All Too Human: A Political Education by George Stephanopoulos
Authors: George Stephanopoulos
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Her client was Hillary.
Ordering room service broke some of the tension. Hillary reminisced about how this was her ultimate childhood luxury, and we talked about what we were going to order as if it were the most interesting topic in the world. Hillary even let her campaign-bloated husband have a cheeseburger, but she kept an eye on his intake of fries. All of this was just a way of avoiding the question at hand: What were the Clintons going to say — and how were they going to say it?
Clinton insisted that the Flowers story was untrue, so any admission of a sexual affair with Gennifer was off the table. But we discussed whether he should make a general admission of adultery — explicitly, unequivocally, using that word instead of a euphemism like “problems in our marriage.” Initially, some of us, including me, thought that he should. Better to be straight, I argued; you earn extra credit for candor. I also believed that a concession like that would, at some level, make Clinton's denial of Gennifer's story more credible. But I backed off fast. Both Clinton and Hillary were adamant about not using the A word, arguing that it was too grating, too harsh, too in-your-face to the viewers at home. And with Gennifer's press conference the next day, any explicit admission of adultery — no matter how it was couched —
would
appear to confirm her story, and call the past denials into question.
Once the two threshold questions were pushed aside with our empty plates, Mandy and James took control of the meeting and focused us on our goals: to appear candid about past marriage troubles, to define character as a constant struggle for personal improvement, and to confront the country with the question of whether the presidential campaign should be about one candidate's past or the whole country's future. I synthesized the strategy in hand-lettered notes that I gave to Clinton when Hillary adjourned the meeting around one A.M. :
• YOU'RE FORTUNATE, RATHER THAN AGGRIEVED, YOU REALIZE IT'S A PRIVILEGE THAT THE SON OF A POOR, SINGLE MOTHER FROM ARKANSAS CAN RUN FOR PRESIDENT.
• YOU'RE SAD ABOUT GENNIFER, NOT ANGRY. YOU DON'T KNOW WHY SHE CHANGED HER STORY, BUT YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BE DIVERTED.
• USE YOUR FAMILY AS A METAPHOR FOR CHARACTER. YOU'VE HAD PROBLEMS IN YOUR MARRIAGE, YOU'VE FACED THEM, YOU'VE WORKED THROUGH THEM, AND YOU'RE COMING OUT STRONGER THAN EVER.
After the Clintons left, the rest of us went up to Stan's room for a drink. No one could sleep anyway. With the gallows humor and guilty pleasure that accompany being in the middle of the action without really being in the middle of the fire, we talked about the day ahead and whether we'd even be together a week from now. For us, no matter how tomorrow turned out, it would be a war story, the day we bet a whole campaign on a single interview.
But what about the Clintons? Alone in their room now, what are they discussing? Is this what they bargained for? Was there a deal between them?
These questions swirled through my head and seeped into our conversation. I admired their ability to sacrifice privacy and pride for the chance to do some good — but wondered if I should be appalled.
Is it about power's potential, or just power? When is the price too high?
Mostly, though, I just felt sorry for them. I had a hard time talking to my parents about my girlfriend. Tomorrow the whole country would be discussing their marriage.
Around eight the next morning, I went to Carville's room and found him screwing his fists in his eyes to wipe away nervous tears. Mandy was there too, working out her anxiety with cigarettes and talk We all knew that last night's prep wasn't crisp, that we had wasted too much time on side conversations and unnerved the principals with too much conflicting advice. Clinton is a small-
d
democrat; he takes counsel as it comes. A good quality, but not when you're in a crisis and the clock is ticking. We knew these last few hours had to be different,
Ordering room service broke some of the tension. Hillary reminisced about how this was her ultimate childhood luxury, and we talked about what we were going to order as if it were the most interesting topic in the world. Hillary even let her campaign-bloated husband have a cheeseburger, but she kept an eye on his intake of fries. All of this was just a way of avoiding the question at hand: What were the Clintons going to say — and how were they going to say it?
Clinton insisted that the Flowers story was untrue, so any admission of a sexual affair with Gennifer was off the table. But we discussed whether he should make a general admission of adultery — explicitly, unequivocally, using that word instead of a euphemism like “problems in our marriage.” Initially, some of us, including me, thought that he should. Better to be straight, I argued; you earn extra credit for candor. I also believed that a concession like that would, at some level, make Clinton's denial of Gennifer's story more credible. But I backed off fast. Both Clinton and Hillary were adamant about not using the A word, arguing that it was too grating, too harsh, too in-your-face to the viewers at home. And with Gennifer's press conference the next day, any explicit admission of adultery — no matter how it was couched —
would
appear to confirm her story, and call the past denials into question.
Once the two threshold questions were pushed aside with our empty plates, Mandy and James took control of the meeting and focused us on our goals: to appear candid about past marriage troubles, to define character as a constant struggle for personal improvement, and to confront the country with the question of whether the presidential campaign should be about one candidate's past or the whole country's future. I synthesized the strategy in hand-lettered notes that I gave to Clinton when Hillary adjourned the meeting around one A.M. :
• YOU'RE FORTUNATE, RATHER THAN AGGRIEVED, YOU REALIZE IT'S A PRIVILEGE THAT THE SON OF A POOR, SINGLE MOTHER FROM ARKANSAS CAN RUN FOR PRESIDENT.
• YOU'RE SAD ABOUT GENNIFER, NOT ANGRY. YOU DON'T KNOW WHY SHE CHANGED HER STORY, BUT YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BE DIVERTED.
• USE YOUR FAMILY AS A METAPHOR FOR CHARACTER. YOU'VE HAD PROBLEMS IN YOUR MARRIAGE, YOU'VE FACED THEM, YOU'VE WORKED THROUGH THEM, AND YOU'RE COMING OUT STRONGER THAN EVER.
After the Clintons left, the rest of us went up to Stan's room for a drink. No one could sleep anyway. With the gallows humor and guilty pleasure that accompany being in the middle of the action without really being in the middle of the fire, we talked about the day ahead and whether we'd even be together a week from now. For us, no matter how tomorrow turned out, it would be a war story, the day we bet a whole campaign on a single interview.
But what about the Clintons? Alone in their room now, what are they discussing? Is this what they bargained for? Was there a deal between them?
These questions swirled through my head and seeped into our conversation. I admired their ability to sacrifice privacy and pride for the chance to do some good — but wondered if I should be appalled.
Is it about power's potential, or just power? When is the price too high?
Mostly, though, I just felt sorry for them. I had a hard time talking to my parents about my girlfriend. Tomorrow the whole country would be discussing their marriage.
Around eight the next morning, I went to Carville's room and found him screwing his fists in his eyes to wipe away nervous tears. Mandy was there too, working out her anxiety with cigarettes and talk We all knew that last night's prep wasn't crisp, that we had wasted too much time on side conversations and unnerved the principals with too much conflicting advice. Clinton is a small-
d
democrat; he takes counsel as it comes. A good quality, but not when you're in a crisis and the clock is ticking. We knew these last few hours had to be different,
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