Time - Man of the Year/Time_Man_of_the_Year_Compact_Publishing_3YX-Disc-1_Compact_Publishing_1993.iso/moy/113092/11309928.000

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                                                                                THE TRANSITION, Page 28

Mr. Clinton Goes to Washington


The President-elect touched all the right bases in his victory
lap around the capital, but his visit showed that the struggle
over his body and soul is just beginning

By MARGARET CARLSON and MICHAEL DUFFY/WASHINGTON - With reporting
by Nancy Traver/Washington


    If Bill Clinton's 36-hour stopover in Washington last week
prefigures the next four years, the nation is in for a spell of
dizzying presidential activity. Clinton seemed everywhere at
once. There he was at the White House sitting in the Chief
Executive's wing chair by the fireplace. Moments later he was
walking a grim inner-city block talking to valiant shop owners.
At dawn the next day, he ordered a postjog cup of decaf at
McDonald's before heading off to breakfast on Capitol Hill.

    Every President-elect transits in his own way, but
Clinton's moves so far show that he has studied transitions
past, mastering his predecessors' wiser moves and avoiding the
dumb ones. Careful to preserve his outsider status, Clinton has
updated Jimmy Carter's common-man routine while making overtures
to the powerful Georgetown set that Carter foolishly spurned.
To preserve control of his nascent Administration, Clinton has
said he himself would name not only Cabinet officers but also
their aides and the aides of their aides. Like Bush four years
ago, Clinton has moved quickly to distinguish himself from a
passive predecessor -- but he has harnessed his whirlwind to a
clearer purpose. He has even let it leak that he might tap
Bush's wiser aides for occasional advice, shrewdly keeping their
criticism of him in check.

    Even before the trip began, it was evident that Clinton's
victory lap in Washington would be as much about symbols as
substance. The Clinton camp found itself in a grudge match with
its old rivals over who was the better steward of taxpayers'
money. Top transition aide Warren Christopher initially asked
the White House to provide Clinton with government aircraft and
the use of Blair House. But Christopher found the costs
prohibitive and opted instead for a chartered plane and suites
in the Hay-Adams hotel. A wounded Marlin Fitzwater pronounced
himself offended by the postgame round of one-upmanship. But
when it turned out that the cost of extra security for the hotel
made the arrangement a financial wash, the old order and the new
declared a truce over who was more perk averse. "If they were
offended," said Clinton spokeswoman Dee Dee Myers, "we
apologize."

    If Bush was still smarting from his defeat, it was hard to
tell. Ever the gracious host, he walked outside to greet the
President-elect on the South Lawn and ushered him in like the
new boy at school. The air in the Rose Garden was otherwise
unmistakably thick: Bush aides who normally cram the colonnade
to see famous faces stayed defiantly in their cubicles; a Bush
press officer curtly warned his Clinton counterpart that the
boxwood and the decorative cabbage plants were a no-spin zone.
Inside the Oval Office, the atmosphere was warmer: with no aides
present, the two men met for 105 minutes. While no one was
saying exactly what was discussed, Clinton later showed some
movement toward Bush's conciliatory stance on China, though an
aide later said he still opposed most-favored-nation status for
Beijing.

    But moving to town is not all statecraft. The Clintons
wanted to show that they were the kind of folks who would
respect the old neighborhood, not put on airs or throw wild
parties. Ending a 12-year reign is not always pretty: some
careers will be made and others ruined. Some lobbyists will be
able to double their hourly rates, while others will have way
too much time to smell the flowers. For every star born, a nova
will explode and die. The challenge for the newcomers is
choosing whether to concentrate their attention on the people
who wanted them to come to town or the people who didn't.

    The Clintons did both, spending time not only with the
Bushes but also with Republicans on the Hill. After breakfasting
with Democratic lawmakers, the President-elect attended a
bipartisan lunch of congressional leaders. Honeymoon pooper Bob
Dole moderated his dyspeptic tone, noting how grateful
Republicans are to get anything these days -- even a free lunch.
No one, not even Dole, seemed able to resist Clinton's
blandishments: before the President-elect arrived at his office
for a private chat, Dole could be seen leaning back in his
chair, feet on the desk, looking expectantly into the hallway
for the television cameras that shadowed Clinton all day. But
the Clinton camp had vetoed coverage of the meeting, fearful the
tryst would turn testy. Not to worry; Dole later termed it
"congenial."

    As expected, Democrats were blowing nothing but kisses at
Clinton -- although for a party accustomed to working without
adult supervision, the arrival of a Democratic President is not
an unmixed blessing. Many Democrats share a love of gridlock
with Republicans; doing the wrong thing usually causes more
trouble than doing nothing. But Thursday, all such reservations
were dropped. House Energy and Commerce Committee chairman John
Dingell pronounced the new man smarter than Reagan and more
substantive than Bush. If that seemed like faint praise on both
counts, crusty Dan Rostenkowski flatly declared himself
"flabbergasted" by how much Clinton knew. "The chairman,"
Rostenkowski's spokesman added later, "is in love." One piece
of real business was conducted: Clinton was lent some experts
from the Ways and Means Committee to work on his tax proposals.

    In a gesture meant to show that he was the President of
the downtrodden as well as the rich and powerful, Clinton spent
more than an hour touring a block-and-a-half stretch of Georgia
Avenue. It was a rare foray into urban-blighted territory most
Presidents never cover except by chopper. Though appreciative
residents and shop owners tried hard to spruce up the strip by
hosing down the sidewalks and Windexing the bulletproof
Plexiglas protecting cashiers, the neighborhood is struggling.
Supermarkets are hard to find, fast food and liquor are not, and
no one could get the pay phones working. That was not a problem
a few hours later and 25 blocks away, when guests arriving to
dine with the Clintons at the home of power lobbyist Vernon
Jordan came armed with briefcases and cellular phones.

    The East Wing hand-off was, if anything, more graceful
than the transfer of power in the West Wing. Barbara Bush is
intent on turning over the White House in
get-back-the-security-deposit condition. After embracing the new
tenant, Mrs. Bush pointed out the idiosyncrasies of the
property, including the press corps that comes free with the
four-year lease. "Avoid this crowd like the plague," she said.
"And if they quote you, make damn sure they heard you." Replied
Mrs. Clinton: "I know that feeling already."

    Indeed she does. The Clintons will be the most scrutinized
Washington couple since pandas Ling Ling and Hsing Hsing arrived
from China in 1972. Let the new First Lady so much as utter a
word of policy out loud and it's back to makeover. This drives
the feminist police crazy, but Hillary herself was at pains on
Thursday to deny a televised report that she had told the Secret
Service she prefers the term Presidential Partner to First Lady.

    Hillary went about her business with no gaffes, speaking
to the Children's Defense Fund, sipping tea with Barbara
(though not pouring it), and getting advice on raising her
12-year-old daughter Chelsea. Mrs. Bush suggested that her guest
might knock down a wall to create one large bedroom. Barbara
also recommended the National Cathedral School, where her
daughter Dorothy went, because faculty members there know how
to handle the children of high government officials.

    It was left to Bill Clinton to stir up the cauldron of
Lady Macbeth controversy about his wife's role. The
President-elect volunteered at a press conference last Monday
that his wife "talked a lot and knew more about some things than
we did" at a dinner for the Democratic leadership in Little
Rock. (House Speaker Tom Foley and Senate majority leader George
Mitchell did not respond when asked later if that was true.)

    But if the Clintons adroitly navigated Washington's
political shoals last week, trickier decisions loom ahead. Many
of the Governor's more liberal advisers note that the man who
has been criticized for trying to be all things to all people
has taken a distinctly centrist tack of late. Last week Clinton
named former South Carolina Governor Richard Riley to be the
transition team's lead headhunter. Nor is Riley the only
moderate Southerner on board: Al From, head of the Democratic
Leadership Council and the transition's domestic-policy chief,
is seen as increasingly influential. "The folks who expected the
Trojan horse to open up and George McGovern to climb out," said
an aide, "are surprised to see that the Trojan horse opened up
and Al From and Dick Riley got out."

    Meanwhile, Clinton has yet to decide whether deficits
matter. For months, his polyglot economic team has differed over
the wisdom of stimulating the economy through tax cuts or
increased spending at the price of boosting the federal deficit
and driving up long-term interest rates. The deficit hawks --
more conservative by nature -- want the long-term considerations
to predominate. The deficit doves -- typically more liberal --
say it can wait. In recent weeks there is a growing consensus
between the two groups that the markets might support a $30
billion-to-$50 billion one-shot stimulus if it is paired with
a credible plan to cut the deficit later. But Clinton has never
said much about what the long-term blueprint would look like.

    Until last week Bill Clinton's most memorable trip to
Washington took place in 1963, when as a Boys Nation
representative from Arkansas, he briefly met President John F.
Kennedy in a routine grip-and-grin reception in the Rose Garden.
Thirty years later, the grainy footage of the two men's quick
handshake, broadcast repeatedly in splendid slow motion, helped
stake Clinton's claim to representing a new generation of
leadership.

    Likewise, history will probably remember Clinton's visit
here last week more for the pictures it produced than the
battles it presaged. But everyone wants a piece of the new man:
even neighborhood Baptist churches have begun quietly to vie
for the city's newest parishioner. The struggle over President
Clinton's body and soul is just beginning.