Richard J. Codey’s decorated political career comes with one big what if. Thrust by fate into the governorship, he demonstrated a common touch that ultimately made him one of the most popular public figures in modern New Jersey history. What if instead of standing down and deferring to Jon Corzine he’d gone ahead and run for a full term in 2005?
Codey wanted to run and felt he deserved the backing of his party to do so. And for five fateful months, he did everything he could to get it, hoping that the public’s infatuation with him might rub off on Democratic bosses while summoning every mind game in his arsenal to try to get Corzine to blink. His January 30, 2005 announcement that he wouldn’t be a candidate for a full term amounted to an admission by Codey that both ploys had failed.
But what a ride those five months were.
Codey’s ascension to the state’s top job is remembered as the result of Jim McGreevey’s abrupt decision in August 2004 to resign as governor – which it was. But politically, it’s better understood as the disruption of a very different succession plan that was already in motion.
McGreevey had risen from mayor of Woodbridge to governor on the strength of transactional alliances with party bosses and big dollar donors. But by ’04, those alliances were deteriorating. Administration scandals, state and federal investigations, declining poll numbers, even a clandestine audio recording of an apparent shakedown scheme: It was all getting to be too much for McGreevey’s coalition partners.
And they had an obvious alternative. The open secret was that Corzine wanted McGreevey’s job. Fueled by the humiliation of his ouster from Goldman Sachs, he had turned to politics for redemption. Winning a Senate seat in 2000 was a nice prize, but he quickly found he wanted more. Becoming the nation’s most powerful state executive had a nice ring to it – even more when Corzine decided it could also provide a path to the presidency.
Corzine’s theory of the game was every Democratic machine’s dream come true. He’d pay, lavishly and without limit, for his own campaign. Already he’d shattered all existing records just to get to the Senate. And he’d rain down all the money the law would allow on local Democratic organizations, asking only for their support in return. It was like free cash to the bosses, who wondered: Why carry McGreevey’ baggage into battle in ‘05 when it could be traded in for Corzine’s checkbook?
Officially, this was all unspoken, but the trajectory seemed clear. Maybe Corzine would end up challenging McGreevey in a primary; more likely, McGreevey would ultimately take the hint and back out himself.
But then came the events of early August. The flimsily credentialed man McGreevey had once installed as his homeland security chief emerged to threaten a sexual harassment lawsuit. McGreevey called it blackmail, but he recognized it was over – all of it. On August 12, he announced he’d leave office early and abandon politics altogether. In a flash, Codey had become the governor-in-waiting – and an obstacle to the Corzine plan.
From the start, Codey knew that time would be his friend. Voters had little idea who he was, but that would soon be changing. As governor, he’d command the spotlight and the best of his personality, all the wry humor and self-effacing wit, would show through. He had the chance to become very popular very fast, and that would make him very viable as a candidate for a full term.
But Codey had enemies who understood this too, and they mobilized to prevent him from ever getting the chance.
The key was the calendar. McGreevey was saying he would stay in office for three more months and then resign on November 15. Codey would then take over and serve out the rest of the term, which would end in January 2006 – a 14-month tenure. But if McGreevey were to resign more quickly – by September 3 – there’d be an immediate special election in November. The state party committees would choose the candidates, with Corzine the obvious choice for Democrats.
A push to make McGreevey speed up his timetable began. Among its leaders: George Norcross, whose footprint had expanded considerably under McGreevey. There was enmity between Norcross and Codey. It was personal, political and deep. A war between the two was already raging; the Norcross forces had been seeking to topple Codey from his Senate leadership post and had nearly done so the year before.
With McGreevey, Norcross wielded enormous influence and now he leaned hard on him to quit on the spot. So did John Lynch, the Middlesex County powerbroker who’d shepherded McGreevey’s climb. Lynch, too, was determined to smother any Codey boomlet. Others joined them. Bob Menendez was now the de facto boss of Hudson County and wanted to exchange his House seat for an appointment to the Senate, which he was confident a Gov. Corzine would furnish. The pressure mounted. Republicans, anxious to strike while the iron was hot, demanded a quick election too.
The appearance of acquiescence to party bosses had long dogged McGreevey. Surely, he’d fold in the face of this. But maybe he was also sick of carrying that reputation, and here was a chance to make an emphatic – if belated – gesture of defiance. Codey scrambled to stiffen McGreevey’s resolve, meeting with him and then announcing that “there’s no equivocation here.” The drama consumed Trenton. Finally, Corzine picked up the phone and called McGreevey himself. He told the governor he’d step in if McGreevey wanted to go now. The answer was no. McGreevey would stay till November. Codey would get a real crack at the governorship – and maybe a chance to keep it.
When November 15 arrived, he knew exactly how to play it. Codey took the oath of office in his own living room, then walked outside to talk to reporters: “I never wanted to be governor under these circumstances. This is not the time for a big ceremony.” He said he and his family wouldn’t be moving into Drumthwacket; West Orange was good enough for them. A Quinnipiac poll timed to his swearing-in revealed the scale of the challenge he now faced. In a head-to-head Democratic primary match-up, he trailed Corzine 60-20%.
But Codey was right about the opportunity. As a legislator, he could only get attention by seeking it. Now, all of a sudden, it gravitated naturally to him. He was an instant hit. The governor New Jerseyans met called himself “a basketball nut,” coached a youth team and insisted his new job wouldn’t interfere with that one. Friday nights were reserved for movies with his wife. He spoke without rhetorical flourish in plain sentences that suggested authenticity. “The good news,” Codey said in an address to legislators, “is we aren’t bankrupt. The bad news is we’re close.”
He could be crafty, though, with his own flair for theatrics. His wife spoke of the postpartum depression she’d once experienced and it became fodder for a radio shock jock. Codey tracked the host down and told him that if he wasn’t the governor “I’d take you outside.” The public loved it. He knew how to get a laugh too. A consultant paid by the state recommended a new tourism slogan: “New Jersey: We’ll win you over.” Codey made a show of rejecting it: “It makes me think of when I was young and single and asked a girl out. She turned me down and I said, ‘Give me a chance, I’ll win you over.’”
Codey was gaining ground, but Corzine wasn’t going away. At the start of December, Corzine announced his candidacy. The primary wouldn’t be until June, but the real game was for the big county organization lines and those would be decided much sooner. Codey played his own card a week later. Gathered on the steps of the Hall of Records in Newark was practically every major Democratic figure in Essex County for a rally urging Codey to run. It was a show of force in what would be the top vote-producing county in any primary. Speakers hailed Codey as a “regular guy” and “family man.” The contrast with the divorced and mega-wealthy Corzine was obvious. Were we seeing what an actual campaign might look like?
Then, a twist. Rob Andrews had run for governor in 1997. He’d been the favorite for the nomination, a youthful, politically moderate congressman who combined Norcross support in the south with the blessings of Essex and Hudson up north. Except Essex pulled the rug out at the last minute and gave its line to McGreevey, who then notched a 10,000-vote upset in the primary. Aggrieved, Andrews retreated from state politics and returned to the House. But now he wanted back in. He’d patched up his relationship with Norcross and said he was looking to run again.
In a three-way race, Codey had a clear chance. Now that he had Norcross on board, Andrews would have every line south of 195 – accounting for about a third of the primary electorate. Codey already had Essex; that was 15 percent of the vote. Meanwhile, Hudson was locked up for Corzine, and Lynch would probably deliver Middlesex too, with Mercer also likely. But what about Bergen, Passaic and Union? If Codey could show the party chiefs this was a real game, could he being one of them on board?
Quinnipiac took a new poll in January. Corzine was popular – a 41-16 percent favorable rating. But now Codey was too. His favorable rating was 35-5 percent. Only nine percent of all voters – Republicans included – disapproved of how he was doing as governor. That 40-point Corzine cushion in a primary had dwindled to just 10 points, 43 to 33 percent. And Codey had only been in office for eight weeks.
Publicly, Codey stayed noncommittal. Some allies urged boldness – get in the race, leverage three decades worth of relationships, dare the bosses to snub a governor who was growing more popular by the day. Who knows, maybe this was all more than Corzine had been expecting – perhaps even enough to make him reconsider the whole thing. Others pleaded with Codey to tread lightly, reminding him then Corzine had yet to unleash his fortune – and what it might look like if he aimed it at Codey. Back in the summer, the two men had met privately. Corzine thought Codey had committed to being a caretaker and staying out of the race. Or had the inscrutable Codey simply let Corzine believe that?
A deadline materialized. Bergen’s Democratic chairman, Joe Ferriero, set his county’s convention date for February 17, earlier than expected. If Codey was going to run, this was one he’d want to have, and he’d have to show his hand to get it. But he said nothing.
Corzine readied his offensive. First came his Senate colleague, Frank Lautenberg. A few weeks earlier, Lautenberg had sounded almost smitten with the possibility of a Codey candidacy; now he joined Corzine at a press conference to say he’d chair his campaign. Rush Holt, the Mercer County congressman, signed on, joining Menendez and Frank Pallone from the congressional delegation.
Unions were lining up too, and Corzine’s dollar diplomacy began paying off. Hudson and Mercer, as expected, offered him their lines. So did Passaic – and then Bergen, with the telling detail that Ferriero’s organization had recently received a check for nearly $40,000 from Corzine’s 89-year-old mother, a resident of Oak Park, Illinois. Andrews read the writing on the wall and got out on January 21. He endorsed Corzine and you didn’t need 20/20 vision to see his angle; he was playing for a Senate appointment – maybe he had been all along.
Clearly, Corzine wasn’t blinking, and now Codey was faced with the prospect of a one-on-one race against a free-spending opponent who would have all but one line. A few lonely voices told him he could still win, that he’d found the public’s sweet spot, organizational support be damned. But to Codey this sounded like well-meaning consolation, not sound political counsel.
He stood down on January 30. Rather than try to hold onto his office, he’d spend the next 12 months trying to do something meaningful with it. “In life,” Codey said, “each of us is hopefully given our moment in the sun. But a moment is worth only what you do with it.” He left office a year later with an approval rating of 71 percent.
