It’s now been two years since Andrew Breitbart died. Unlike many of Breitbart’s friends and admirers who initiated a relationship with him, I was forced to relate with him. And I don’t like being forced to do anything.
I initially met Andrew Breitbart over the phone when I called him on September 8, 2009. That was the day before my daughter Hannah’s scandalous ACORN videos were released on the public’s head.
Andrew was on the road, and I was in Vail about to speak at a men’s conference and wanted to know, from a man I didn’t know, if he was going to make certain my girl would be “safe” in every sense of the word because the ACORNs were fixin’ to hit the fan.
Having seen several of Hannah’s devastating undercover vids and knowing the weight of what was about to land on my 20-year-old, I told Andrew that if he allowed anything bad to happen to Hannah that I would hurt him. And I did not mean that metaphorically.
Breitbart said he would defend Hannah with his life and treat her as if she were his own daughter. I thought, “good answer,” and with that we began a relationship and went through a tornadic, grueling, and thrilling war against a corrupt organization and a crooked media that covers and defends such sleaze.
Every step of the way, through vicious, non-stop media attacks, death threats to our family, and multiple lawsuits, Breitbart kept his word to me and ran interference for Hannah and the ACORN story like a champion. He made certain that the proper people got crushed and the truth tellers remained afloat.