I repeat uncritically the following excerpt from Alexander Cockburn’s Counterpunch (If Cockburn was an office holder and I did this, I’d be a journalist!):
Back in 1979, Tim Hermach, a new leader of the Native Forest Council and breathing the righteous fire of Eugene, Oregon, was a businessman seeking commercial advantage. In 1979 this search took him to Little Rock, Arkansas, where his associate Tookie McDaniel said the swiftest way of getting a certificate of origin necessary for a rebar (reinforcing steel for construction) deal was by conferring personally with the new governor of the state.
In short order, a dinner was arranged with young Governor Bill at the Little Rock Hilton. Tim recalls that they were scarcely seated before Bill was greeting a pretty young waitress in a friendly fashion, putting his hand up her dress while announcing genially to the assembled company, “This woman has the sweetest c— in Little Rock”.
Tim, an Oregon boy by origin, tells us that he listened with burning ears and mouth agape as Bill talked of womanhood in terms of astounding crudity. Badinage notwithstanding, some business was transacted. Hermach tells us that Governor Bill, “very openly, nothing shy about it, said words to the effect that our end use certificate would cost about $10,000,” said transaction being of a personal, informal nature. “Since ours was a $2 million deal, we didn’t care,” Tim recalls.
Governor Bill also informed Hermach that they should go to the Stephens Bank the following day to complete all necessary arrangements.
These transactions concluded, Governor Bill repaired to the Hilton’s nightclub with boon companions, where they cavorted lewdly with sundry flowers of Little Rock before repairing to bedrooms in the upper regions of the hotel.”
Several questions come to mind – if it was a bribe, why do it at a bank, where it might be traced? Was the Arkansas press really that compliant or blind? And why the brazenness with strangers? Wasn’t he worried about word getting around of his true nature? And, of course, where was Hillary? Was this the night she threw the family china at him?
But the story resonates becuase it fits with others told by others about Bill, a lech and backalley sleezecat. In the same issue of Counterpunch, which is not available online, Douglas Valentine, whose father was a World War II POW who suffered enormously, writes about John McCain’s real war record, and his collaboration with the enemy in Vietnam and the special treatment he got as a POW. Valentine claims that McCain was never tortured – far from it. He worked with the Vietnamese, did their radio spots for them. He wonders if his monstrous temper is a result of monstrous guilt. There are veterans who knew McCain who are trying to get this message out now, but unlike the Swiftboat veterans, we won’t be hearing much about it. McCain gets a special pass.
As did Governor Bill. With Bush being so bad and all, Clinton’s reputation has undergone a Doris Day-like makeover (she was a retroactive virgin), and Democrats especially are remembering him for all the things he wasn’t – a fighter for progressive causes, a small ‘d’ guy. And it helps to remember here that these stories, Richard Mellon Scaife aside, have followed him throughout his career, and throughout it all, a woman stuck to his side. There’s an agreement at work there, and both benefit, and one decided that a career was far more important than a marriage. Ambition, like seeping water, crumbles foundations.
And throughout it all, a compliant press has allowed it all to happen. Just like John McCain now, Bill Clinton got a free pass.
Piece of Mindful 