Doyenne of the DollarsShe's got connections, and she throws great parties. Can Beth
Dozoretz bring Democrats the dough?By Viveca Novak/TIME
It's a snarky, vicious, glory-thieving place, the world of
big-bucks political fund raising. Ostensible grownups can be
reduced to screaming toddlers over who gets the credit for
bringing in a major donor's gift--and thus gets the inside track
for a better seat at the next big soiree. Bring into this
piranha tank an attractive, ambitious, wealthy woman who made an
almost instant connection with the President and his wife, and
the knives start flashing.
Some in her own party call Beth Dozoretz, the Democrats' chief
fund raiser, an arriviste, "wily and calculating," in the words
of a colleague. There's the zealous way she plays hostess: soon
after moving to Washington in 1994, she began holding frequent
fund raisers at her posh Georgetown apartment, causing some to
dub her a Pamela Harriman wannabe. There's the palatial home
hopping: in 1996 she and her husband bought Senator John
Warner's former home for more than $2 million, then sold it
before moving in so they could snag Michael and Arianna
Huffington's digs for twice the price. Then there's her habit of
turning up next to Bill Clinton regularly at party events. Last
year she named Clinton her baby girl's godfather, throwing a
party for the infant that drew an array of Hollywood and
political pals, plus a rabbi, a nun and a swami.
"To be painted as this unbelievably overaggressive woman who had
this master plan--I guess it goes with the territory but it's a
little disconcerting," says Dozoretz, who in March was named
finance chairwoman for the Democratic National Committee and is
running a nonstop schedule of big-money events. This week it's a
planned roast at her home for Terry McAuliffe, the capo di tutti
capi of Democratic fund raisers. At $25,000 a couple, the
expected take: more than $3 million.
Her defenders say she is a warm, upbeat motivator and an
impassioned Democrat. "She works with a sense of urgency, and
she links the investment with the goals," says former party
chairman Steve Grossman. "It requires an almost crazy level of
commitment," says 1997 finance chairman Alan Solomont, "and Beth
has that." The stakes for 2000 are high, with a chance to regain
control of the House, along with the presidential race. The
D.N.C. has spent two years recovering from the 1996 fund-raising
scandals; its debt soared to more than $16 million, mostly
because of legal fees. (The debt was whittled down to $6.5
million by the end of 1998.)
Dozoretz, 48, grew up in Worcester, Mass.; her mother was a
homemaker, her father a dentist, teacher and sometime inventor.
She rose from the retail-sales floor to become president of a
women's clothier in New York City. By 1989, only in her late
30s, she had been twice divorced and was financially comfortable
enough to contemplate retiring. Then, at a party, she met Ron
Dozoretz, head of FHC Health Systems, a large behavioral-health,
managed-care outfit. (His estimated net worth, according to
Virginia Business magazine: $250 million.) He proposed two weeks
after their first date, and she moved with her new husband to
Norfolk, Va.
In 1992 Ron took the previously apolitical Beth to the
Democratic Convention, where, from her seat in Madison Square
Garden, Dozoretz recalls watching Hillary Rodham Clinton rise to
go to the podium. Their eyes locked "for an instant," Dozoretz
swears. "There was a connection there." Bill Clinton's speech
floored her. "I'm an extremely spiritual person. I think there
are no accidents in life." She soon met the Clintons and before
long was playing golf with the President, having private dinners
with the First Couple and visiting them at Camp David and
Martha's Vineyard.
As the friendship deepened, so did Dozoretz's party involvement.
Now the fund raisers at her home are so frequent that angry
neighbors block off their curbs to frustrate those using her
valet parking. Even before she took the D.N.C. job, she and her
husband had raised more than $5 million for Democratic causes.
Though she claims to abhor the competitiveness of major fund
raising, she can play by its rules. In 1997 she told House
investigators she was sure former D.N.C. fund raiser John Huang
hadn't asked for donations at a certain White House coffee: "I
would have been very sensitive," she said, to "my donors being
solicited by anybody but me." The party is counting on her
steeliness to help top the $210 million it raised for the '96
race. McAuliffe, for one, believes she'll succeed. "She goes up
to that shabby little [D.N.C.] office every day and makes the
calls," and she's persistent and creative. Maybe just as
important, he adds, "she's tough enough" to hold off the piranhas.
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Cover Date: June 14, 1999
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