TIME: Almanac 1995

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<text id=92TT2667> <title> Nov. 30, 1992: Mr. Clinton Goes to Washington </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1992 Nov. 30, 1992 Windsor: A House Dividing </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> THE TRANSITION, Page 28 Mr. Clinton Goes to Washington </hdr><body> 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. </body></article> </text>