Death of American Virtue - Ken Gormley [97]
After pleasantries were exchanged, Judge Sentelle made clear that the meeting’s content would remain confidential. The judges discussed “the importance and sensitivity of the investigation” that Starr might be asked to undertake. They also inquired about any possible conflicts of interest. Starr piped up that he had conducted a preliminary “conflict check” at his law firm; there were no skeletons in his closet. The jurists grilled Starr—like any other would-be independent counsel—to ferret out potential problems. “We actually cross-examined [him] pretty thoroughly,” Sentelle would later state under oath before the Senate Governmental Affairs Committee.
Ken Starr appeared to be squeaky clean. He knew little about the Whitewater case; he had followed it only sporadically in the papers. A top-notch attorney with a national reputation, he was nevertheless willing to interrupt his lucrative law practice to respond to this new call to public service.
There was no tipoff whether the judges were “trending [his] way.” Yet it was clear from the serious nature of the discussion that Ken Starr’s name was at the top of a very short list.
That night, Starr drove to his home in McLean, Virginia, and discussed the possible appointment with his wife, Alice. Her reaction was immediately negative: “She thought it was unwise to take it,” Starr would later admit. Alice pointed out that he was doing fabulously well in private practice. He was teaching and juggling other responsibilities. Her feeling was, “You’re settling into things. Why disrupt that?”
Alice had no doubt that Ken would do a fine, impartial job. “Ken is so fair that the kids never wanted him to be an umpire at their softball and baseball games, because he would always go for the other side,” she said, her eyes conveying a gentle humor. He had no preconception of whether “Bill Clinton was guilty or not guilty of what was happening in Arkansas.” She concluded, the brightness vanishing from her eyes: “My problem was, taking on a job like that is a no-win situation.”
On August 4, Judge Sentelle circulated an incomplete form to his colleagues, spelling out the terms of appointment for an independent counsel. A blank space remained for the name of the appointee. He wrote: “I will have it ready to fill in the blanks should we decide on an appointee on Friday or Monday.” The next day, August 5, the four-page order was filed with the clerk of courts; this time, the name “Kenneth W. Starr” had been inserted.
Judge Butzner, the senior judge from Richmond, had been overruled.
Judge Sentelle’s brief opinion, ostensibly written for a unanimous court, indicated that because President Clinton’s own attorney general had appointed Fiske, it was better for the special court to appoint someone “not affiliated with the incumbent administration.” This was not meant to be a negative reflection on Fiske personally. Rather, Fiske had been “compromised” by the fact that he was appointed by Janet Reno, who reported directly to the Clinton White House.
The opinion was signed by all three judges on the special court. In truth, however, there was a lone dissenter, never revealed to the public or to the press. Judge John Butzner, upset and still adamantly opposed to Starr’s appointment, agreed to join the opinion only after losing the vote. His papers confirm that he fought the appointment to the end. Wishing to protect the court from being splattered with mud in this messy political terrain, the gentlemanly Butzner signed the opinion and kept quiet.
The reaction in the White House was a loud, collective groan, as if the administration had just taken a punch in the gut. As President Clinton boarded a helicopter to spend the night at his Camp David retreat, a reporter asked him what he thought of Starr’s