It will not come as news that Bill Clinton has a temper and can’t decide, or that the White House is chaotic. What will get Washington talking about Woodward’s latest book (336 pages. Simon & Schuster. $24), to be published this week, are the revealing details and you-are-there immediacy. Books and various publications, including Newsweek, routinely purport to take readers ““inside’’ powerful institutions. Woodward delivers on the promise in a way that other journalists almost never do.
The Washington Post reporter builds his tale around the making of Clinton’s economic plan in 1993. Budget stories tend to be boring, and readers may not have patience for endless rounds of inconclusive meetings, however vividly described. Woodward offers no scandals and doesn’t even mention the name Paula Jones. But the turmoil at the White House, together with Clinton’s penchant for brinksmanship, makes the tale exciting – and not a little unnerving.
There are, in Woodward’s story, no real heroes, with the possible exception of economic adviser Bob Rubin. In a town where ““face time’’ is everything, Rubin, a quietly self-confident investment banker, does the unthinkable: he routinely gives back his al-lotted 15 minutes a day with the president if he has nothing to say. Treasury Secre-tary Lloyd Bentsen, an old Washington hand, shows some cunning and backbone. Almost everyone else in the inner circle is slightly overwhelmed, or long on ego and short on sense.
Clinton began the 1992 campaign looking for a ““Big Idea’’ that would save the middle class from economic decline. He never found one. Clinton himself is well aware that his proposal of a tax cut for the middle class is a fraud. No matter: his folksily know-nothing adviser James Carville declares, ““All the wrong people are against it, so it must be right.’’ (Among other Carville economic insights: ““I always ask the question: why does a dog lick his dick? Because he can. Why don’t we balance the budget? Because we can’t.’')
Once elected, Clinton listens to Federal Reserve chairman Alan Greenspan, who tells him he has to cut the federal deficit by $140 billion a year or face the risk of economic ““catastrophe.’’ Although the Fed is supposed to be independent from the White House and Congress, Woodward demonstrates, through leaked memoranda, how Greenspan was in some ways the ““ghostwriter’’ of Clinton’s economic plan.
Clinton’s political advisers like Paul Begala and Mandy Grunwald are outraged that the president has been hijacked by the ““Wall Street elites’’ and policy wonk ““propeller heads.’’ Begala witlessly dubs budget director Panetta, who wants to cut the deficit, as ““the poster boy of economic constipation.’’ Begala asks Alice Rivlin, the deputy budget director, to help explain why the new administration is shocked, shocked to discover the size of the federal deficit. ““That’s nonsense,’’ Rivlin coldly replies. ““Bill Clinton knew where this deficit was going.''
Clinton is unhappy with his own economic plan. ““I know this thing is a turkey,’’ he confides to Begala. He is furious that he can’t spend more money on ““investments’’ like job training. ““You mean to tell me that the success of the program and my reelection hinges on the Federal Reserve and a bunch of f—ing bond traders?’’ he explodes. But in his more rational moments he realizes that the government can’t do much to help the economy, other than try to bring down interest rates. He settles for a bill that would trim the deficit, mostly by soaking the rich.
Woodward shows how perilously close the White House came to blowing the bill’s passage by Congress. Senior aide Mark Gearan compares the staff to a soccer league of 10-year-olds: ““No one stuck to his part of the field during a game. The ball – any ball – would come on the field, and everyone would go chasing it downfield.’’ Chief of staff Mack McLarty exercises little control, making promises to congressmen that other aides promptly break. Senate Finance Committee chairman Pat Moynihan compares McLarty to a Ford dealer in Little Rock, ““trying to make a sale by throwing in free floor mats.’’ The political consultants – Begala, Grunwald, et al. – flail ineffectually. Charged with providing ““The Story’’ to sell the president’s plan, the best they can do is a memo proclaiming, ““HALLELUJAH! Change is Coming.’’ Carville and pollster Stan Greenberg do have one epiphany: to make Congress ““the new Soviet Union,’’ the primary threat facing the country. The problem is that Clinton is at that very moment trying to work with Congress to pass his legislative program.
No one shows the president much respect. ““What can I do?’’ Clinton beseeches Al Gore. The vice president snaps back, ““You can get with the goddamn program!’’ In the end, Clinton is literally begging congressmen, ““I need your vote, man.’’ With Sen. Bob Kerrey of Nebraska, he gets into a shouting match. ““I really resent the argument that somehow I’m responsible for your presidency sur-viving,’’ says Kerrey. Clinton blurts back an obscenity.
Clinton manages to hang on, becoming teary as the last vote tally comes in. There is a giddy scene of him teasing his populist adviser Carville, who has cashed in on the Clinton presidency with a book contract (with excerpts to appear in Newsweek) and fat speaking fees. Since the higher taxes hit only the rich, Clinton taunts, Carville will be the only senior adviser paying more. Clinton plucks Carville’s wallet from his pocket, and $20 bills float about the Oval Office, redistributing wealth.
Woodward says little about Clinton’s next challenge – passing health reform. That is the domain of Hillary Clinton, who is a somewhat unrealized figure in Woodward’s portrait. The First Lady is fierce and, at times, the real chief of staff. She is always urging the president to ““fight,’’ although she is not always clear what for. Mrs. Clinton apparently spoke to Woodward, but one senses that she was wary and guarded.
Nearly everyone else in the upper ranks of the economic team leaked copiously to Woodward, turning over meeting notes and memos and recounting conversations blow-by-blow. The veteran investigative reporter has become part of the Washington establishment, and he used his entree to get senior government officials to open up. Most of them were afraid not to talk to Woodward, for fear that they would become the butt of the story.
Woodward writes in his usual omniscient style, putting thoughts and words into his characters’ heads without attributing his sources. Perhaps defensive about past criticisms of his mysterious sourcing (most famously, ““Deep Throat’’), Woodward turned over his notes to Yale University, which will make them public in 40 years.
Following his normal practice, Woodward makes no effort to evaluate Clinton’s presidency or render historical judgments. He prefers to let the narrative speak for itself. It is not a story to make the White House proud, despite the close-shave victory. If Clinton and his team manage health-care reform this summer as haplessly as they handled the president’s economic plan, their luck is likely to run out.
