by Susan J. Demas
September 16, 2009

Eight years later, it’s become almost cliché to recount where you were on the morning terrorists vaporized the World Trade Center.

Press Secretary Matt Marsden. Photos by David Trumpie

Matt Marsden doesn’t talk much about September 11, 2001 — even though as Senate Majority Leader Mike Bishop’s bad-boy press secretary, he’s the most reliable quote in the Capitol, known for routinely unleashing barbs that roil Republicans and Democrats alike. But there he was, then 27, pacing at E. Booker Elementary School in Sarasota, Florida, awaiting then-President George W. Bush’s motorcade. A veteran of the Texan’s 2000 campaign, Marsden had started his own Michigan-based political strategy firm, MSM Consulting, LLC, and was in the Sunshine State doing advance work – setting up camera angles, working with the national media — for Bush’s flagship education speech.

Before the president arrived, the Secret Service heard word that a small plane had hit one of the Twin Towers (“They were seriously on edge,” Marsden recalls). Bush took a phone call in a secure room and proceeded to his first event, reading “My Pet Goat” to schoolchildren, a scene lampooned in left-wing documentarian Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11. Marsden notes that gave staff time to find out more information, reposition Air Force One and make plans for Bush’s address to the nation.

“There was still some uncertainty at the time,” Marsden says. “Because despite the way it was played in the national press — and people have kind of taken advantage and said he sat and read to students — I would argue that they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

It would be five days before Marsden returned to his hometown of Clarkston — illegally driving a minivan rented by the White House (“I had a number from the Secret Service in case I was pulled over,” he recalls). That turned out to be his last advance job for the president.

“I needed a little break after that one,” he says with a quick laugh.

The no-nonsense spokesman is sitting in his Capitol office adorned with color-coded election maps dating back to 2000, but nary a personal remnant — not a family photo, diploma or even a banner for his beloved MSU Spartans. In their stead are his ever-buzzing BlackBerry and the occasional can of Kodiak chew — not to mention stacks of decaying newspaper articles tattooed with Marsden’s telltale canary highlighter and all-caps handwriting.

He’s built a career talking for political leaders, starting with former Gov. John Engler. But the son of Stephen Marsden, a vice principal at Waterford Kettering High School, and Sharon Gardner, a Clarkston attorney — who divorced when Matt was 15 — rarely talks about himself. It was many months before colleagues knew he and wife Jodi were expecting their first child — Matilda, born July 24.

Armed with Bishop’s blessing to ad lib, the glib and garrulous Marsden never relies on staid pre-written statements the way most spokespeople do to avoid embarrassing gaffes. With another budget crisis and government shutdown looming, Marsden’s memorable quotes are splashed across the state media on a daily basis. Because of that, the Republican (mocked as “Chatty Matty” by the liberal Blogging for Michigan site) has crafted a much higher profile than your average press secretary.

But his often-controversial statements have come with a price. Slamming the “irrational screeching” of Sen. Gretchen Whitmer on her plan to cut GOP office budgets earned Marsden an unprecedented rebuke from the East Lansing Democrat in a floor statement. When he declared that the anti-tax, Washington-based Club for Growth should be “barred from politics” for alleged illegal campaign coordination in 2006, Marsden found himself being deposed in front of the Federal Election Commission (FEC) to the tune of $50,000 in legal fees.

“I understand that part of the job as spokesman is to take the arrows, take the hits for the individual that you serve,” Marsden says, “and I’m certainly more than happy to do that.”

Despite public floggings, setbacks and his centrist leanings, he’s managed to remain a force in Republican politics. Dennis Darnoi, who met him on Engler’s 1998 re-election campaign, said his old friend’s frankness and dedication make him “incredibly effective.”

“He puts his heart and soul into this. It’s like breathing for him,” says Darnoi, who now owns Densar Consulting. “There is no down time; you just do it. He’s totally enveloped in whatever he’s doing. It sort of becomes his consciousness.”

And Marsden isn’t all talk — he’s not afraid to drop the hammer on an opponent.

“I like to tell friends there originally were five horsemen of the Apocalypse,” Darnoi smiles, “but Marsden decided to walk.”

Political animal
Matt Marsden hasn’t taken a break from politics in 17 years — and he wouldn’t have it any other way. In that span he’s worked for a governor, a Senate majority leader, a congressman and a president. (“How many people at 35 in Michigan politics can say that?” notes Darnoi.)

Marsden, who likes to relieve stress with a little Kid Rock and a good home repair project, says his work ethic and “gift of gab” come courtesy of his grandfather, Jack Gardner. He died at age 78, just after the Supreme Court ruled in Bush v. Gore in 2000.

Darnoi and Marsden have a weekly ritual, talking shop at the Clarkston Union, an Oakland County brewpub, after trading e-mails and texts every day. “That’s kind of what sickos we are. Our idea of spending time away from the office is waxing political in the evenings and weekends,” Marsden chuckles.

Evidently, fatherhood hasn’t slowed him down. “She just has to sit there and listen to me read the paper every night,” Marsden reports of his daughter. “I can manage to write my notes in the margin and work my highlighter with one arm and hold her with the other.”

Back in 1992, he enrolled in Michigan State University’s James Madison College (a haven for political junkies) and completed internships with former state Rep. Jim Ryan and the Cusmano, Kandler & Reed lobbying firm, as well as a stint as a Capitol tour guide. After graduating in 1996 with a degree in political theory and constitutional democracy, Marsden heard about a job in Engler’s mailroom for constituent services through a Psi Upsilon fraternity brother.

“I was back home living for a month and a half and that was plenty of time for me to take the first opportunity to come along,” recalls Marsden. “And what an opportunity it was, because it opened a lot of doors. There are a lot of people who gave me a shot.”

Darnoi remembers speeding down I-75 with Marsden on the ’98 campaign trail, hanging on to Engler’s every word “like big kids at the adult table.” Seven years later, Marsden was running a congressional campaign for then-Sen. Joe Schwarz (R-Battle Creek) and he returned the favor to his young staff. Louie Meizlish, who began as external affairs director fresh out of the University of Michigan, recalls thinking, “This guy knows his stuff inside and out.”

Marsden can be a difficult boss (“Don’t expect praise for doing your job,” Darnoi says), but he’s a master at breaking tension with his desert-dry sense of humor. Meizlish once hung a sign in the office emblazoned with the words, “Who gives a shit?” — a “Quote of the Day, Every Day” attributed to Marsden (“I’ve never heard someone swear so much in my entire life,” offers his former protégé). Despite his signature shaved dome and broad build, Marsden can effortlessly transform himself into a host of political characters, especially opponents. But the one person who was always off-limits was Schwarz.

At that point, Marsden had devoted two years apiece to Engler and Bush, who had even asked him to direct his Union Station Inaugural Ball. The gruff, goateed operative had clicked instantly with Schwarz, a fellow Irish-German college football fan with a fondness for Yuengling. Marsden played consigliere, the ruthless Bobby Kennedy advisor role to Schwarz, 36 years his senior, and the two were known to have a few knock-down, drag-out fights. Neither ever held a grudge and they still talk almost every day, with Marsden still referring to his old boss as “the congressman” even in casual conversation.

“You need to have a bit of a thick skin and know at the bottom he really does care,” shrugs Marsden.

The bluff surgeon isn’t one to dole out flowery praise, even for Marsden, who often seems like his younger doppelganger or surrogate son. Instead, Schwarz says simply, “He stood out for his unwavering loyalty, his ability to cut to the heart of an issue, his lack of ability to try to dress an issue as something it wasn’t. Like a good umpire, he called ’em as he saw ’em.”

After winning a six-way GOP primary in the rural 7th District in 2004 and becoming the oldest freshman member of Congress, Schwarz faced an even bigger primary battle next election against former preacher and state Rep. Tim Walberg of Tipton. The campaign turned nasty, with Schwarz targeted in hate mail as a “baby killer” and his Jackson campaign office vandalized by someone scrawling “fag” on his poster. The Club for Growth lobby dumped more than $600,000 into Walberg’s coffers, running ads savaging Schwarz as “embarrassingly liberal.”

The congressman ended up losing the 2006 primary by six points. Marsden sat with Schwarz and now-Michigan Republican Party Chair Ron Weiser at Schuler’s Pub in Marshall, staring at the depressing election returns.

“Matt made a point to stand right behind the congressman when he gave his concession speech,” recalls Meizlish. “It was, ‘I take ownership, responsibility for what happened.’”

The next day, Marsden was packing for a delayed honeymoon with Jodi in Ireland. For once, he didn’t want to talk to the press, and he revealed a rare flash of emotion. “The congressman is a statesman,” he said brokenly. “There aren’t many left and we just lost one more.”

That was his first loss and by far the hardest moment he’s ever faced in politics. But he feels somewhat vindicated by Walberg being ousted by Democrat Mark Schauer last year.

“Joe Schwarz was a damn good congressman,” Marsden declares. “That seat would still be Republican today were it not for that primary. But such is the game of politics.”

He wasn’t done with the ’06 campaign yet. Marsden filed three campaign finance complaints alleging Club for Growth and Walberg were illegally working together, which organization President David Keating dismissed as “sour grapes.” Soon the group filed its own grievance claiming the Schwarz campaign had coordinated with the moderate group Republican Mainstreet Partnership. This summer, the FEC ruled against the campaign and issued a $2,500 fine. Marsden maintains he did nothing wrong and he’s philosophical about the ordeal.

“It’s not pleasant to have to do that, but that’s part of playing the game,” he says. “And the fact of the matter is, there’s not too many battles that I’m going to walk away from if they’re justified and right in what we’re doing.”

Warring with Walberg, the darling of the far right, certainly didn’t help Marsden, who was already persona non grata with many in the GOP establishment after some legal wrangling with Engler over a contract for the 2002 G-8 Energy Summit in Detroit. But in late 2006, Mike Bishop, then the newly elected 39-year-old Senate majority leader, decided to hire him anyway, drawn to Marsden’s intellect and “savvy.”

“Feathers were ruffled during that primary,” Bishop acknowledges. “It didn’t bother me. I knew he was a tried and tested person.”

Drawing blood
These days, Marsden spends his time dueling with Democrats in the Senate. He has some practice — his teacher wife and in-laws are “reasonable” Dems, he says.

But his jousting with Whitmer — who’s likely running for attorney general next year, a post Bishop also wants — and Democratic caucus spokesman Tom Lenard has been raucous this year. Tempers have flared over state police layoffs and the budget (“Sen. Whitmer could spare the Senate her shrill general election campaign prattle until after her convention nomination,” is a typical Marsden comment).

Whitmer retaliated for those in a floor speech that didn’t use his name, but left little mystery. “I regularly turn the other cheek when a Republican spokesperson uses thinly-veiled, gender-based comments like ‘shrill’ and ‘prattle’ when describing me. I tolerate it, but it doesn’t make it right.”

Sen. Roger Kahn (R-Saginaw) promptly blasted Whitmer’s remarks as “inflammatory, insulting and therefore, I think, unworthy of this body.” For his part, Marsden says he wasn’t offended. “If I make you that frustrated that you have to call me a racist or a sexist, it must mean it’s working, that it’s on-point. I’ve never said anything sexist. Forgive me for having a vocabulary.”

Then there was an elevator spat in June between Kahn and Sen. Irma Clark-Coleman (D-Detroit). A Secretary of the Senate report found no evidence of violence and no action was taken against either lawmaker. After Marsden said there would be “repercussions if allegations are found to be untrue,” Lenard accused him of “making blatant threats toward the victim,” whom he described as a “72-year-old grandmother.”

Lenard maintains Marsden’s comment was “pretty ominous [too close to ‘There will be blood’ perhaps]. We just felt…that his comments may have been intended to intimidate or discourage [Clark-Coleman] from pursuing a resolution even before everyone had been heard from or anything decided.” He adds there’s concern among Democratic senators over “whether he was speaking directly for the Senate majority leader or giving his own thoughts on matters.”

Bishop stresses he’s never had a problem with anything his spokesman has said and decries the Democrats’ “ridiculous comments” about him.

“The reason Matt and I get along so well is because he’s blunt and to the point,” he says. “He’ll give me a piece of his mind. It doesn’t bother me. It’s not easy to find that kind of candor and sincerity. He’s a great person to have in your corner.”

The Rochester Republican goes so far as to describe him as the press secretary all politicians covet. “Everyone’s looking for their Matt Marsden, but they just haven’t found him,” Bishop says. “I was fortunate enough to start with him.”

Marsden’s reputation as a quote machine certainly hasn’t gone unnoticed by his peers. Lenard is quick to say he likes his Republican counterpart, but he’s not afraid to throw a jab.

“I think there’s a difference in term of how I view my role as spokesman and how he views his role as spokesman,” he says. “I work to get members’ message out there. It’s not about me getting my name in the paper, me promoting me, Tom promoting Tom. I don’t put forth a personal agenda, even though I think I’m a pretty witty guy on occasion.”

Marsden firmly dismisses that idea. “Your personal political beliefs can never enter into doing your job. They’re irrelevant once you go into service for an elected official.”

It does seem to be an odd criticism, since Marsden’s personal politics are much more aligned with the centrist Schwarz, though he plays conservative flamethrower for Bishop. “I would describe myself as reasonable. I would describe myself as practical,” says Marsden. “I think the word ‘moderate’ carries a stigma with it, thanks to the branding done by some inside the party.”

He consulted with Darnoi on a side project, a controversial white paper outlining the GOP’s weaknesses going into the 2010 election due to its steadfast reliance on a socially conservative message instead of pocketbook issues. The research was decried by many, including former state GOP executive director Jeff Timmer, and caused Darnoi to lose his consulting contract with Bishop.

Marsden describes the paper as “spot on,” arguing Republicans need to be focused on winning-over the center, but he stresses he isn’t speaking for Bishop.

So wouldn’t it be tempting to reunite with Schwarz, maybe launch a renegade “reasonable” run for governor? After all, the pair shares a symbiotic relationship and has a lot of unfinished business.

“Oh, I think he would be a fine governor at a time when the state could use as many good, tested, experienced leaders as possible,” Marsden says. “If he were to throw his hat into the ring, I certainly would be personally supportive of his campaign. But I serve at the pleasure of the Senate majority leader and would continue to do so. Loyalty’s a big thing, and when you make a commitment to somebody that you’re going to work for them, that needs to be seen through ’til the end.”

Marsden isn’t working on Bishop’s AG campaign and doesn’t have anything lined up after his boss is term-limited next year. Darnoi has counseled him to leave politics, noting there’s little work for moderates in Michigan. But Meizlish says it’s in Marsden’s DNA — “I don’t see him getting sick of politics and getting out.”

The instability of the business is a bit gut-wrenching, especially for a guy with a new family. “You’re only as good as your last election; you’re only as good as your last job,” Marsden acknowledges. But even though his future seems uncertain, he’s determined to keep speaking his mind now.

One thing’s for sure — he doesn’t want to leave Michigan and he doesn’t have any plans to appear on a ballot himself.

“No, I like working behind the scenes,” he proclaims, breaking into a broad grin. “I’ve been on the record so many times and made so many statements, it would make opposition research a dream.”

Susan J. Demas, a regular columnist and writer for Dome, is 2006 Knight Foundation Fellow in nonprofits journalism and a political analyst for Michigan Information & Research Service.