AllPolitics - TIME This Week

Skunk At The Family Picnic

Just as Bill Clinton arrives for his Chicago coronation, his chief political strategist finds himself in a sex scandal and out of a job

By Richard Lacayo

(TIME, September 9) -- This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a blink. On Tuesday evening, returning to their suite at the Chicago Sheraton, Dick Morris' wife Eileen McGann noticed the blinking light on their bedside phone and checked their messages. It was the close of the second day of the Democratic Convention, and the Sheraton was the center of the universe, the off-white fortress where the White House inner circle lodged and the President would soon arrive. That made it the natural place for Morris, Bill Clinton's essential campaign adviser, fidgety genius and imponderable co-author of the election-year comeback. One of the messages was from the Star, a supermarket tabloid. Could Dick call back right away?

The Family

Cut to the end of the world. Morris didn't return that phone call. In the pit of his stomach, he may already have known what was coming: a major story about him and a $200-an-hour call girl. By Thursday morning, his friends and family were gathered in the hotel suite to hear him announce that he was resigning as the President's chief campaign strategist. But Morris, a New Yorker who had always been able to talk his way out of the most embarrassing jams, was so distraught he couldn't speak. A man at home in the campaigner's world of beeper, fax, phone and keyboard, he grabbed his wife's laptop. "He wrote a note on it for them to read that said how much he valued them," said his wife in an exclusive interview with TIME, "and how he hoped they would carry on."

Politics is full of stories about how quickly the movers and shakers become the moved and shaken. This one is different because Dick Morris wasn't merely an adviser to Bill Clinton. He was the keen, dry hemisphere of the President's brain, the man who put Clinton on the winning track by pushing him hard to the center on everything--budget balancing, welfare reform and above all the family concerns that dominated last week's Democratic Convention. For more than three decades, Democrats had ceded those to the G.O.P. Morris, who in recent years worked mostly for Republican candidates, had given Clinton a way to reclaim those issues. Under Morris' prodding, the President made this year a succession of family-friendly initiatives on school uniforms, V chips and teen smoking. As Bob Dole would say: Whatever.

The convention was the culmination of that Clinton-Morris calculation. The message was: We don't have parties, we have relatives, a big national family picnic. Which is why on the first day, politicians were banished from sight. Actor Christopher Reeve barely mentioned Clinton in his speech, and when he talked about government, it was to describe it as the benign paternalistic arm ready to embrace America's civic life as a mirror of the homes baby boomers grew up in. Sarah Brady, the gun-control advocate, brought her wheelchair-bound husband onstage to deliver another above-the-fray message: Guns kill kids too. And of course Hillary Rodham Clinton returned to center stage with a coolly effective defense of her own child advocacy, as the image of daughter Chelsea loomed large on the screen behind her. (Message to the Other Couple: We know about delivery rooms and tonsil operations.) Vice President Al Gore did his part in the family reunion, using the story of his sister's death from lung cancer to point out the ravages of teenage smoking.

But it was Clinton who used his speech to reassert his role as Daddy-in-Chief, while making sure to abide by the Morris-inspired axiom of triangulation politics: Keep ideology out of it, and keep it modest. The President had declared the era of Big Government over, so it would be hard to condemn him for thinking small. But when it comes to families, Clinton said, you can think big about many small things. His laundry-list speech included tuition tax credits, adoption tax credits, money for child care, child-nutrition programs, literacy initiatives, family leave, even an environmental measure to help protect vegetables. These were the bricks of Clinton's "bridge to the future," but the man who helped find them was back in Connecticut, far from the cheers.

Stephanopolis

On Wednesday, as Morris was desperately scrambling to head off his collapse, the President was on his triumphant campaign train, bound for Chicago, with a double-digit polling lead. It was enough to have White House advisers like George Stephanopoulos and Harold Ickes--skeptics by instinct, liberals by choice, and Morris opponents for those reasons and more--indulging an uncharacteristic thought: landslide. Then Morris, with his weird ignorance of his psychic predicaments, rained on his own parade.

And not just his own. When Morris fell, he hit Clinton where it hurt--in all the misgivings about the President's character that Republicans attempt to bundle into an issue. If he had done no worse than dredge up memories of Gennifer Flowers and her stories of an affair with Clinton, that would be bad enough. He also revived the enduring question about whether Clinton stands for what he stands for. When the architect of Clinton's family-friendly strategy gets caught in an infidelity, so does the President's family-friendly message. With all his clients, Republican and Democratic, Morris operated like a political chop shop, dismantling ideas from wherever to outfit his candidates with usable parts. If the final product ran well, that was success. Clinton now runs like a dream, so he may well be on cruise control and beyond damage from the Morris debacle. But if voters are cynical about the poll-driven techniques of modern politics, including the ones they respond to, Dick Morris, his rise and fall, is one reason why.

Not only did the Morris story break on the morning of Clinton's acceptance speech, but it happened during a week when the secretive consultant appeared on the cover of TIME, scoring face time with America as the impish subject of a story that billed him as "The Man Who Has Clinton's Ear." The TIME cover set off other media profiles. The rule among campaign consultants is "Don't put your head above the bunker." But when the candidates move toward the stratosphere, everything that makes the consultants human makes them want to claim credit.

Then, just as Morris was edging toward the spotlight, came the third degree. In the Star story, Sherry Rowlands, 37, a hooker who says she wants to get out of the business, claimed that over the course of about a year she and Morris met for sex almost weekly. Their alleged get-togethers took place at Morris' $440-a-day suite at the Jefferson Hotel in Washington, the nicely appointed Beltway establishment where he stayed during the week, returning on most weekends to his West Redding, Connecticut, home and Eileen, his wife of 20 years, a defense attorney.

To prove he was a big shot, Rowlands told the Star, Morris let her listen in on a phone conversation he had with the President. Morris told her before it was made public, she said, that NASA had evidence of life on Mars, and he let her read an advance copy of Hillary Clinton's convention speech. He told her his secret nickname for Clinton--"the Monster," inspired by Clinton's temper. Morris told Rowlands that he calls Hillary "the Twister," because she stirs up trouble. In a notebook that Rowlands says is her diary of the affair, she recorded Morris telling her he also called Clinton "the blind man" because "he's super-intellagent [sic] but has no common sense or compassion." She reported that Morris liked to suck her toes, has a thing for women's feet generally and one night got down "like a dog" on all fours. At that point, she said, he asked, "Can you imagine someone walking in and seeing this?"

McCurry

By last week, to borrow an old Chicago convention phrase, the whole world was watching. As it became clear to Morris on Wednesday what the Star was planning to print, he contacted several White House aides, including press secretary Mike McCurry, who was aboard Clinton's campaign train, the 21st Century Express. McCurry urged Morris not to fill him in on details. That way, when reporters asked for confirmation, McCurry could honestly claim not to know.

What Clinton's aides all knew for sure was what their guts were telling them: if the story was true, it was meltdown time. But maybe it was containable. A supermarket tabloid, they figured, might not be the most credible accuser. As the train headed for Michigan City, Indiana, its last stop before Chicago, McCurry and other Clinton aides talked about whether to present the bad news to the President, who had to keep focused on finishing his acceptance speech. Deputy chief of staff Evelyn Lieberman urged that Clinton be told right away.

Late that afternoon, the train arrived in Michigan City, where a crowd of 30,000 cheered and waved flags. Awaiting the President was a limousine that would take him to a helicopter for his final hop to Chicago. In the car his advisers Bruce Lindsey and Lieberman told him of the impending Morris story. Clinton took the news coolly, according to White House staffers. Though he can blow up over small things, big setbacks concentrate his mind. On the flight into Chicago, he and his aides played hearts, a favorite Clinton game. But even then it was becoming obvious to top White House officials that Morris might have to go.

That evening in Chicago, Morris and his wife calmly gave a dinner party at their suite for 25 guests who had worked with him on the President's campaign. Morris revealed no hint of the troubles that were eating away at him. At the convention center, where Al Gore would soon be giving his speech, McCurry got a call from senior adviser Stephanopoulos. McCurry asked him how he should fit the Morris news into the next day's briefing for reporters. Stephanopoulos had it figured. "This," he said, "is the only story you're going to deal with tomorrow."

Ickes

In a suite on the Sheraton's 31st floor, Clinton watched Gore's convention speech and the nomination roll call on television. In the room were his old friends Vernon Jordan and former White House deputy chief of staff Erskine Bowles. Clinton asked Bowles to check in with Morris and get to the bottom of his story. The political calculus was cold and clear: if the story checked out, Morris had to go. Having Bowles act as intermediary made more than one kind of sense. Since he was no longer in government service, he would not be under any obligation to pass along to the White House a last word on whether Morris had done what Rowlands claimed. (Later McCurry told reporters that the Bowles-Morris talks were "private.") Also, Clinton knew that his chief of staff, Leon Panetta, and Panetta's deputy, Ickes, were too hostile to Morris to deal with him in these circumstances. Panetta had once threatened to quit because Morris was elbowing in on White House access. Ickes had sparred with Morris since the two were rivals in New York City politics three decades ago.

At midnight Bowles headed over to the Morris suite. Morris' wife Eileen McGann told TIME last week that her husband had decided earlier that night to resign. But several Clinton aides say he argued into the night, trying to tough it out and keep his job. It wasn't until 3 a.m. that Bowles could call Panetta with the news that Morris had offered his resignation. Panetta let the President sleep, to make sure that he would be at his best for his convention acceptance speech.

Morris spent the rest of the night talking to his wife and writing the resignation statement that would be released the next morning, after he and his wife left town and headed back to Connecticut. "I will not subject my wife, family or friends to the sadistic vitriol of yellow journalism," was his only comment on the tabloid allegations. Still, Clinton aides were furious that in his statement Morris credited himself with helping the President "come back from being buried in a landslide" and that Morris ended by comparing himself to Robert Kennedy. Like himself, the strategist wrote, Kennedy regarded politics as an "honorable adventure." Morris stopped short of comparing himself to Moses in leading Clinton out of the wilderness but not into the Promised Land of his second term.

Clinton

At noon that day, Panetta and McCurry presented Clinton with a draft of the brief comment he would issue about the Morris departure, saying Morris "is my friend, and he is a superb political strategist." Later the President, his wife and Vice President Gore would all make condolence phone calls to Morris. But for now the President had other things on his mind. He inked in a few revisions to the statement and returned to work on his speech. Says McCurry: "He just kept going." And going. In his acceptance speech Clinton passed over the whole episode without mention. But every time he talked about families and children, it hung over his head like the balloons caged up in the ceiling of the convention center. The week that should have been all bounce became mostly damage control. The White House rushed to deal with parts of Rowlands' story in which she claimed Morris had shared White House information with her. Not only did Morris show her Hillary's speech, she said, but he told her in advance about Clinton's offensive against tobacco and bragged about a deal he had worked out to provide Saudi financing for scholarships for children of American veterans of the Gulf War. Clinton aides said Morris had no White House pass nor the kind of high-level clearance that would give him access to national security secrets.

Gleeful Republicans tried to contain themselves while they gauged how to make the most of the Morris blowup. In Santa Barbara, California, Bob Dole was alternately relaxing and making the occasional campaign appearance in a crucial state he still shows no serious sign of winning. At one of his appearances, a radio reporter's microphone picked up Dole talking to two supporters about the Morris scandal. Said he: "It says something about who you surround yourself with, doesn't it?"

But Republicans have to be careful about making too much out of Morris, whose clients have included such conservative Republicans as North Carolina Senator Jesse Helms and Mississippi Senator Trent Lott, the new majority leader. For now, Dole campaign sources say, they are not likely to exploit the scandal in a negative television ad. "A Morris spot would anger a substantial number of Republican heavyweights," says a Dole aide. "A scandal like this is too easy to overplay. You just stay out of the way and let it do its damage."

And what's the damage? During the bus trip, the audiences were warm to the President and unmoved by the Morris flap. Said hardware store owner Tammy Elias, 35, of Cape Girardeau, Missouri: "I never heard of him [Morris] before this week." The official White House line is that the loss of Morris is no particular loss at all. With the basic message locked in place, the campaign can go on automatic pilot. "The best political strategist is the President," says Panetta. For now, the Clinton camp insists, no new names will be called in. All this is fine with Republicans, who are hoping that Clinton will be pulled off the Morris program by serious liberals like Ickes and Stephanopoulos. Clinton pollster Mark Penn and media consultant Bill Knapp, who have already shouldered a great deal of the campaign's strategy and message work, will take on even more. Veteran consultant Bob Squier, a key Gore ally, will remain on board. But no matter how well they identify the political center, few expect them to have the same power as Morris to keep Clinton in it.

The only thing that would please Republicans more than Morris' departure would be any hint between now and November that he has secretly resumed an advisory role with the White House. Morris insisted to TIME last week that his departure from the campaign is final. Dole strategists are betting it isn't. "If they don't bring anyone else in, that means he's still running things," says a hopeful-sounding Republican. "And when that gets out, the Morris affair gets brand-new legs."

If it doesn't, Dole is still in double-digit trouble, the kind that only a few presidential candidates have pulled themselves out of after Labor Day. So long as the Morris affair is still working its way through the media system, Clinton is in some trouble too. It's true that he has been through worse moments. But this time he won't have Morris to help him get through.

--Reported by Jeffrey H. Birnbaum, J.F.O. McAllister and Eric Pooley/Chicago


More TIME This Week

tomorrow's news today
Pathfinder Personal Edition


AllPolitics home page

http://Pathfinder.com
Copyright © 1996 AllPolitics
All Rights Reserved
Terms under which this information is provided to you
http://CNN.com