Kevin McCarthy: the Benjamin Button of California politics

Kevin McCarthy is the Benjamin Button of California politics.

Began his career as an adult. Ended it as a baby.

In January 2003, McCarthy first arrived in Sacramento as a newly-minted legislator – from all appearances, a grownup. Over the next 20 years and especially in Congress, the Bakersfield Republican regressed into infancy, concluding his elective career with a tantrum, a pout and an “outta here” midway through his ninth term in Washington.

At this point, it may be difficult to remember the adult, or that California Journal magazine named McCarthy the Legislature’s 2004 Rookie of the Year (beating out Democrat Fabian Nunez, who had become Speaker of the Assembly).

And, yes, okay, okay, okay. The Journal editor who bestowed that honor on McCarthy also wrote this column. Mea Culpa.

But that rookie award wasn’t as cringeworthy then as it seems today. McCarthy cut an enlightened swath through Sacramento in those early days, uniting and invigorating what was considered a dysfunctional and fractious Republican Caucus and becoming its leader after only nine months in office. His efforts coincided with the arrival of Arnold Schwarzenegger as governor to give Republicans some relevancy in a Capitol long dominated by Democrats.

As one source told the Journal at the time, “McCarthy had his handprints all over the (2003-2004) budget [and] pretty much got what he wanted. He seems to want quick victories on ideological grounds, but he is more willing than some in his caucus to allow the house to work well.”

Said another source, “It is significant that, on some important issues, [then-Senate President pro Tem John] Burton will cut his deals with McCarthy and ignore the Democratic caucus.”

And this high praise from a top Democratic staffer: “He actually seems to be a little bit rational at times.”

Try as you may, you can’t even squint to see that Kevin McCarthy inside the wreckage of the McCarthy whose political career evaporated over the past nine months.

It’s not the province of this column to meander through the rise-and-fall of McCarthy’s congressional career. That’s been done ad nauseum elsewhere. But it might be worth remembering who he was before he went to Washington and devolved from Smeagol to Gollum.

Try as you may, you can’t even squint to see that Kevin McCarthy inside the wreckage of the McCarthy whose political career evaporated over the past nine months.

McCarthy’s story isn’t exactly rags-to-riches-to-rags, but he began his journey with the serendipitous purchase of a winning Lottery ticket while still in college. That put $5000 in his pocket, money he used to open a deli in Bakersfield. He later sold the business to finance the rest of his college education, and it was while a student at CSU-Bakersfield that he met the area’s then-Congressman Bill Thomas, a moderate Republican who would eventually chair the powerful House Ways and Means Committee. Thomas recruited McCarthy for his staff, opening the door to a career but also plunging his young aide into a GOP civil war between moderates and conservatives that had raged through Kern County for decades.

The ambition that would fuel both McCarthy’s rise and his demise was present almost from the beginning. Energetic and articulate, he rose to prominence while still on Thomas’ staff, chairing state and national Young Republican Clubs – moderate groups brawling with conservatives for control of the party. He also won his first election, for a community college board in 2000. Two years later, he launched his legislative career by capturing a vacant Assembly seat.

But his various feuds with conservatives created bitter rivalries that continued apace after McCarthy reached Sacramento; in one case, giving Democrats a chance to welcome the new freshman with a smug little joke. According to California Journal, one of McCarthy’s fiercest political enemies was another Central Valley rookie – Steve Samuelian, a Republican from Clovis. Knowing their history, then-Speaker Herb Wesson sat the two rookies next to each other on the Assembly floor.

Taking that gotcha in stride, McCarthy wasted no time exposing his embryonic ambitions, stoked in part by his association with the influential Thomas. That, plus his affability, acted like hydrogen gas, allowing him to rise quickly in caucus leadership and, before the end of his first year, move to succeed then-GOP Leader Dave Cox (R-Sacramento). Cox, on the other hand, wasn’t quite ready to pass the torch. As the Journal reported at the time, Cox resented McCarthy’s not-so-subtle attempts to elbow him out, a situation resolved when Cox announced for a soon-to-be-vacant seat in the state Senate.

In campaigning for leader, McCarthy correctly read the room, rising above ideological differences to stress unity as the key to a job often described as “herding cats.” It was an instinctive and mature approach that he later said was the reason his fellow Republicans chose him.

“You know Republicans,” he told the Journal in October 2003. “You can’t tell people what to do. We’re individuals. Everyone decided for themselves that, yeah, [teamwork and the team concept] is the best idea.”

Fast forward to 2023 and his often-humiliating quest to succeed fellow Californian Nancy Pelosi as House Speaker. That desperate effort showed that McCarthy was still pumping hydrogen gas into an ambition that occasionally felt untethered from both reality and common sense. Unfortunately, instead of fueling his continued rise, it turned him into the Hindenburg.

At the end, the maturity was gone. Adulthood was gone. Responsibility to his constituents was gone. Instead, McCarthy took on the attributes of a spoiled toddler, pouting over his ouster and brooding over his future while refusing to play nice – or, at all – with his colleagues. According to the New York Times, the former speaker “struggled to adjust to life as a rank-and-file member … the end of his career difficult to accept.” That he must serve alongside the eight Republicans who engineered his fall was a circumstance he considered “untenable” and “incredibly painful,” according to the Times.

There were even accusations that he lashed out physically at one of those Republicans, elbowing Tennessee Rep. Tim Burchett in the back. McCarthy vehemently denied the charge.

McCarthy’s ultimate response to all that untenable pain?

He quit.

That didn’t mean “not seek re-election.”

It meant “out the door, like now.”

Like with 12 months left on his term.

The Times characterized the early exit as “nothing but upside” for McCarthy.

“Former members are banned for one year after leaving Congress from lobbying their former colleagues,” the Times reported last week. “Mr. McCarthy can start the clock on that delay from what promises to be a lucrative career in the private sector a year earlier than he would have … if he served out” a term due to expire on January 3, 2024.

Unfortunately, that “upside” does not trickle down to his Central Valley constituents who, depending on the timing of his announcement, could be on the hook for $150,000 to $300,000 per county to fund a special election to replace him, as Capitol Weekly reported last week. A responsible adult might have considered the cost to those who entrusted him with the office. An infant would not.

“Upside” also doesn’t apply to his fellow House Republicans. When McCarthy is no more, their majority will shrink to two seats (one if a Democrat wins a special election in Long Island to replace the disgraced George Santos). Again, an adult would have sucked it up for another 12 months. An infant would do what McCarthy did – bite his thumb in the general direction of … everyone.

Finally last week, McCarthy stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the nation’s most prominent toddler, endorsing Donald Trump’s re-election campaign. This despite Trump’s promise to do away with chunks of the Constitution and turn his second term into Mussolini 2.0.

A responsible adult would act in the public interest and call out Mr. Trump’s increasingly shrill descent into fascism.

An infant would be mesmerized by shiny objects, like a cabinet post.

A.G. Block is the former editor of the California Journal. He is also a board member for Open California.