A Fighting Chance

In the bluntest possible terms, I said no. “My first choice is a strong consumer agency. My second choice is no agency at all and plenty of blood and teeth left on the floor.… My 99th choice is some mouthful of mush that doesn’t get the job done.” I said that we should either stand and fight for something worthwhile or go get honest work somewhere else. I wanted nothing to do with a watchdog that could do nothing but whimper.

And then, in mid-March, Senator Dodd delivered a financial reform bill that included a strong, independent consumer agency, and he shepherded it through the Banking Committee and on to the full Senate. The giant banks had tried mightily to stop us, but they had failed. The agency would have the powers and the funding it would need to make a real difference. A coalition of consumer advocates and impassioned citizens—helped out by some very funny actors—was on the verge of beating back the best-funded lobby ever assembled. It was a good day for the American people and a good day for democracy.

When Bruce and I went to the Shack for clams and beer this time, it was to celebrate.





One Last Big Giveaway

Life doesn’t stop for politics, and the spring of 2010 was no exception. Our son-in-law called to say that his younger brother was getting married. It was time for the family—all the family—to gather in India to celebrate.

Just before we took off, Amelia made a big announcement: She was pregnant again. Bruce and I would have a third grandchild.

I absorbed the news with a mix of delight and worry. I was (and am) crazy about my two granddaughters. For nearly nine years, I had flown to Los Angeles as often as I could—sometimes for a weekend and sometimes for longer—so that I could be part of their lives. Now a new grandchild was coming, and between COP, fighting for financial reform, and teaching at Harvard, I was stretched thin. I wanted to spend a lot of time with this newest member of our family, but I worried that I couldn’t.

When we arrived in India, it was hot—really hot. Rolling blackouts meant that air-conditioning was hit or miss, and the power went out most afternoons. But for Bruce and me, the wedding was a complete delight. It was a three-day affair, with singing and parties and visits from the Tyagi clan, which stretched all over northern India. For a little while I left Washington behind and marveled over the bride and giggled with my granddaughters. It was glorious.

Back in Washington, there was more pain to come. After the financial reform bill passed the Senate, it was the job of a conference committee to iron out the differences between the House and Senate versions. Then the bill would go back to the House and the Senate for a final vote.

The Democrats had lost their sixty-seat majority in January, and now the bill needed the support of Massachusetts’s newest senator, Republican Scott Brown. Suddenly the senator found himself sitting in the catbird seat. Wasting no time, he threatened to hold up the financial bill unless the Democrats agreed to reopen the nearly completed package to add one more provision: a financial break for the big banks.

Ever since the United States began writing rules for financial institutions, the banks have always paid the costs of regulation. The price tag for enforcing the new bank reforms was estimated to be about $19 billion, and the current version of the reform bill specifically said that the biggest financial institutions would pay for it.

Now Senator Brown threatened to hold up the bill unless that provision was changed. He insisted that the taxpayers, not the big banks, pick up the tab. Barney Frank was furious, but he didn’t have much choice: this last change was the price of making financial reform a reality. The deal was cut, the final bill was passed by the both the House and the Senate, and the legislation was sent to the president for his signature.





A Pen to Remember

The White House invited me to the signing ceremony, which was set for July 21, 2010. The law was named the Dodd–Frank Act, after its sponsors in the Senate and the House.

That morning it was Washington hot—steamy, sticky, and nasty. The ceremony was to be held at the Ronald Reagan Building in an amphitheater that could seat more than six hundred people. I wanted to go, but on that same morning, I was scheduled to testify at another Senate hearing as the representative for COP. It seemed all but certain that the hearing would last long past the scheduled time for the signing ceremony, so I figured I’d just have to miss it. Serving as the chair of COP was my job.

At the last minute, I got permission to testify first and then leave the hearing. If I ran, I might make the ceremony just in time—and run is exactly what I did.