected at last month's meeting at Holy Ghost Catholic Prep near their Bucks County home.
"If I were a candidate or getting ready to install an administration, I doubt I would have had the opportunity to be there," said Schweiker, who has two other children - Eric, 13, and Kara, 9. "It meant a lot to me and to my son to be at his side."
Politics is a fraternity filled with Type A personalities who jump on advancement opportunities, which is why Schweiker's decision took many by surprise.
"It is just very strange. No other lieutenant governor that I can recall just took themselves out and said, 'I'm not going to be a candidate,' " said Barbara Hafer, the state treasurer.
Michael Young, a former Penn State professor, said Schweiker has a gene that most others politicians don't, a quality that allowed him to dial down future aspirations. "He doesn't have that all-consuming ambition, that lust for power that drives other major-league politicians," Young said. "It's a part of him that makes him a more balanced person. It's why he comes across as normal."
Twinges of parental guilt would bubble up when Schweiker met with civic leaders trying to solve drug problems in their communities - problems, he said, caused because too many children were growing up without fathers.
"It causes you to conduct your own gut check... . Hey, how am I doing as a dad?" said Schweiker, who will turn 50 on Jan. 31. "I felt like I was not passing the test.
"I didn't bargain for that happening when I began in 1995, and repeatedly it happened. It got to the point that I decided that I needed to do better and rededicate myself to home life."
He tried to squeeze in family time while in office, but apparently it was not enough for him.
"Whether it was one of Brett's or Eric's basketball games, or one of Kara's dance recitals, it was a priority and we had to make that fit," said Steve Miskin, a former special aide to Schweiker. "From the staff side, it made things frustrating. But that was what he wanted."
When Schweiker took office, his daughter was an infant.
"She has had no private life at all, and that's a hell of a burden to put on your kids," said David Sanko, Schweiker's chief of staff. "People say [family concerns] is some bulls- cover story. But it's not, not with him."
Schweiker made his decision public in early October 2000 and later joined Gov. Tom Ridge in endorsing Mike Fisher, the state's attorney general, for the GOP gubernatorial nomination.
But after the Sept. 11 attacks, as Schweiker prepared to replace Ridge in the governor's mansion when Ridge was called to Washington to lead the fight against terrorism, some well-placed Republicans sought to change his mind. As a sitting governor, Schweiker had a far better chance of winning than Fisher, they reasoned.
Harry Fawkes, Schweiker's political mentor, became the lead arm-twister.
Bucks County's Republican chairman for three decades, Fawkes had gotten Schweiker to run for Middletown Township supervisor. He had gotten him to run for Bucks County Commission. He had gotten him to run for lieutenant governor. But he couldn't get him to run for governor.
"And believe me, I tried," said Fawkes, who described Schweiker's decision as "a big letdown."
"To turn down a situation like this, well, not many would have," he said. "He had a great opportunity, his best opportunity. But he just felt his family was worth more. That says a lot about him."
For a time, however, Schweiker may have reconsidered his decision.
David F. Girard-diCarlo, one of Ridge's closest political allies, said he spoke to Schweiker just days after Ridge announced he would be leaving for Washington. Girard-diCarlo said Schweiker was trying to determine whether he would have his financial and political support.
"He said he was now governor and he at least owes it to the office, as well as to himself, to take a fresh look at whether or not to consider running," said Girard-diCarlo, the chairman of Blank, Rome, Comisky & McCauley, one of the most influential law firms in Pennsylvania. "I think he was testing to find out if my commitment to Fisher was secure, and I gave him no reason to think it wasn't."
Sanko said his boss was under intense pressure to rethink his decision at the time, but never once did he waver. "He was assessing perspectives, but he was not calling around to gauge support to run," Sanko said.
Just days later, in late September 2001, Schweiker doused all remaining speculation in a speech to the Republican State Committee. "I will keep faith with my family," he said. "I will not be a candidate anytime soon."
Now, as he packs up and prepares to take a job as head of the Greater Philadelphia Chamber of Commerce - for $450,000 a year, triple his governor's salary - Schweiker is reflective on his 15 months in office.
He's proudest of his role completing the takeover of Philadelphia's public schools, taking steps to tame the growing statewide medical malpractice problem, and improving highway safety.
Still, he acknowledges that many will remember him best as the optimist in a denim shirt at the Quecreek mine rescue operation in July. He was the one who declared "nine for nine" when all the trapped miners were brought out alive.
As a result, his popularity rating soared to 60 percent, and surveys showed that, if he were in the race, Schweiker would beat Democrat Ed Rendell.
Naturally, speculation started anew.
Would Schweiker offer himself as a last-minute replacement for Fisher, who was trailing Rendell badly in the polls? A similar situation had just unfolded in New Jersey's U.S. Senate race.
Schweiker insists that the idea never crossed his mind and dismissed such speculation as "groundless."
If anything, the outgoing governor said, the mine rescue affirmed his decision not to run.
"It was about families being reunited," he said. "Now I'm good with it."
