Death of American Virtue - Ken Gormley [160]
Ray Jahn, who had convicted McDougal, recalled McDougal being physically “weak” but cooperative during these debriefing sessions. On occasion, McDougal’s “coloring” didn’t look good, causing Jahn and his fellow prosecutors to worry that McDougal might be “overdosing himself on nitroglycerine in dealing with his heart condition.” At times, McDougal’s mind seemed to be acting like a shorted-out computer, lacking “the ability to isolate [a fact] and withdraw it.”
Yet Jahn did ascertain one valuable new tidbit from McDougal: The bald-headed felon told Jahn, “Susan’s going to be pardoned.” He went on to say, “Remember we had that deposition in the White House? Did you see Bill Clinton take me over to the maps [used by FDR during World War II]? That’s when he said, ‘Tell Susan—hold on. I’ll take care of you when I leave office.’” It was hard to tell where fact ended and fiction began, but OIC’s job was to get the witness to cough up as much information as possible.
Another defining moment in the sessions came when Jim McDougal rested his head on his cane and sighed—Clinton’s testimony in the Whitewater trial, he told the Starr prosecutors despondently, had been “at variance with the truth.” McDougal expressed particular dismay that Clinton had uttered these boldfaced lies in the Map Room, where McDougal’s hero FDR had spent so much time defending the country during the dark days of World War II. McDougal seemed believable, at least on this point.
Bob Bittman, the young prosecutor enlisted to help debrief McDougal, was warned before meeting with his witness that “the medication wears off, and he gets ornery.” For the most part, however, McDougal was not a problem. He would sit on his “cheap La-Z-Boy,” proud of his little apartment not far from OIC headquarters. The discussions seemed oddly “therapeutic for him.” When it came to discussing his ex-wife, McDougal was generally “very protective of [Susan].” In contrast, Bittman quickly discerned that McDougal “hated Hillary.” As for the president, “I don’t think he liked him anymore,” even though they had once been friends. Overall, Bittman’s prosecutorial instincts told him that McDougal “was holding back on some important information.” What it was, the young prosecutor had no idea.
Hickman Ewing, the overseer of OIC’s outpost in Arkansas, complimented Bittman on his persistence and patience during the long sessions with Jim McDougal. This might turn out to be, Ewing told the young Maryland prosecutor, the most important case he would ever work on. Neither man, of course, could have ever guessed what new assignment was just around the corner for Bittman.
THE day Ken Starr made the unexpected announcement—in February 1997—that he was stepping down as independent counsel to move to the deanship at Pepperdine University School of Law in California, the gods of opportunity seemed to be smiling down on him. The National Law Journal had recently named Starr Lawyer of the Year, saluting the Whitewater prosecutor for his multifaceted talents. While juggling his independent counsel duties (which paid $115,000 per year), Starr had earned nearly $1 million in 1996 from his firm, Kirkland & Ellis. He had represented the National Football League’s players’ union in the Supreme Court; defended Wisconsin’s school voucher program, which permitted students with vouchers to attend religious schools; and handled massive litigation on behalf of major tobacco companies. It was, as the National Law Journal pronounced, “a year that any lawyer would envy.”
Ken Starr had long been tempted by the allure of university administration. At heart he was very much an academic. Pepperdine University, a beautiful and affluent new campus built along the beaches of Malibu with glorious