Death of American Virtue - Ken Gormley [52]
At the Foster home, when Kennedy arrived, the scene was one of absolute “chaos.” Webb Hubbell and his wife were huddled around Lisa, trying to console her. Kennedy informed the family that he had driven to the morgue and viewed the body. “It’s Vince,” he said flatly. He recalled that Lisa “was messed up pretty much.” She was unable to articulate a response.
The moment President Clinton arrived, the din became almost deafening. Although Kennedy knew that Clinton’s decision to drive out to see the family was the spontaneous act of a grief-stricken friend, he also observed that Clinton’s presence “added measurably to the chaos.” This small Georgetown neighborhood was now swarming with Secret Service agents, District of Columbia police, and reporters who had trailed the black van from the White House gate. The journalists, drinking coffee to stay awake, were outside talking loudly and waiting to snap photos of the grieving president and his Arkansas assemblage.
Inside, friends and family were mouthing the same words: “What happened? How could Vince do this?” As Kennedy recalled, there was an “incredible bubble of conversation.” It only became more impenetrable as the room became more packed. Close friends, tears streaking their faces, tried to reach Lisa and the children to share words of sympathy—but the surging crowd made this impossible.
President Clinton appeared tired and puffy-eyed. Those present assessed that “he had been crying.” The president searched out Lisa and embraced her as the White House bodyguards shooed pestering investigators away. Clinton put his arm around Bill Kennedy, almost in a daze, and whispered softly, “Do you have any idea why?”
Kennedy could tell that Foster’s death had shaken Clinton to the core. “He is the ultimate politician,” Kennedy said candidly. “So you have to know him well. But he was extremely distraught over this.”
Kennedy had already spoken to Hillary by phone, to make sure she was all right. The First Lady was “in tears,” almost unable to pull herself together. Kennedy later quietly summed up the impact on the Clintons: “They’re human beings. They brought Vince to Washington.” Both Bill and Hillary, he said, were beating themselves up and repeating over and over, “Why didn’t I see this? Why didn’t I notice he was in trouble?”
President Clinton asked Kennedy if he would ride back in the van to the White House so they could keep each other company. Kennedy thanked Clinton, but declined. The image of Vince lying on a cold table in the morgue was still eating away at his mind. He needed to be alone.
Said Kennedy, twelve years later, after having returned to law practice in Arkansas and never quite getting over this ordeal in Washington, “It’s still hard to talk about to this day. I know it happened. And I know [Vince] is dead. I still have an unyielding disbelief that, one, he’s gone and, two, how he went. I’ve had to deal with that. He was a great guy …” Kennedy stopped, unable to say more. Until he added one final thought. “Probably the greatest tragedy of Clinton’s time in office,” he said, recalling the scandals and other destructive forces plaguing the Clinton administration, “was Vince.”
CHAPTER
7
CONSPIRACY THEORIES
That night, back at the White House, Bernie Nussbaum agonized over the next step. Advisers and staff arrived at the West Wing like silent sparrows, summoned by the death of one of their own. “People were stunned, in shock,” Nussbaum would remember. Patsy Thomasson, who worked for the White House management office, and Maggie Williams, the First Lady’s chief of staff, had gone to Foster’s office. When Nussbaum arrived at 10:45 P.M., the light was on, eerily, as if Foster