Death of American Virtue - Ken Gormley [378]
As Hillary and Chelsea set up their own rooms in the main bungalow, the president was exiled to the guest house downhill. These simple quarters contained a living room area, a kitchenette, a TV, a computer, and several telephones. In this cottage, the president was condemned to spend most of his beach days, making calls in an effort to salvage his presidency. There was little time for sun and surf. Clinton spent his days on the phone, from morning until night. In Washington, White House advisers were “taking temperatures” on the Hill, then communicating results back to the commander in chief. The thermometer readings were extra chilly.
Clinton’s political people feared several possible scenarios. First, if the public started to perceive that the scandal was affecting the president’s ability to govern, people could quickly decide that he was not fit “to [stay] in office.” Second, if Democrats in Congress ever chose to bolt on Clinton, he was dead in the water. One political adviser later explained, “The lesson from Watergate was—it wasn’t when the Democrats wanted Nixon to leave; it’s when [the Senate Republicans] told him ‘it’s time.’ So we always saw the Democrats as our biggest vulnerability.”
Senate Democratic leader Tom Daschle of South Dakota would not accept Clinton’s calls from the sunny Vineyard. The president was also getting the cold shoulder from powerful Democrats like Harry Reid (Nev.), Joe Lieberman (Conn.), and Bob Graham (Fla.). In the House, Minority Leader Dick Gephardt (Mo.) had cut off communication with Clinton for days. His behavior had “personally outraged” congressional leaders; his bold-faced deception had left them speechless. All congressmen and many senators were facing reelection in the fall—back home, many of their constituents were screaming for Clinton’s scalp. Not only had he engaged in immoral and incredibly stupid conduct, but there was no sign of “contrition.” This put members of Congress at risk with their own political bases. So Clinton and his aides set up a phone bank in the little cottage overlooking the shimmering Atlantic, divided up the names of key Democrats in Congress, and tried to “grind it out one at a time.” Over and over, Clinton offered a supersized mea culpa, allowing members of Congress to shout, swear, and otherwise “let off steam.” The goal was to “at least contain them until things could settle down.” The greatest fear was that “a couple breakaways could really break the dam.”
In January, Bill Clinton had consulted with pollster Dick Morris, who had advised the president that if he gave a “full frontal acknowledgment” of the affair, he would be “removed from office—on the spot.” At that time, a “death watch” composed of journalists and photographers had assembled at the White House gate. George Stephanopoulos, Clinton’s boyish adviser turned ABC correspondent, had even uttered the “I” word, suggesting that impeachment was in the wind. Under these circumstances, Clinton had decided that he “couldn’t come completely clean.” Instead, he had stalled for time and made personal assurances to his staff that the Starr prosecutors had grossly exaggerated the Lewinsky indiscretion. Now it was time to pay the piper.
Top staffers like Paul Begala, who had been with Clinton since his campaign of 1992, poured out their bitter feelings to the press. Begala was a devout Catholic who deplored Clinton’s extramarital shenanigans; this staffer was personally devastated that Clinton had lied to his face about the Lewinsky affair. Clinton had said, “This all is not true,” but insisted that “he could not tell me any details.” Begala was equally heartsick about Hillary and Chelsea. He had been present in the studio for Hillary’s “vast right-wing conspiracy” interview. He recalled: “She wanted to believe him. We all did.” Now Begala was openly talking about resigning.