Recalculating: Steve Chapman on a New Century. Steve ChapmanЧитать онлайн книгу.
to interpret their own laws and need benevolent guidance from Washington.
Gore says it’s critical that every vote be counted. But from the start, his real concern has been on getting recounts only in counties where he might gain votes — taking advantage of Bush’s failure to ask for recounts within 72 hours after the election, the time limit set by law.
Early on, the two candidates could have asked Katherine Harris to authorize a statewide recount to find out who really got the most votes, and the chances are good she would have agreed. But neither was much interested in that option. Each could think of an option that would be better — better for himself, that is.
When Election Day arrived, the country was divided more or less equally between those who disliked Gore and those who disliked Bush. Before long, Americans may be united in detesting them both.
You talkin’ to me?
Clinton and Gore sort out the blame
Sunday, February 11, 2001
The Washington Post reports that after the presidential election was resolved, Vice President Gore and President Clinton had a one-on-one meeting at the White House in which, using ‘uncommonly blunt language,’ Gore blamed his defeat on Clinton’s sex scandal, and Clinton faulted Gore for failing to run on the administration’s record. Below is an unconfirmed transcript of what could have been said.
President Clinton: Good to see you, Al. Just let me finish signing these pardons, and I’ll be right with you. Let’s see: Charles Manson — check. Timothy McVeigh — check. Puffy Combs — I just can’t say no to Jennifer Lopez. Mark Chmura — you bet. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?
Vice President Gore: I suppose I should begin by thanking you for giving me the opportunity to be the most influential vice president in American history.
Clinton: Isn’t that like being the best dancer in Salt Lake City?
Gore: Ha, ha, Mr. President. I see what you mean. It’s not a terribly meaningful distinction because the standard of comparison is so low. Sort of like being the most honest member of the Clinton family.
Clinton: That would be Chelsea. But give her time. Say, would you like a bag of White House silverware? There’s a couple dozen of them in the closet. I can’t take them all.
Gore: No, sir, I won’t be needing any silverware.
Clinton: Really? Hmm. Maybe I can take them all.
Gore: You really should, sir. The American people know that you and the first lady have made enormous financial sacrifices to serve the public. If you didn’t take it, I think the public would rise up as one and insist that you accept some token of their gratitude. The idea of a freshman incoming senator not having place settings for 300 — it’s too much to bear. Really, don’t skimp. I know there are some people who say you and Hillary would steal a hot stove if it weren’t bolted down, but I never believed that.
Clinton: Depends on how hot, I guess. Now, where were we? Oh, yeah — you were thanking me. Well, you’ve been an excellent vice president, and if I had another eight years, I might be able to teach you how to win a presidential election, too. Say, have you ever thought of taking up the saxophone? Maybe it would loosen up your image.
Gore: You may not have noticed that I got the most votes in the election. Got more than you did either time you ran, now that you mention it. But it’s not easy to get elected to the presidency when people identify you with a partner who’s held in contempt by millions of Americans.
Clinton: Oh, I know Tipper isn’t popular enough to get elected to the Senate. But I don’t think she’s generally held in contempt.
Gore: Not Tipper, Mr. President. You with your White House intern. Do I look like I’ve lost a lot of weight? Because this is the first time in the last year that I haven’t had to carry Monica Lewinsky on my back.
Clinton: Gee, that’s strange. The more Ken Starr and Newt Gingrich talked about Monica Lewinsky, the higher my approval ratings went. Americans may talk like puritans, but trust me — they like a little entertainment in the White House. Heck, if W’s daddy had arranged a little sex scandal for himself, I might be teaching law back in Fayetteville right now. Which reminds me: where did I put Gennifer’s phone number? The nice thing about leaving office is that I can start dating again.
Gore: Thanks for letting me know, sir. I’ll lock up my daughters. Clinton: Very funny, Al. It’s that sharp sense of humor that’s always made you so popular with the American people. You know, the ones who elected that frat boy, even though he couldn’t find his way out of an elevator if you gave him a map. Gore: Well, he’s smart enough to keep his pants zipped. Or maybe he just does his thinking with the right organ. Did I mention I got the most votes? I can’t help it if those Republicans down in Florida are so good at stealing elections. But if it weren’t for being dragged down by you, I’d have beaten Bush like a rented mule.
Clinton: Hey, if I’m an albatross, the Chicago Bulls are a basketball team. Aren’t you the guy who lost three debates to an empty chair?
Gore: I suppose I did make my share of mistakes. But I don’t want to leave on a bad note. I’ve learned a lot from you, and it will come in handy if I’m ever investigated by a special prosecutor.
Clinton: No need to thank me. I’ve enjoyed our association, and when the next presidential election rolls around, I’m prepared to do everything I can to help you.
Gore: You mean that, sir?
Clinton: Absolutely! You’re honest, you’re experienced, and you’ve been part of a phenomenally successful administration. Where could Hillary find a better running mate?
Ode to an unpayable debt
Thursday, March 1, 2001
When George F. Will arrives at Judgment Day, he will not be surprised to hear most of the grave faults submitted by his detractors: his unbending conservatism, his merciless wit, his Oxford manners and his association with Sam Donaldson. It may come as news to him to discover yet another alleged sin on the list — that in the mid-1970s, he inspired an impressionable college student to squander his life scribbling opinions.
I know, because I was that student. Back then, anyone who was not left of center found the climate on a college campus as oppressive as the Everglades in August. But one day I opened a copy of The Washington Post to the op-ed page and suddenly felt a blast of cool air. I had discovered George Will, and there is no shame in saying I would never be quite the same.
Anniversaries are an occasion for acknowledging debts, especially those that are impossible to repay, and today is an important anniversary for me. Twenty years ago, in an event generally overlooked outside the Chapman household, I wrote my first newspaper column, for the Chicago Tribune. Since then, I’ve written more than 2,000, and I blame them all on Will, whose work gave me the idea, still unproven, that writing commentary might be a useful vocation.
At the start, I read his columns because he was a conservative and so was I. But I kept reading because he was also an exceptional writer and thinker. With his densely satisfying style, his flair for applying philosophical principles to political issues, his allusions to history, his unfamiliar quotations, and his often self-mocking sense of humor, Will performed a kind of alchemy — turning daily journalism into literature.
These days, the way to fame as a commentator is to become a pundit on TV, where volume can drown out logic and the worst vice is failing to be utterly predictable. Will is the rare columnist to gain fame on the strength of his prose and the force of his reasoning, which advance a coherent ideology without being harnessed to any partisan cause. This, after all, is the same guy who celebrated Ronald Reagan’s rise to power, only to spend the next eight years arguing that, contrary to Reagan’s insistence, Americans were undertaxed.
Beginning a Will column, or even a Will sentence, is like sitting down to a meal at a five-star