All the president's men

Before Duke was Duke, politically minded graduates didn't go far beyond elected office. Eight Congressmen have come from Duke over its century of history, and of those, four represented or represent North or South Carolina. Logical, given that the University was founded as an educating and advancing vehicle for Carolina kids.

But those days are over. We're now in the era of claws-out clambering, also known as Duke's mission to be securely in the top tier of universities worldwide. And it's paying off. Just a few low-hanging fruits of the University's labor: the added respect and recognition now routinely accorded its graduates.

Some of that respect and greater visibility has translated into appointed governmental positions-those coveted jobs that do not require campaigning or money-grubbing, largely more powerful and widely respected than elected office.

Par exemple: National Security Council advisor Peter Feaver, a Duke professor, often crosses paths with John Hannah, senior national security aide and a 1984 graduate of Duke. Hannah's job in turn overlaps significantly with that of David Addington, Duke Law '81 and chief of staff for the vice president. All three work in the old Executive Office Building-separated from the White House by just a few dozen yards of asphalt. And down the road in the U.S. Capitol building, J. Keith Kennedy, Duke '70 and Duke Divinity '74, helps guard the legislative power to control the purse.

Their blood runneth a vital and vibrant shade of Duke blue. And for a few, pitted on different sides of an inside-the-Beltway power struggle, that's where the similarities end-and the stories begin.

In retrospect, the month of February could have gone a little more smoothly for David Addington.

Vice President Dick Cheney's spritzing of birdshot into the leathery folds of a Texas millionaire's face might have, at first glance, been an innocent mistake. But like the bruises that soon spread down Harry Whittington's veinous, 78-year-old neck, Cheney's poor aim took on a darker, deeper coloring. The American public witnessed a veritable evolution: from a super blooper into a not-so-innocent cover-up, from an all-out onslaught of bad press into a lesson in why executive shhh-ing can be more dangerous than a stray bullet.

But it comes as no surprise in the post-shot days that the word from Addington, Cheney's chief of staff and a 1981 graduate of Duke Law School, was none other than mum.

Like Cheney and much of the administration of which he's now a part, the tall and bespectacled Addington is known for his secrecy, his voracious work ethic and his fierce loyalty. But he's also generally amiable, intelligent and humble. His purported vindictive and mean-spirited side, a popular rendering in the media, is not his default setting. Former colleagues say Addington simply never took the time or saw a point in cultivating a likeable public persona. In light of recent events, he "respectfully declined" to comment for this story.

If this sounds familiar, that's because much of Cheney's inner posse-a similarly committed, press-shy and close-knit ring of intelligentsia-displays those same characteristics as a collective.

And years of high-profile work have honed Addington's identity as such. His resume includes stints as former counsel to the Central Intelligence Agency and general counsel to the Defense Department under Cheney, both top level positions. He became the vice president's chief aide this fall in the scandal-ridden wake of his predecessor, Lewis "Scooter" Libby, who resigned after being indicted in a CIA leak investigation.

"David is a consummate wonk," says Jim Dyer, a lobbyist at the Washington-based public affairs firm Clark and Weinstock, a former White House colleague and a friend of Addington's. "He's the first guy in the office in the morning, and he's the last guy to leave at night. He's the kind of guy that does the grunt work-the kind of guy people reference and say, 'Yeah, you don't have to write that memo-David'll do it.'"

When the hard-working attorney and former "Hill rat"-a name earned after years spent working on Congressional committees on Capitol Hill-crossed over to the executive side at Cheney's beckoning, his already-tough shell hardened.

Nowhere is that more apparent than in Addington's dealings with the press, as he's perhaps more invisible than the distinguished, location-never-disclosed Veep himself. In the gunshot brouhaha, Cheney's top aide was nowhere to be found above the fold, on newscasts or in the blogosphere. And given his own uniformly taciturn demeanor, Addington probably wasn't nudging the vice president toward the outstretched microphones-a move critics have since deemed illogical, overly secretive and politically costly.

Addington's routinely tough job and dogmatism permeate nearly every facet of his life. While Libby and others slid into the backseat of a sleek black sedan after a hard day's work, Addington takes the Metro to and from the old Executive Office Building every day. He lives with his second wife and children in an arts-and-crafts-style bungalow house in Alexandria, Virginia-a quiet, across-the-river city less glitzy than the various opulent Elysia in the greater area. He is not exactly slumming it, but from the Pleasantville-type block, you'd never guess his status as one of the more influential and important actors in the federal government.

He went to Georgetown University before heading south to Durham and is anything but an outsider in the city. Yet he still trips along under the radar.

"Scooter was the most powerful guy nobody ever heard of, and David follows in his footsteps," Dyer says. "He's an unpretentious guy.... He's still the kind of guy you can have a beer with."

If he can squeeze you in, that is.

Because despite being ensconced behind the curtains, Addington keeps himself busy beyond the call of duty. The White House is facing intense scrutiny in the court of public opinion, and Addington is working on some of the most controversial and important issues in public policy today-surveillance, torture, wiretapping and treatment of Guantanamo Bay detainees among them. He's had a hand in most intelligence-related policy over the years. He also penned the infamous "torture memo" in Jan. 2002, which controversially asserted the Geneva Convention standards for treatment of prisoners of war were not applicable to the war on terror. At the same time, Addington is part of the shield attempting to deflect potshots aimed at Cheney's own head.

In an administration where the vice president has a not-insignificant measure of clout-media analysts maintain that Cheney is far, far more than an adjunct presence-Addington and the assistant to the vice president for national security affairs and John Hannah, Duke '84, are more than simply of elevated ilk.

In some ways, they're running the world-and, more importantly, shaping how that world perceives its most powerful denizens.

All in a day's work.

Although Addington is certainly instrumental in the policy world, he also has a key function in increasing or reclaiming executive power, an overarching theme in the Bush administration's tenure. Since transitioning from the legislative side to the executive branch years ago, Addington has become one of the prime espousers of the idea.

"He believes very strongly that Congress took too much power away," Dyer says. "To people inside this Beltway, that means something-it's one of the big fights in this town. You see it occasionally in the New York Times or The Washington Post or the wire service, but it's almost like a hidden struggle."

But the other side-the various committees and subcommittees churning out legislation in the Congress-is tugging back. And at the helm of one such committee, arguably the most important in the Senate, is another former Blue Devil.

J. Keith Kennedy, staff director for the Senate Appropriations Committee, wields the all-important power of the purse. In a world where so much policy is contingent upon funding, the appropriations committee has the authority. And under the leadership of the committee chairman, Sen. Thad Cochran (R-MS), Kennedy and others will not see it fully surrendered to the executive branch.

"There's a notion abroad in the land, another one of the frustrations, that if the president asks for something, it's okay. But if the Congress says it would rather spend money on [something else], then it's somehow wrong," says Kennedy, a graduate of the University in 1970 and the Divinity School in 1974. "And that is simply not the case-this is a constitutional issue."

Kennedy is a man friends describe as incredibly modest and is, in his day-to-day work, effectively more powerful than some representatives and senators.

"Keith has a reputation as one of the most straightforward, honorable, cool, calm, fact-driven professionals they've ever seen in the appropriations world," says Dyer, who was Kennedy's predecessor on the committee and remains a close friend.

Like many others now high up on the legislative side, Kennedy got his first taste of Washington via a summer internship. But unlike the ultra-connectedness Duke's name brings students currently seeking the D.C. internship, Kennedy had to rely on his actions to prove his worth.

"When I-and, to a lesser extent, David-came to Washington, it was, 'Hmmm. Duke. I hear that's a good place.' Now, students come to Washington and it's 'Duke undergrad? That's a big deal.'" says Kennedy. "I've always said in the past 20 years or so that I was fortunate to go to Duke before Duke realized how good it really was."

After arriving in Washington, Kennedy said he made a choice between returning to get another degree in church history or pursuing a career in public service. He chose the latter and was, in a sense, almost brought up in legislative work. In total, he's worked for 24 years in the Senate and calls Senator Mark Hatfield from Oregon-former chairman of the committee and Kennedy's first boss-"like a second father" to him.

Addington remains the champion of reasserting presidential prerogatives, while Kennedy's almost exclusively legislative career alludes to his inherent bias. In his opinion, the Congress should not surrender its constitutionally granted power to appropriate fund.

Even while Congress works out kinks over who and what get money, entitlement spending-allocation of funds to social programs like Social Security-has dramatically increased. Entitlement programs automatically deduct large sums from the government's discretionary funds; the explosion of such programs, among other things, contributes to a deepening deficit.

It often appears that Congress and its appropriations bills-rather than the executive branch and its long list of programs-is the more responsible of the two for bloated spending.

"The part of the budget that the appropriations committee works with is the part that is actually shrinking," Kennedy says. "Too often and unfairly, we get painted as profligate spenders. And trying to overcome that image is difficult."

Last year, as Congress separately passed each bill detailing the spending for defense, energy, the interior and other areas for the first time, Kennedy said the committee reclaimed some respect.

"We're overcoming the notion that we're all drunken sailors over here," he says.

While Kennedy's daily dealings may remind him daily of the legislative-executive pushing and pulling-most recently seen in the debate over "earmarked" funding for organizations-he acknowledges that his niche in the Senate is perhaps less partisan than others.

"One of the great blessings of the appropriations process is that it remains bipartisan in large measure," he says. "On other policy issues, things are split pretty badly. Everyone seems to be jockeying for the marginal political advantage."

Peter Feaver, professor of political science at Duke, was brought on board at the National Security Council last fall as an advisor-a move he says was in part made possible by his wide, rather than intensely focused, area of expertise.

"The unifying theme in my research is the policy-making process," Feaver says. "What I'm most interested in is looking at how a foreign policy decision gets made-how the process shapes the decision."

He has published several papers and books about civilian-military relations, part of his specialty at Duke, as well as how public opinion fluctuates in response to wartime casualties. Feaver also made headlines in Dec. 2005 as some of his research completed at Duke was allegedly applied to a Nov. 30 speech the president gave to the U.S. Naval Academy. This assessment on the front page of The New York Times, while failing to include comments from Feaver, somewhat thwarted his attempts to maintain a low profile at the NSC.

Yet where The Times and other major media outlets would dichotomize Washington as a land of bitter, partisan attacks, Feaver sees it as more of an accepting gray zone.

"I think the debate is pitched as if it were more bitter than what it in fact is," he says, speaking of both Democrat-Republican and congressional-executive debates.

"If you look actually at what is being recommended, it's actually a lot of bipartisan middle ground-it's often obscured with a lot of sharply worded exchanges, but when you get down the nitty-gritty, there's actually a lot of common ground."

For some parties involved, that common ground looks less like an abstract blur of backslapping, glad-handing agreement. For these men, at least, it's a literal, tangible space-an idyllic Gothic spread just down the road.