My Life, page 41
My remaining two months in office were tough on my staff. They needed to find jobs. The usual route out of politics is through one of the big companies that do a lot of business with state government, but we had angered all of them. Rudy Moore did a good job trying to help everyone and make sure we cleared up all outstanding public business before we turned the office over to Frank White. He and my scheduler, Randy White, also reminded me, in my periods of self-absorption, that I needed to show more concern for my staff and their future welfare. Most of them had no savings to sustain a long job hunt. Several had young children. And many had worked only for the state, including a number of people who had been with me in the attorney general’s office. Though I really liked the people who had worked for me and felt grateful to them, I’m afraid I didn’t demonstrate that as clearly as I should have on many of the days after I lost.
Hillary was especially good to me in that awful period, balancing love and sympathy with an uncanny knack for keeping me focused on the present and the future. The fact that Chelsea didn’t have a clue that anything bad had happened helped me realize that it was not the end of the world. I got great calls of encouragement from Ted Kennedy, who said I’d be back, and Walter Mondale, who showed extraordinary good humor in the face of his own disappointing defeat. I even went to the White House to say good-bye to President Carter and thank him for all the good things his administration had done to help Arkansans. I was still upset about his broken pledge and how it contributed to my defeat and led to his loss in Arkansas, but I felt history would be kinder to him because of his energy and environmental policies, especially the establishment of the massive Arctic National Wildlife Refuge in Alaska, and his accomplishments in foreign policy—the Camp David agreement between Israel and Egypt, the Panama Canal treaties, and the elevation of the human rights issue.
Like the rest of the employees of the governor’s office, I had to find a job, too. I got several interesting offers or inquiries from out of state. My friend John Y. Brown, governor of Kentucky, who had made a fortune with Kentucky Fried Chicken, asked if I’d be interested in applying for the presidency of the University of Louisville. In typical John Y. short-speak, he made the pitch: “Good school, nice house, great basketball team.” California governor Jerry Brown told me his chief of staff, Gray Davis, himself a future governor, was leaving and asked me to replace him. He said that he couldn’t believe I’d been thrown out over car tags, that California was a place full of people who had moved there from other states and I’d fit right in, and that he’d guarantee my ability to influence policy in areas I cared about. I was approached about taking over the World Wildlife Fund, a Washington-based conservation group, which did work I admired. Norman Lear, producer of some of the most successful television shows in history, including All in the Family, asked me to become head of the People for the American Way, a liberal group established to counter conservative assaults on First Amendment freedoms. And several people asked me to run for chairman of the Democratic National Committee against Charles Manatt, a successful Los Angeles lawyer with Iowa roots. The only job offer I got in Arkansas was from Wright, Lindsey & Jennings, a fine law firm, which asked me to become “of counsel” for $60,000 a year, almost twice what I’d made as governor.
I took a hard look at the Democratic committee job, because I loved politics and thought I understood what needed to be done. In the end, I decided it wasn’t right for me. Besides, Chuck Manatt wanted it badly and probably already had the votes to win before I got interested. I discussed it with Mickey Kantor, a partner of Manatt’s whom I had gotten to know when he served with Hillary on the board of the Legal Services Corporation. I liked Mickey a lot and trusted his judgment. He said if I wanted another chance at elected office, I shouldn’t try for the party job. He also advised against becoming Jerry Brown’s chief of staff. The other out-of-state jobs had some appeal to me, especially the one at the World Wildlife Fund, but I knew they didn’t make sense. I wasn’t ready to give up on Arkansas or myself, so I accepted the offer from Wright, Lindsey & Jennings.
Almost immediately after I lost, and for months afterward, I asked everybody I knew why they thought it had happened. Some of the answers, beyond Cubans, car tags, and making all the interest groups angry at the same time, surprised me. Jimmy “Red” Jones, whom I had appointed adjutant general of the Arkansas National Guard after he’d had a long career as state auditor, said I had alienated the voters with too many young beards and out-of-staters in important positions. He also thought Hillary’s decision to keep her maiden name had hurt; it might be all right for a lawyer, but not for a first lady. Wally DeRoeck, who had been my chairman in 1976 and 1978, said I got so caught up in being governor that I stopped thinking about everything else. He told me that after I became governor, I never asked him about his children again. In harsher language, my friend George Daniel, who owned the hardware store in Marshall up in the hills, said the same thing: “Bill, the people thought you were an asshole!” Rudy Moore told me I had complained a lot about how much trouble I was in but never seemed to really focus on my political problems hard and long enough to figure out what to do about them. Mack McLarty, my oldest friend, who knew me like the back of his hand, said he thought I was preoccupied all year by the arrival of Chelsea. He said I had always been saddened by the fact that I never knew my own father, that I really wanted to focus on being Chelsea’s father, except when something like the Cuban crisis tore me away, and that I just didn’t have my heart in the campaign.
After I was out of office a few months, it became clear to me that all these explanations had some validity. By that time, more than a hundred people had come up to me and said they’d voted against me to send a message but wouldn’t have done it if they’d known I was going to lose. I thought of so many things I could have done if I’d had my head on straight. And it was painfully clear that thousands of people thought I’d gotten too big for my britches, too obsessed with what I wanted to do and oblivious to what they wanted me to do. The protest vote was there, all right, but it didn’t make the difference. The post-election polls showed that 12 percent of the voters said they’d supported me in 1978 but voted the other way in 1980 because of the car tags. Six percent of my former supporters said it was because of the Cubans. With all my other problems and mistakes, if I had been free of either of these two issues, I would have won. But if I hadn’t been defeated, I probably never would have become President. It was a near-death experience, but an invaluable one, forcing me to be more sensitive to the political problems inherent in progressive politics: the system can absorb only so much change at once; no one can beat all the entrenched interests at the same time; and if people think you’ve stopped listening, you’re sunk. On my last day in the governor’s office, after taking a picture of ten-month-old Chelsea sitting in my chair holding the telephone, I went up to the legislature to give my farewell address. I recounted the progress we’d made, thanked the legislators for their support, and pointed out that we still had America’s second-lowest tax burden and that, sooner or later, we would have to find a politically acceptable way to broaden our revenue base to make the most of our potential. Then I walked out of the Capitol and into private life, a fish out of water.
Photo Insert 1
My father, William Jefferson Blythe, 1944
My father and my mother, Virginia Cassidy Blythe, at the Palmer House Hotel, Chicago, 1946
Mother and I
Here I am in 1949. Above, far left: at my father’s gravesite on the afternoon Mother left for nurse’s training in New Orleans; above, center: in our backyard; above, right: posing for a photo for Mother’s Day
My grandmother Edith Grisham Cassidy, 1949. She was a private duty nurse.
My grandfather James Eldridge Cassidy (right) in his grocery store in Hope, Arkansas, 1946
Miss Marie Purkins’ School for Little Folks in Hope. I’m at the far left, with Vince Foster next to me and Mack McLarty in the back row.
My great-grandfather Lem Grisham came to visit me in the hospital when I broke my leg, March 1952.
With my great-uncle Buddy Grisham, one of the lights of my life, during my first presidential campaign
Daddy (my stepfather, Roger Clinton)
Mother and Daddy, 1965
Daddy and I at home in Hope, 1951
My brother, Roger, and I with Cora Walters, the wonderful woman who took care of us
From my high school yearbook: the Three Blind Mice, better known as the 3 Kings—Randy Goodrum on piano, Joe Newman on drums
I’m in the front, right behind the photographer, as President John F. Kennedy addresses the Boys Nation delegates in the Rose Garden on July 24, 1963.
David Leopoulos and I as emcees of the Hot Springs High School Band Variety Show, 1964
Mother, Roger, our dog Susie, and I in the snow at our Park Avenue house, 1961
At a picnic with friends, including Carolyn Yeldell, David Leopoulos, Ronnie Cecil, and Mary Jo Nelson
Frank Holt meeting and greeting in his shirtsleeves during his 1966 campaign for governor. (I’m in the light-colored suit.)
With my brother and my roommates at our graduation from Georgetown, 1968: (from left) Kit Ashby, Tommy Caplan, Jim Moore, and Tom Campbell
My Oxford roommates: Strobe Talbott (left) and Frank Aller. I’m in my bearded phase.
I surprised Mother by flying home for her wedding to Jeff Dwire, January 3, 1969. Reverend John Miles officiated, and I was best man. Roger’s in the front.
With my mentor J. William Fulbright and his administrative assistant, Lee Williams, September 1989. During my Georgetown years, I was assistant clerk on Fulbright’s Foreign Relations Committee.
Hillary and I with our Yale Law School Barristers Union classmates
Campaigning for George McGovern in San Antonio, Texas, 1972
Teaching at the University of Arkansas Law School, Fayetteville
With George Shelton, my campaign chairman, and F. H. Martin, treasurer. While they passed away before my presidency, their sons both served in my administration.
Campaigning with my gubernatorial predecessors Dale Bumpers and David Pryor
Campaigning for Congress, 1974
Our wedding day, October 11, 1975
Celebrating my thirty-second birthday during the campaign. Hillary is in dark glasses.
Addressing the Arkansas legislature after I was sworn in as governor, January 9, 1979
The youthful leaders of Arkansas, 1979: Secretary of State Paul Riviere, 31; State Senator Cliff Hoofman, 35; me, 32; State Auditor Jimmie Lou Fisher, 35; and Attorney General Steve Clark, 31
With Chelsea and Zeke
Hillary, Carolyn Huber, Emma Phillips, Chelsea, and Liza Ashley celebrate Liza’s birthday in the Governor’s Mansion in 1980.
My announcement for governor in 1982. Hillary inscribed the picture “Chelsea’s second birthday, Bill’s second chance.”
With three of my strongest Arkansas supporters: Maurice Smith, Jim Pledger, and Bill Clark, 1998
Visiting Arkansas Delta Project leaders, with whom I worked to bring economic development to their region
Parents and students at the Governor’s Mansion for High School Honors Day, celebrating the valedictorians and salutorians of Arkansas high schools
My workday at the Tosco plant
At the Sanyo Electric plant in Japan
Left to right: Henry Oliver; Gloria Cabe; Carol Rasco
At the Grand Ole Opry, Nashville, during the governors’ conference, 1984. I’m standing next to Minnie Pearl; Hillary is at the far left.
Left: Chelsea’s first day of school. Middle: Betsey Wright and I surprise Hillary for her birthday, 1983. Right: Chelsea is enjoying the sight of me holding “Boa Derek” for Proclamation Day.
Dancing with Chelsea and with Hillary at the Governor’s Inaugural Ball, January, 1991
With Dr. Billy Graham and my pastor, Dr. W. O. Vaught, fall 1989
With (clockwise, from left) Lottie Shackleford, Bobby Rush, Ernie Green, Carol Willis, Avis Lavelle, Bob Nash, and Rodney Slater at the National Democratic Convention, July 1992
The 1992 campaign. Tipper Gore took this picture of the huge crowd in Keene, New Hampshire
In the “war room” James Carville and Paul Begala high five
Campaigning in Stone Mountain, Georgia
Wall Street turns out for Hillary and me.
On the West Coast in 1992
Cinco de Mayo
Rally in Seattle
Greeting supporters in Los Angeles
At a prayer meeting after the Los Angeles riots
The Rodham family: (from left) Maria, Hugh, Dorothy, Hillary, and Tony. Hillary’s father, Hugh, is seated.
The campaign team
The bus tour
Hillary and I, Tipper and Al Gore, President Jimmy Carter, and (at left) Habitat for Humanity founder Millard Fuller celebrate Tipper’s and my joint birthday.
President George H. W. Bush, Ross Perot, and I at the University of Richmond debate
The Arsenio Hall Show
Election night, November 3, 1992
My first day as President-elect
With Mother
At Carolyn Yeldell Staley’s house: (front row) Mother, Thea Leopoulos; (second row) Bob Aspell, me, Hillary, Glenda Cooper, Linda Leopoulos; (top row) Carolyn Staley, David Leopoulos, Mauria Aspell, Mary Jo Rodgers, Jim French, Tommy Caplan, Phil Jamison, Dick Kelley, Kit Ashby, Tom Campbell, Bob Dangremond, Patrick Campbell, Susan Jamison, Gail and Randy Goodrum, Thaddeus Leopoulos, Amy Ashby, Jim and Jane Moore, Tom and Jude Campbell, Will Staley
TWENTY-TWO
Wright, Lindsey & Jennings was, by Arkansas standards, a large firm with a fine reputation and a varied practice. The support staff were able and friendly and went out of their way to help settle me in and make me feel at home. The firm also allowed me to bring my secretary, Barbara Kerns, who had been with me for four years by then and knew all my family, friends, and supporters. It even provided Betsey Wright office space so that she could keep working on my files and, as it turned out, plan the next campaign. I did some legal work and brought in a couple of modest clients, but I’m sure the lifeline the firm threw me didn’t make it any money. All the firm really got out of it was my everlasting gratitude and some legal business defending me when I became President. Though I missed being governor and the excitement of politics, I enjoyed the more normal pace of my life, coming home at a reasonable hour, being with Hillary as we watched Chelsea grow into her life, going out to dinner with friends, and getting to know our neighbors, especially the older couple who lived directly across the street, Sarge and Louise Lozano. They adored Chelsea and were always there to help out.
I resolved to stay away from public speaking for several months, with one exception. In February, I drove to Brinkley, about an hour east of Little Rock on the interstate, to speak at the Lions Club banquet. The area had voted for me in 1980, and my strongest supporters there all urged me to come. They said it would lift my spirits to be with folks who were still supporters, and it did. After the dinner, I went to a reception at the home of my county leaders, Don and Betty Fuller, where I was gratified and a little surprised to meet people who actually wanted me to be governor again. Back in Little Rock, most people were still trying to get on good terms with the new governor. One man whom I’d appointed to a position in state government and who wanted to stay on under Governor White actually crossed the street in downtown Little Rock one day when he saw me walking toward him. He was afraid to be seen shaking hands with me in broad daylight.
While I was grateful for the kindness of my friends in Brinkley, I didn’t go out speaking again in Arkansas for several months. Frank White was beginning to make mistakes and lose some legislative battles, and I didn’t want to get in his way. He kept his campaign pledge to pass bills changing the name of the Economic Development Department back to the Arkansas Industrial Development Commission and abolishing the Department of Energy. But when he tried to abolish the rural health clinics Hillary and I had established, large numbers of people who depended on them showed up to protest. His bill was defeated, and he had to be content with stopping the building of more clinics that would have served others who really needed them.
When the governor introduced a bill to roll back the car-tag increase, the director of the Highway Department, Henry Gray, the highway commissioners, and the road builders put up strong resistance. They were building and repairing roads and making money. A lot of legislators listened to them, because their constituents liked the roadwork even if they had resisted paying for it. In the end, White got a modest rollback in the fees, but most of the money stayed in the program. The governor’s biggest legislative problem arose, ironically, out of a bill he passed. The so-called creation science bill required that every Arkansas school that taught the theory of evolution had to spend an equal amount of time teaching a theory of creation consistent with the Bible: that humans did not evolve out of other species around one hundred thousand years ago, but instead were created by God as a separate species a few thousand years ago.
