Richard Bruce Cheney died on Monday at 84 years old. You probably already know the story of Dick Cheney the politician—his decade-long tenure as a congressman for his home state of Wyoming, his public service under both presidents Bush, his advocacy for the invasion of Iraq, his seemingly permanent half-smile. But there was one journalist who wrote of a different side of Cheney—one the American people rarely saw. In 2008, just months before the end of Cheney’s second term as vice president, “The Weekly Standard” writer Matt Labash secured a rare interview with him, in no small part due to a hobby they had in common: fly-fishing. By that time, many Americans had soured on Cheney. But—as one of his fishing guides told Labash—if they went fly-fishing with the VP, “that’d be a different story.” Today, we’re pleased to republish Matt’s essay—the definitive profile of Cheney—and for more on fishing, politics, and everything in between, be sure to check out Matt Labash’s Substack, Slack Tide. —The Editors
At the risk of being publicly ridiculed, quarantined, or stoned, I’ll just say it straightaway: I really like Dick Cheney. Don’t get me wrong, I feel sick about it.
Not because I’ve ever held anything against the guy personally. In fact, many of the parts of Cheney’s public persona that repel others, I rather enjoy. I’ve always liked his ruthless non-sentimentality in an age of lip-biters and tear-squirters. I like that you’re never apt to hear him invoke “the children” as a reason for peddling some unrelated initiative. (“I’m not a baby kisser,” he once said on the campaign trail.) I like that he doesn’t seem to care about being liked, which is lucky for him, since his approval rating hovers at 18 percent. But let’s just say I haven’t cared for many of his signature projects as vice president. It is not for nothing that the wags suggest that Cheney keeps George W. Bush one heartbeat away from the presidency.
But Cheney is also known as a fisherman, and I am a fishing slut with little or no moral center.
Last September, I attended a book party on the roof of the Hay-Adams Hotel in Washington, D.C., which Cheney was to attend. I showed up early and, seeing there were two open bars, availed myself of both. By the time Cheney arrived, I had a bellyful of truth serum.
I made a beeline for him, squared up, looked him in the eye, and said, “I understand you’re an avid fly fisherman.”
