Death of American Virtue - Ken Gormley [26]
As Susan would later recall the get-together, there was nothing approximating a “serious business discussion.” Rather, “it was just like an investment that a friend was going to take care of.” In fact, Clinton himself seemed utterly disengaged when it came to this and other business matters. As Susan would note, laughing, “Jim used to say that Bill’s eyes rolled back in his head when he would talk to him about money.” When Jim decided to talk seriously about financial matters, he inevitably turned to Hillary. But on this Sunday in the Black-eyed Pea, even Hillary inquired little about details. It sounded like a fun, low-risk investment in a hot new recreational spot in their own home state. Before dessert was finished, the Clintons shook hands with the real estate entrepreneur. A high-riding Jim McDougal promised to call the bank in Flippin, where Chris Wade was a found er and director, to work out the appropriate financial arrangements.
The closing on Whitewater took place on August 2, 1978, at 10:00 A.M. Or at least the McDougals closed on the deal; the Clintons did not bother driving up to Flippin. The $203,000 purchase price was secured by a mortgage loan for which all of the new owners—including Bill and Hillary—were jointly and severally liable. The Citizens Bank and Trust Co. of Flippin advanced the lion’s share, just over $182,000. It was a healthy loan for such a small institution, but the risk seemed minimal. The bank’s loan officers and directors—like everyone else—assumed that Bill Clinton was a shoo-in to become governor. The Clintons planned to build a vacation home on Lot 7, overlooking the spot where the White River met Crooked Creek. The rest of the parcels, the bank officers figured, would go like hot-cakes to investors who wanted to rub elbows with the First Family of Arkansas.
Unbeknownst to the loan officer, the 10 percent down payment was funded with a second $20,000 loan from Union Bank of Little Rock, arranged through the maneuvering of Jim McDougal. A simple two-page warranty deed was executed, with the proper tax stamps affixed to it. Through this casual process, the Clintons became co-owners of the Whitewater estates, without ever seeing the property and without ever expending a penny in cash.
Bill Clinton, as much as he didn’t give a hoot about money, knew that it was a necessary commodity if he was going to get elected to higher political office. He also knew that he needed it to make mortgage payments and to put children through good schools. Hillary was already fretting about their financial security; elected office, for all of its reward and excitement, would do no more than cover the basics. Nest eggs were important, even for aspiring young politicians. Real estate was one of the few investments a person in public office could make without risking obvious conflicts of interest.
And so the Whitewater investment was finalized, as easily as rolling off a log. If the Clintons believed that they were committing any potential sin, it was that they hoped to gain too much for too little. For a couple sitting at the epicenter of the fast-paced political world of Arkansas in the late 1970s, this seemed like a small transgression.
Handsome maps of the “Whitewater estates” showed a parcel shaped like a ski boot, carved into forty-two separate lots for sale. A yellowed