TIME: Almanac 1995

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<text id=92TT1624> <title> July 20, 1992: Clinton's Second Chance </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1992 July 20, 1992 Olympic Special </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> COVER STORIES, Page 22 BILL CLINTON and AL GORE Clinton's Second Chance </hdr><body> Fashioning an all-Southern, baby-boomer ticket and offering a retooled economic program, the Democratic candidate readies himself for a grueling, down-and-dirty fall campaign By MICHAEL KRAMER Six months ago, he was dead. And then he was dead again. And again. And again. And in the end, he may be politically dead for real: more than half of all voters still harbor "major doubts" about Bill Clinton's character and values. But for now, Clinton is The Man. His hapless primary competitors, the cowardice of others who shied from the fight, and his own dogged (and at times ruthless) determination conspired to have Clinton appear in the sweltering Arkansas sun last Thursday not only alive and well -- his party's candidate for President -- but the creator, almost literally, of another just like him. Nominate one, get one free. So there they were, two perfectly coiffed, freshly scrubbed, oh-so-earnest fortysomething white Baptist Southerners in blue suits and ties, ignoring the sweat on their faces (as did the adoring blond wives at their sides), two self-confident moderates proclaiming themselves The Answer, The Change. They will rescue us from our malaise, says Clinton, because Americans don't really hate politics, we are just "fed up with failure" -- and failure is decidedly not what these two survivors are about. How could it be? Clinton and Gore lust for the pinnacle, but their motives are pure: "I tell you truthfully," said Gore with a straight face (the same Gore, by the way, who previously derided as a "political dead end" the position he now covets), "I didn't seek this . . . I didn't expect it. I'm here for one simple reason: I love my country." A few hours later, slumped in a blue leather chair in the Governor's mansion, Clinton told TIME (in a rare display of introspection) that while he knows a great deal about an awful lot, what he knows best of all is how lucky he is. "In effect," Clinton said, "I'm being given a chance to start again," an opportunity he is determined not to blow, a possibility confirmed by a dramatic increase in the number of people who now say Clinton is "trustworthy" enough to be President (from only 39% in April to 58% today). The state of play could be quite different. Clinton could be 20, even 30, points ahead of George Bush; the President could be considering life after defeat; and Ross Perot could be doing whatever it is that makes a self-described "world class" businessman world class. The nation's economy is growing at the slowest rate since World War II; the recession from hell is claiming those who never heard of unemployment benefits; more people than ever before say the country is on the "wrong track"; and Bush, if he has a clue, is keeping it secret. Clinton should be planning the transition but, as he says, "the politics of personal destruction have been proved very effective." It is a measure of Clinton's fortitude that he is even within striking distance. His equanimity in the face of charges that have driven others to retirement is almost superhuman. But here he is, the nominee, able to peruse a long list of vice-presidential possibilities before deciding to clone himself -- and to find an even better, or at least less hobbled, version of himself at that. But for a certain arrogance and a definite slickness, Al Gore is Clinton without flaws, the first expression of Clinton's second chance. "Do no harm" is the first rule of vice-presidential selection. "A running mate may not help you," Richard Nixon once said, "but he can certainly hurt you." Gore will appeal in the South and to environmentalists, say the talking points Clinton's aides distributed to the faithful last Friday. Gore's support for the Persian Gulf war will reassure Reagan Democrats. Gore's Ozzie-and-Harriet marriage and his wife's crusade against rock lyrics will add some much needed "family values" points to the ticket. Above all -- it is the No. 1 talking point after the obligatory assertion that Gore could succeed Clinton without missing a beat -- Gore represents John Kennedy's earlier claim that the "torch has been passed to a new generation" -- and this much, at least, is certainly true. Clinton and Gore are the baby boomers (two of almost 80 million) taking on the last of the World War II-era leadership cadre -- which has enjoyed an uninterrupted run from that conflict's supreme commander for Europe (Eisenhower) to its youngest naval aviator (Bush). But crowing about the "generational thing" is little more than an obvious way of playing the cards that Clinton dealt himself. Had he chosen Lee Hamilton, as seemed likely for a while, the Clintonians' spin would have pushed regional balance, foreign-policy experience and aged wisdom. The fact is, the only problem Clinton had to avoid was a post-selection examination that could find his No. 2 wanting. With Gore, the chances for such a disaster are minimized. He is, as the ticket's pollster says, a "prudent" choice. Having run for President himself four years ago, Gore comes to the '92 race pre-scrutinized. He could turn people off (he can bore and appear obsequious, and sanctimony is often his stock in trade), but Al Gore will not embarrass. As Clinton recasts his campaign for the fall, his selection of Gore is only one of several significant moves. The easiest, this week's convention, will be over in a flash. In days that some can still recall, national-party conventions witnessed the heaviest lifting; party bosses actually selected the candidates. Today conventions are little more than nationally televised pep rallies, quickly forgotten junkets that can nevertheless doom a candidate's chances if they deteriorate into party-wrecking brawls. The TV exposure routinely provides the ticket a temporary bounce (4 points in the polls, on average), but the lingering memory of an unseemly tussle can cause voters to conclude that a candidate who can't control even a meaningless event cannot be trusted with big power. To assure that no such perception takes hold, Clinton has already done much. He has striven mightily to calm the Democrats' traditional battles: crafty negotiating has held platform fights to a minimum; a fair amount of begging secured Mario Cuomo's participation as nominator; and -- no small matter -- Clinton's handling of Jesse Jackson, while dampening minority enthusiasm (at least for now), has undoubtedly aided his desire to reach for the center, which, after all, is where the votes are. But there is more to do. A harmonious conclave can leave fat cats smiling and help dent the campaign's $4 million debt. And if Clinton avoids a litany of policy prescriptions in favor of an evocative recitation of his life story, his acceptance speech can kick off the general election campaign in a positive light few would have dreamed possible last February. Of perhaps greater importance is Clinton's latest economic plan -- the third, if anyone's counting. In broad strokes, Clinton has changed his priorities dramatically. He used to emphasize deficit reduction and tax breaks for the middle class, but now considers "investment" the key to economic growth. Unfortunately, since everything he does and says should be geared toward repressing the conclusion that he is too slick for high office, Clinton is still loath to confess the change. He continues to deny the obvious; his advocacy of a middle-class tax-rate cut was a sop to New Hampshire's strapped primary voters, and his scaling back of that promise today merely confirms a new and more sober political and economic stance for the fall effort. The real reason for the new emphasis was stated by one of Clinton's top economic advisers two weeks ago: "Once we got into the numbers," said Harvard's Robert Reich, "once we saw what it was going to require to develop a growth strategy . . .and education ((reform)) and infrastructure -- you can't do it all, you can't give everybody everything." Clinton could endorse Reich's honest explanation, but he won't. Against the evidence, he protests that he scaled back his middle-class tax-rate cut because of a worsening deficit. In fact, between the appearance of the tax-cut notion last winter and its truncation three weeks ago, the numbers changed hardly at all. And it was he, not the media and his rivals, who made "too much" of the idea. Tax relief for the middle class was the centerpiece of Clinton's first economic plan and a staple of his early stump speeches and TV commercials. Despite the discomfort Clinton shows when challenged on such matters, his new economic plan is, on balance, both wiser and more promising than his earlier efforts and a far sight better than the Administration's proposals (as well as Ross Perot's, of course, since Perot is 10 days beyond his own deadline for getting real on the issues). Clinton still won't seriously tackle the spiraling cost of entitlement programs, and his health-care reforms, which he identifies as the "key to everything," require further work. But as his proposals are elaborated, they could resonate with an electorate "fed up with failure." And when the debates come this fall -- the events he is counting on for victory, since all else in the campaign is designed merely to keep him close in the polls -- Clinton alone may be able to offer a coherent, optimistic future for a nation apoplectic about decline. Which is not to say that the low road won't be traveled or that George Bush and his surrogates will be the only attack dogs in the race. "Every time somebody hits me," Clinton said last winter, "I do my best to take their heads off. And it's worked pretty well." Which is putting it mildly. During the primaries, when Clinton seemed headed for oblivion, he struck back viciously. When Paul Tsongas was gaining in Florida, Clinton erroneously claimed that Tsongas favored cutting Social Security benefits. When Jerry Brown emerged as the "anyone but Clinton" alternative, Clinton said Brown opposed abortion, which was simply untrue. Gore too will probably join the fray. He predicts a "long, hard fight," and he proved in 1988 that he can give as good as he gets. In fact, it was Mr. Straight himself who first struck at the Massachusetts prison-furlough program, which the Republicans then spun into the infamous Willie Horton commercials. And now that the people who brought us Willie Horton are back with a new anti-Clinton ad campaign, this cycle's candidate is signaling clearly that he won't pull a Dukakis and roll over without a fight. Clinton told TIME he is "not surprised" by a 60-sec. spot that invites the curious to call a number on the screen to "get to know Bill Clinton the way Gennifer Flowers did." "This is the way the Republicans make a living in national politics," says Clinton, who scornfully dismisses the President's profession of innocence and Bush's command that his troops lay off the "sleaze." "He could stop this stuff . . . in a heartbeat," says Clinton. Not to worry, though, Clinton promises: he won't stoop. "I don't want to get into the same thing they do," he says. But others might, right? Right, says Clinton, alluding to the recent Spy magazine article detailing the President's alleged womanizing. "You know," he says, "when you live by the sword, you have to be careful." Uh-huh. O.K. Enjoy the week -- and then sit back and fasten your seatbelts. Revel in the sweetness and the wholesome politics while you can. It won't last long. </body></article> </text>