Living History (19 page)

Hair and fashion were my first clues. For most of my life I had paid little attention to my clothes. I liked headbands. They were easy, and I couldn’t imagine that they suggested anything good, bad or indifferent about me to the American public. But during the campaign, some of my friends began a mission to spruce up my appearance. They brought me racks of clothes to try on, and they told me the headband had to go. What they understood, and I didn’t, was that a First Lady’s appearance matters. I was no longer representing only myself. I was asking the American people to let me represent them in a role that has conveyed everything from glamour to motherly comfort.

My good friend Linda Bloodworth-Thomason suggested that a friend of hers in Los Angeles, the hairstylist Christophe Schatteman, cut my hair. She was convinced it would improve my appearance. I thought the whole notion was a stretch. But soon I was like a kid in a candy store, trying out every style I could. Long hair, short hair, bangs, flips, braids and buns. This was a new universe and it turned out to be fun. But my eclectic experimentation spawned stories about how I could never stick with any hairstyle and what that revealed about my psyche.

Early in the campaign I also got a glimpse of the difficulties of serving in what is, by definition, a derivative position. I was Bill’s principal surrogate on the campaign trail. I wanted to support his campaign and to advance his ideas, but as we had already learned from Bill’s “buy one, get one free” remark, I had to be careful where I stepped. I had taken leave from my law firm and resigned from all of the charitable and corporate boards on which I served. That meant leaving the board of Wal-Mart, on which I had sat for six years at the invitation of Sam Walton, who taught me a great deal about corporate integrity and success. While on the board, I chaired a committee that looked into ways that Wal-Mart could become more environmentally sensitive in its practices, and I worked to promote a “Buy America” program that helped put people to work and saved jobs around the country. Resigning from the Wal-Mart board and others like the Children’s Defense Fund left me feeling vulnerable and unsettled. I had worked fulltime during my marriage to Bill and valued the independence and identity that work provided.

Now I was solely “the wife of,” an odd experience for me.

My new status hit home over something mundane: I had ordered new stationery to answer all the campaign mail I was receiving. I had chosen cream paper with my name, Hillary Rodham Clinton, printed neatly across the top in navy blue. When I opened the box I saw that the order had been changed so that the name on it was Hillary Clinton.

Evidently someone on Bill’s staff decided that it was more politically expedient to drop “Rodham,” as if it were no longer part of my identity. I returned the stationery and ordered another batch.

After Bill won the California, Ohio and New Jersey primaries on June 2, his nomination was assured, but his election was not. After all the negative publicity in the campaign, he was running third in the polls behind Ross Perot and President Bush. He decided to reintroduce himself to America and began appearing on popular television shows. Thanks to a suggestion from Mandy Grunwald, a consultant who had joined the campaign, he played the saxophone on The Arsenio Hall Show. His staff also persuaded me to give more interviews and to agree to a People magazine story, complete with a cover photo that included Chelsea. I was not enthusiastic but finally was persuaded by the argument that most Americans didn’t even know we had a child. On the one hand, I was pleased that we had sheltered Chelsea from the media and protected her during the brutal primary season. On the other hand, I believed that being a mother was the most important job I had ever had. If people didn’t know that, they certainly couldn’t understand us. The article was fine, but it prompted me to restate my position that Chelsea deserved her privacy, which, I believe, is essential for any child to develop and explore her own choices in life. So Bill and I established guidelines: When Chelsea was with us as part of our family―

attending an event with Bill or me―the press would naturally cover her. But I would not agree to more articles or interviews that included her. This was one of the best decisions Bill and I made, and we stuck with it through the next eight years. I’m also grateful that, with few exceptions, the press respected her privacy and her right to be left alone. As long as Chelsea did not seek out their attention or do something that was of public interest, she would be off-limits.

In July 1992, the Democratic Party held its convention in New York City to formally nominate Bill and his running mate, Senator Al Gore from Tennessee. New York was a great choice. Although we had nothing to do with its selection as the host city, New York was one of Bill’s and my favorite cities in the world, and we were delighted that it would be the place where Bill was nominated for President. Bill had chosen Al after an exhaustive process led by Warren Christopher, a former Deputy Secretary of State and distinguished lawyer from California. I had met Al and his wife, Tipper, at political events during the 1980s, but neither Bill nor I knew them well. Some political observers were surprised that Bill would select a running mate who seemed so like him. Southerners from neighboring states, they were close in age, of the same religion and considered to be serious students of public policy. But Bill respected Al’s record of public service and believed he would add strengths to Bill’s own background.

Many people have told me that the picture of Al, Tipper, their children, Bill, Chelsea and me―all standing on the porch of the Governor’s Mansion on the day Bill publicly announced his selection―perfectly captured the energy of the campaign and its potential for change. I think what I felt that day reflected the emotions of many Americans. It was a new generation’s turn to lead, and people conveyed an optimism about the prospects for a new direction for our country. On the final night of the convention we were giddy and elated as we all hugged and danced on the stage.

The next morning, July 17, we started on our magical bus tours or, as I called them, “Bill, Al, Hillary and Tipper’s Excellent Adventures.”

The bus trips were the joint brainchild of David Wilhelm, the campaign manager, and Susan Thomases, whom Bill and I had known for more than twenty years. She was a warmhearted friend and a hard driving lawyer, and she understood that good campaign scheduling had to tell a story about a candidate, had to illustrate his concerns and plans so that voters understood what made him tick and what positions he’d champion. Susan moved with her husband and son to Little Rock to supervise campaign scheduling for the general election. She and David wanted to build on the convention’s excitement and drama and thought that a bus trip through battleground states would visually convey the partnership and generational change Bill and Al represented, as well as their message: “Putting People First.”

Traveling on the buses gave us all a chance to get to know one another better. Bill, Al, Tipper and I spent hours talking, eating, waving out the window and stopping the bus convoy to conduct impromptu rallies. Loose and relaxed, Al was quick with one-liners and deadpan comments. He quickly learned that a small crowd up ahead on the side of the road, no matter where we were or what time it was, would tempt Bill to yell, “Stop the bus.” Al would peer out the window ahead, see one lone soul waving or watching, and shout out, “I feel a sojourn coming on.” When we were met by hundreds of patient supporters as we pulled into Erie, Pennsylvania, at 2 A.M., Al delivered a rousing version of his standard appeal stump speech: “What’s up―health care costs and interest rates―should be down, and what’s down―employment and hope―should be up. We have to change direction.” Then he announced to the three of us―who were barely keeping our eyes open―“I think there are two people drinking coffee in the allnight diner around the corner. Let’s go see them.” Even Bill passed on that offer.

Tipper and I talked for hours about our experiences as political spouses, our children and what we hoped Bill and Al could do to help solve the country’s problems. Tipper had become controversial when she spoke out against violent and pornographic music lyrics in 1985. I admired her willingness to take a stand and empathized with the criticism she had encountered. I also admired the work she had done on behalf of the homeless and mentally ill. An accomplished photographer, she helped chronicle the campaign with her ever-present camera.

One evening in the rural Ohio River Valley, we stopped at the farm of Gene Branstool for a barbecue and a meeting with local farmers. As we were getting ready to leave, Branstool said some folks had gathered at a crossroads a few miles away and we should stop. It was a lovely summer night, and people were sitting on their tractors waving flags while children stood at the edge of fields holding signs and welcoming us. My favorite said, “Give us eight minutes and we’ll give you eight years!” In the waning light, we were astonished to see thousands of people filling the large field.

From Vandalia, Illinois to St. Louis, Missouri to Corsicana, Texas to Valdosta, Georgia, we were met by similarly huge crowds radiating a joyous intensity that I have never seen anywhere else in politics.

Back in Little Rock, the vast third floor of the old Arkansas Gazette Building served as Clinton campaign headquarters. James Carville insisted that people from each part of the campaign―including press, political and research―work together in the same large space. It was a brilliant and effective way to diminish the hierarchy and encourage the free flow of information and ideas. Every day at 7 A.M. and 7 P.M., Carville and Stephanopoulos held meetings in what was dubbed the “war room” to assess the news of the day and formulate a response to news stories and attacks from the Bush campaign.

The idea was that no attack on Bill would go unanswered. The physical setup of the war room allowed Carville, Stephanopoulos and the “rapid response” team to react immediately to correct distortions put out by the opposition and to work aggressively to get out our message throughout the day.

One night Patti Solis’s phone rang in the back of the headquarters in Little Rock. Another campaign aide, Steve Rabinowitz, rushed to pick up the receiver and, for no particular reason, blurted out: “Hillaryland!” He was embarrassed to hear my voice on the line, but I thought he had come up with a great nickname. Patti loved it, too, and tacked a sign on the wall behind her desk that said “Hillaryland.” The name stuck.

Over time, my confidence that Bill would win the election grew. Americans wanted new leadership. Twelve years of Republicans in the White House had quadrupled the national debt, produced large and growing budget deficits and led to a stagnant economy in which too many people couldn’t find or keep a decent job, or afford health care insurance for themselves and their children. President Bush had vetoed the Family and Medical Leave Act twice and had backed off women’s rights. Though a supporter of family planning when he was Ambassador to the United Nations and as a Texas Congressman, Bush became an anti-choice Vice President and President. With rates of crime, unemployment, welfare dependency and homelessness climbing, the Bush Administration seemed increasingly out of touch.

To Bill and me, no issue was more distressing than the health care crisis in America.

Everywhere we went, we heard story after story about the inequities of the health care system. Growing numbers of citizens were being deprived of necessary health care because they were uninsured and didn’t have the means to pay their own medical bills.

In New Hampshire, Bill and I met Ronnie and Rhonda Machos, whose son, Ronnie Jr., had been born with a serious heart condition. When Ronnie lost his job and his health insurance, he faced crushing medical bills to provide the care his son needed. The Gores told us about the Philpott family from Georgia, whose seven-year-old son, Brett, had shared a hospital room with young Albert Gore after his devastating car accident. Al and Tipper spoke often about the tremendous financial burden the Philpott family had faced because of Brett’s illness.

As moving as each story was, we knew that for every tragic case we heard about or witnessed, thousands more went untold.

I don’t think Bill expected that health care reform would become a cornerstone of his campaign. After all, James Carville’s famous war room slogan was “It’s the economy, stupid.” But the more Bill studied the problem, the clearer it became that reforming health care insurance and reining in skyrocketing costs were integral to fixing the economy, as well as taking care of people’s urgent medical needs. “Don’t forget about health care,” Bill told his staff over and over again. They began to collect data, including a study by Ira Magaziner, the mover and shaker I had first heard of in 1969 when we were featured in Life magazine after delivering our college commencement speeches. Bill had met Ira the same year, when Ira arrived at Oxford University as a Rhodes Scholar.

Bill, Ira and a growing team of expert advisers began developing ideas about how to tackle health care after the election. Bill previewed those plans in a campaign book entitled Putting People First and in a speech he delivered in September setting forth his goals to address the health care crisis. The reforms he outlined included controlling spiraling health care costs, reducing paperwork and insurance industry red tape, making prescription drugs more affordable and, most important, guaranteeing that all Americans had health insurance. We knew that trying to fix the health care system would be a huge political challenge. But we believed that if voters chose Bill Clinton on November 3, it meant that change was what they wanted.

Bill and I spent the last twentyfour hours of the 1992 campaign crisscrossing the country, making final stops in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; Cleveland, Ohio; Detroit, Michigan; St. Louis, Missouri; Paducah, Kentucky; McAllen and Ft. Worth, Texas; and Albuquerque, New Mexico. We saw the sun rise in Denver, Colorado, and landed back in Little Rock, where Chelsea met us at the airport at around 10:30 A.M. After a quick stop to change clothes, the three of us went to our polling site, where I proudly cast my vote for Bill to be my President. We spent the day at the Governor’s Mansion with family and friends, making calls to supporters around the country. At 10:47 P.M., the television networks declared that Bill had won.