Time - Man of the Year/Time_Man_of_the_Year_Compact_Publishing_3YX-Disc-1_Compact_Publishing_1993.iso/moy/122892/1228unk.000

Text File | 1993-04-08 | 6KB | 117 lines

                                                                                CLINTON'S PEOPLE, Page 25

They Call Him Mack the Nice


Everyone loves presidential pal THOMAS MCLARTY now, but
wait till he's been chief of staff for a day

By MICHAEL DUFFY/LITTLE ROCK -- With reporting by Ratu Kamlani/
New York


    Is Thomas McLarty, Bill Clinton's kindergarten classmate,
just too nice a guy to be White House chief of staff? At first
that appears to be the case: the mild-mannered McLarty greets
a visitor with an open, guileless smile, an almost whispered
hello and a courtly bow more suited to a maitre d' than to the
CEO of a FORTUNE 500 company. He doesn't hold "meetings" or give
"interviews" but instead likes to "visit" with friends and
colleagues. Such humility might seem a hazard in the job that
got the better of John Sununu and Sam Skinner.

    But Bill Clinton is no George Bush, and it is no accident
that the new chief of staff lacks the hardballer's callouses of
his predecessors. Rather than letting a lone chief of staff
bring a narrow set of final decisions to him, as Bush did,
Clinton will spend much of his time debating the pros and cons
of issues with his deputies. "I don't see the job as a
gatekeeper or as an enforcer. I really do see it as a supporting
role," says McLarty. He intends to be an honest broker who will
carry out orders, keep a low profile and make sure that those
who disagree do so, as he puts it, "in an agreeable way."

    Clinton's aides say McLarty will prosper because he enjoys
the longtime trust of both the President-elect and his wife. In
Arkansas, where politics is a kind of state-sponsored blood
sport, McLarty is almost universally admired.

    Those who know him say he is an organizational whiz who
glows with confidence and is able to get his way without making
personal attacks. Known widely as "Mack," he has built an
unusual degree of loyalty across political lines simply by being
direct and honest. One of the few people in Clinton's inner
circle with private business experience, McLarty ran his
family's chain of Ford dealerships for 15 years and recalls the
pain of making what he calls "better-bad choices," which
included firing family members and close friends who didn't
measure up. "I don't think you have to be autocratic or
meanspirited," he says, "but decisions have to be made, and I
know how to put the periods on the ends of sentences."

    McLarty's greatest asset is his 41-year relationship with
the President-elect. During the past year, Clinton spoke
frequently in private about the importance of staying "grounded"
in the face of so much new attention. Clinton's defeat in his
1980 attempt for a second gubernatorial term taught him that he
could get too arrogant for his own good. When he asked McLarty
earlier this month to consider the chief of staff's job, Clinton
told his old friend that he wanted someone who could look the
most powerful man on earth in the eye, remind him of his roots
and tell him he was messing up. "I plan to talk straight," said
McLarty. "The President-elect expects me to do that, just as I
have for 40 years now."

    McLarty and Clinton first teamed up in Miss Mary Perkins'
kindergarten class in Hope, Arkansas. Though Clinton moved north
to Hot Springs in the second grade, the two boys saw each other
during the summers, when Clinton visited his grandparents. In
high school both attended Arkansas Boys State -- McLarty was
elected governor; Clinton was tapped for Boys Nation, which led
to a trip to Washington and a legendary handshake with J.F.K.
Though each loved politics, they weren't identical: McLarty was
a varsity quarterback while Clinton was a leader of the Hot
Springs High School band. McLarty attended the University of
Arkansas but was visited often by his Georgetown friend. During
one trip, Clinton and McLarty were walking down a Fayetteville
street when Clinton happened to glance in a store window. Seeing
his reflection and that of his shorter and slighter friend,
Clinton remarked, "McLarty, when we get to be 45, people are
going to think I was the football player and you were in the
band."

    After college McLarty went into his family's auto
business. In 1985 he became chairman of Arkla, Inc., a
natural-gas distribution firm that was struggling under
deregulation and a host of bad deals. McLarty tried to cut costs
and expand markets, but increasing debts have driven the
company's stock down almost 50% since he took over.

    Modest in every way, McLarty admits a weakness for movies
and likes to walk several miles a day. He is known as a
white-knuckle flyer. "He sees a cloud," said transition official
Skip Rutherford, "and goes to the cockpit to consult with the
pilot."

    McLarty was part of Clinton's campaign from the start. He
helped raise $960,000 at a single Little Rock dinner last year,
a feat that helped secure Clinton's status as an early front
runner. By the end of the campaign, McLarty had emerged as a
quiet consigliere, the only homegrown official on Clinton's
tight transition board of eight. About his role in choosing
Cabinet officers, McLarty will say only, "I was privileged to
participate."

    Such discretion may serve McLarty well in one of the
world's most stressful jobs. Late last week, departing White
House chief of staff James Baker telephoned McLarty. "He called
with congratulations," said McLarty, "and we talked about how
maybe both congratulations and condolences were in order."