In Conclusion, The Way to Bill Clinton's Heart is...

Read to the bottom and call it good. My encounters with the 42nd president of the United States...

I’m frequently asked if I ever meet the politicians I’ve commented on, and the answer is, oh hell yeah. I meet and talk to them all the time, and it’s usually either really fun or terribly awkward.

Today’s installment of Politicians I Had Some Weird Encounter with is President Bill Clinton.

The first time I ever physically saw Bill Clinton was in Atlanta at the 1988 Democratic Convention. I was standing right next to him as he waited to go on and speak at an off-site event in his role of chairman of the DNC Platform Committee.

I knew who he was then, unlike the 98 percent of regular people who aren’t political dorknerds. Then, he was Gov. Bill Clinton of Arkansas, who, unbeknownst to him, was about to have the worst night of his life right there in Atlanta.

But Jack, what was the worst night of his life? Well, I will embed the YouTube video of his catastrophically too long, too boring Dukakis nominating speech at the 1988 Democratic Convention, and maybe you’ll get the picture. Since I don’t want to actually go back and watch it, since I saw it in person, you do it. I’m busy.

Short version: Clinton was widely regarded as a comer, a guy who was elected governor at 32, handsome, articulate, A Next Kennedy Type, along with other pols like Sen. Al Gore, Sen. Gary Hart, Sen. Tim Wirth, and many more.

Well. You’d never know that Bill Clinton was regarded as a comer that dreadful night in Atlanta.

When Clinton finally wrapped up his mind-numbing oration, he said this:

“…in conclusion…”

My goodness, the roar of the cheers (thank God he’s done!) was unfortunately loud, and it made all the wiseguy pundits say, golly, this guy just blew up his presidential chances on national television.

It was so bad, in fact, that Clinton had to slither around on all sorts of talk shows and say to Johnny et al., “Yeah, I really sucked,” which is clearly something someone like Bill Clinton doesn’t like to do.

After all, people had been telling Bill Clinton that he was going to be president of the United States since he was 18 months old. We all went to high school with that guy. I might have even been that guy.

You should have seen my JFK hair and suits in 1976.

Several things struck me as I stood next to Bill Clinton, a potential future presidential candidate. First, he was built like a refrigerator in a suit not quite tailored for that particular refrigerator. Second was his weirdly iridescent watery blue eyes, which to me looked like soft-focus lasers.

Clinton put out some bizarre electricity, like he was plugged into the wall. I told my then-wife this at the time; it seemed like his charisma wasn’t from his personality, because I hadn’t heard him say a word other than “thank you”. It was just a vibe, and I hate the word “vibe”.

After Clinton had recovered his pride (twenty seconds, max), he announced for president in 1991, mostly because Gov. Mario Cuomo, Sen. Bill Bradley, and Rep. Dick Gephardt decided that President George H.W. Bush would decapitate them in 1992. Being smart professional politicians, they all knew there was a better time to run.

Note that none of their titles are “Former president”

So Clinton had the brass to run. Excuse me, “Former President Bill Clinton” had the brass to run.

When Clinton was campaigning in the 1992 Oregon Democratic primary, he made the obligatory stop at The Oregonian’s editorial board. Naturally, any endorsement interview had to have an editorial cartoonist’s imprimatur, so I was there.

In person, Clinton is good. Very, very good. Or, in the words of Sen. Bob Kerrey speaking about Clinton’s lying skills, unusually good.

Clinton gave perfectly fine answers at The Oregonian, but his full skill set was on display after the presentation, and I have seen this skill up close, twice.

The future president would go up to each editorial board member and slice off a warm piece of bullshit, tailored especially for them. Any scrap the victim would give Clinton, he’d run with it.

Bill Hilliard, our executive editor, told Clinton he originally was from some little town in Arkansas.

“Oh,” Clinton would drool appreciatively, “they have the best watermelon there.”

Wayne Thompson, a wonderful editorial writer and schmoozer, told Clinton he was a saxophone player (he was very good…unusually good), and Bill Clinton was off to the races on a specific type of mouthpiece reed and his embrochure.

When Bill Clinton, the 42^nd president of the United States got to me, I said, jokingly, “Governor, I just wanted to tell you I was an agent of change.”

Haha.

Nothing.

Our publisher, Fred Stickel, jumped in with, “Yeah. Small change.”

I have to hand it to Fred. He was kinda funny.

Clinton dropped my hand and moved on. He said nothing. Nothing.

It was so embarrassing to me (it wasn’t a good line, anyway) I didn’t keep the worst photograph of me ever taken, along with Bill Clinton, who had his full Elvis Open Mouth Smile on.

As Clinton left the building, he made a critical mistake. He saw my friend Jack Ellis down in The Tunnel, which was a kind of loading dock/parking garage at The Oregonian building.

You might recall the Clinton had a reputation for untoward social engagement with women who were not Hillary Rodham Clinton, best known now as the First Lady of Arkansas.

Jack Ellis was wearing a t-shirt featuring a trout with a fly in its mouth. I should add that Jack Ellis was and is the nicest guy ever, but this t-shirt said:

“The Best Way To A Man’s Heart Is Through His Fly.”

Now, if you were Bill Clinton, and you had gotten your teeth kicked in for a few months about your affair with Gennifer Flowers, would you say to Jack Ellis:

“I like your t-shirt!”

No. God, no. You would not say that.

But Bill Clinton said precisely that.

TOMORROW: MORE BILL CLINTON TALES