Death of American Virtue - Ken Gormley [43]
Bernie now sat with Hillary and President-elect Bill Clinton in the family room of the Arkansas governor’s mansion, the smell of pine needles and excitement in the air. Christmas was just a few weeks away; transition planning was in high gear. The Clinton-Gore ticket had won a comfortable victory in November. Now, to the victors belonged the spoils. Key advisers had to be assembled to build the skeleton of a new Clinton administration that would take over power in Washington. Sitting in soft chairs, Bill, Hillary, and Bernie talked about the crucial role that the White House counsel—the chief lawyer for the president—would play in the new administration.
Bernie spoke in a blaring New York voice that at times sounded as if he were talking through a bullhorn. He emphasized that “the last four [elected] presidents had these scandals to deal with.” Nixon had endured Watergate. Carter had faced the inquiry dealing with his family peanut ware house. Reagan and Bush had confronted the Iran-Contra scandal. Bernie told the president-elect, with sufficient volume to make his point, “A lot of legal issues have turned into political problems. You need a counsel to prevent these legal things from blowing up and turning into major political problems.”
Nussbaum was not thinking of any particular scandal at the moment. He had given quick advice to the Clinton political team, when Gennifer Flowers told a tabloid that she had engaged in a twelve-year extramarital affair with Governor Clinton. That story had nearly derailed the Clinton campaign. The politicos in the Clinton inner sanctum had consulted Bernie: Should they hire private investigators and try to prove Flowers was lying? Bernie told them to cool it; avoid provocation. “We didn’t know if she was telling the truth, or exaggerating,” he would later explain. Either way, Bernie felt strongly, “she shouldn’t be attacked. She shouldn’t be investigated.”
That had been sound advice. Although some on the periphery of the Clinton campaign, including celebrity private eye Anthony Pellicano, were later accused of trailing Flowers and trying to discredit her, candidate Clinton himself had dodged a bullet. The Clinton team had come to trust Bernie’s judgment.
On this night in the governor’s mansion, Bernie was relaxed. In his mind, squalls like the Gennifer Flowers flap were over. He was simply reminding the president-elect that his White House counsel would have to be “smart and tough-minded;" in this brave new world, political assassins lurked everywhere. The White House counsel would have to prevent potential scandals from bubbling up in the first place. Clinton seemed impressed. He joked with the potential appointee, seated between himself and Hillary, “Who will you represent if we need to get divorced?” The three of them laughed. “I’ll represent the one with more money,” Bernie said, chuckling loudly. It was nice to be among friends.
The next morning, Bill Clinton telephoned Bernie Nussbaum and asked him to serve as his White House counsel.
In reality, it was a package deal. Along with Nussbaum, Clinton had already tapped Vincent Foster to serve as deputy White House counsel. Foster had grown up with Bill in Hope, Arkansas; they had attended kindergarten together. Foster had become friends with Hillary when they worked together on Legal Aid Society projects in the late 1970s and had become Hillary’s mentor at the Rose Law Firm. He was a lawyer’s lawyer with an impeccable reputation. Both Clintons could take him into their confidences and trust him fully.
The two counselors felt an “instant bonding.” Nussbaum was fifty-six years old and a seasoned lawyer. He would later describe the dynamic between himself and his youthful deputy: “He [Foster] was a tall, good-looking, and WASPY person. I was short, non-WASPY.” Their personalities were completely different—Nussbaum was loud and brash; Foster was proper and reserved. Yet they both had extensive corporate litigation experience and were cut from the same lawyerly cloth. “We liked