All Too Human: A Political Education by George Stephanopoulos Read Free Book Online Page A

reputation and a tailored suit that did. Walking over in his briefs, Clinton smacked a sloppy kiss on her cheek and introduced us. “I've heard so much about you,” she said, her Midwestern accent slowed just a touch by her years in the South.
    Nice start. Warm.
But it was one thing to be working with the boss while he changed; with his wife there, I just wanted to excuse myself. Hillary insisted I stay and stepped right into the conversation, asking questions, analyzing the upcoming primaries, and reminding me of all the work we had to do. My awkwardness was flushed away by an adrenaline-enhanced sense of arrival. This was exactly what I wanted to be doing: building a presidential campaign — and exactly where I wanted to be: in its inner sanctum.
    Clinton left for lunch, and I made my first visit to the Clinton for President headquarters, a converted paint store in downtown Little Rock.
This is it? Where's the buzz? The staff? Why aren't the phones ringing off the book?
It felt like the headquarters of an incumbent state senator with no opponent. On my left were the volunteer receptionists, a pair of gracious but elderly ladies putting in a few hours a week. On my right was the bare table that would serve as my desk. Nancy Hernreich, the governor's executive assistant, sat in the back. She was the whole scheduling operation, accompanied only by the black binder that went everywhere she went. No one else in the office seemed to be doing anything. Now I felt like Dustin Hoffman in the closing scene of
The Graduate
— the pull-away where he's sitting in the back of the bus, Katharine Ross finally by his side and that weak smile on his face that says,
“I have no idea what I've done or where I'm going, but I guess I have to make the best of it now.”
    For the first couple of weeks, I stayed in the office, working the press by phone, helping Nancy with the schedule, recruiting friends to come down, following through on the fifty ideas a day Clinton called in from the statehouse: Hillary's friend in Chicago had a tax plan he wanted me to review; a smart New Hampshire supporter had some good ideas on bank reform; could I make a call to Dade County and check on the straw poll?
    After first bunking with some “Friends of Bill,” I moved into an apartment behind the governor's mansion with Richard Mintz, whom I had persuaded to take the plunge with me and work on Hillary's team. Our home was part of a complex of converted crack houses in a neighborhood made attractive only by its proximity to Clinton. One night, Richard came home to find a pair of burglars in the process of stealing our television. Apparently on a work break, they were sprawled on the couch eating take-out chicken when Richard arrived. They politely picked up the bones and left; we moved a few days later.
    I didn't much care about the apartment because I expected my real home to be on the road with Clinton. Our first trip together was to a Democratic Party dinner in Chicago, where both Clinton and Kerrey would be speaking. Because this was the first event of the campaign to feature both candidates, a few members of the national press would be there. For me, this dinner had additional meaning: the road not taken.
What if Kerrey turns out to be better than Clinton? What if I made the wrong choice?
    Bruce Lindsey and I accompanied Clinton on a commercial flight, and we all flew coach. Clinton carried a huge saddle-leather satchel stuffed with papers and books. As he worked his way through the bag, he reached across the aisle to pass me memos for follow-up before turning to his crossword puzzle and taking a nap. Sitting a row behind him, I noticed that some of the other passengers kept glancing at him in a way that seemed to be saying, “
This guy looks like someone I should know.
” When I caught one of their glances, I smiled back with knowing pride and a look I imagined to say,
“If you don't know him now, you will. Just wait.
”
    We took the El into town