Tag: Presidential politics

The Birth of the Modern Democratic Party

FeaturedThe Birth of the Modern Democratic Party

The Birth of the Modern Democratic Party

In the early Clinton for President campaign, I moved to Little Rock from my home in Chicago to work as Clinton’s campaign scheduler. I had plenty of campaign experience with upstart little-known candidates whose campaigns were short on funds. In other words, I had a knack for getting Bill and Hilary Clinton around the country utilizing volunteer drivers, advance people and discount event producers. 

Despite rumors of Clinton’s womanizing in 1991, a lot of Democrats believed in him. When I told a political friend I was moving to Little Rock, he said “Good Luck!”, his acknowledgement of another bad life decision I was slinking into. As the campaign scheduler, I needed a big bench of nationwide advance people to create events. I knew plenty of former presidential campaign veterans who loved Bill and Hilary Clinton and others who were just happy to help. No one was in it for a potential White House job because no one actually believed he could win. Bill Clinton positioned himself as the underdog and we love underdogs, or at least we used to.

In early March 1992, campaign bigwig James Carville called and directed me to schedule Clinton at the Stone Mountain Correctional Institution in Georgia, a boot camp for young male prisoners. He and the other Clinton consultants, advisors and friends reasoned that a photo of Clinton strolling with black inmates and Southern white male politicians would cinch Clinton’s appeal to the state’s Reagan Democrats (white voters) and he’d win the Super Tuesday Georgia Primary. 

I assigned an advance team for the hastily organized event. The lead advance person called me a few hours after he’d arrived and had gotten the lay of the land: “Regan, the Ku Klux Klan hold an annual cross-burning at Stone Mountain Park. Are you sure you want Clinton to come here?”  

I called Carville: “James, are you sure Stone Mountain is a good idea?” He assured me the bold move would boost our poll numbers.

The day after the event Carville called me: “This is not your fault,” he said in that red-hot Cajun voice of his, “I take full responsibility.” He was trying to take the fall. I knew right then the campaign staff on the road with Bill Clinton were blaming me for the debacle (I left the campaign soon after). And debacle it was. Bill Clinton’s New Democrat (conservative) campaign advisors were determined to make him the law-and-order candidate. The photo on the front page of every paper in the South helped Clinton win the Georgia Primary, but not without a price. The national press excoriated Clinton for his racial insensitivity. 

Democratic candidate Jerry Brown (former governor of California) said, “Clinton and the other politicians looked like colonial masters trying to tell white voters ‘Don’t worry, we’ll keep them in their place.’”

I was reminded of Stone Mountain recently in reading an article by historian Jamar Tisby about a naive racial reconciliation attempt on Stone Mountain. Of course the Clinton campaign wasn’t attempting to reconcile the races—quite the opposite. They perpetuated racial divide in order to win.

And some of those same Democratic advisors, friends and consultants are still at it, running for office, advising others and pontificating.

When James Carville Tried to Save Me

 

James Carville called in early March 1992.

“This is not your fault,” he said in that red-hot Cajun voice of his, ”I take full responsibility.”

I knew right then that the campaign advisors on the road with Bill Clinton were blaming me.

A few days earlier, Carville, chief strategist for the campaign, had directed me to schedule Clinton at a correctional facility in Georgia reasoning that a picture of Clinton strolling with black inmates and Georgia’s all-white male politicians would cinch Clinton’s appeal to the state’s voters.

It did.th

Clinton won the Georgia primary, but not without a price. The national press and the other candidates excoriated Clinton for his racial insensitivity. Jerry Brown said Clinton and the other politicians looked “like colonial masters” trying to tell white voters “Don’t worry, we’ll keep them in their place.”

And that was all my fault.

Five months earlier I’d been asked to give up my job in Chicago and relocate to Little Rock to be Clinton’s Director of Scheduling and Advance.  “You already know this, Regan,” Campaign Manager David Wilhelm reminded me, “the scheduler in any campaign has the worst job.”

It’s true. The person who plans the candidate’s calendar has an enviable yet risky position. An unplanned photo with an unscrupulous politician? Protesters blocking the entrance to an event? A rained out rally? It’s all the scheduler’s fault.

Campaign operations temporarily moved from Little Rock to the Palmer House in Chicago just before the Illinois-Michigan primaries in 1992. The extensive Chicago staff in Little Rock wanted to celebrate Clinton’s St. Patrick’s Day victories that would clinch

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March 17, 1992 Palmer House Chicago

the nomination.

An old friend of mine, a Chicago policeman, volunteered to be Clinton’s driver. He called me around 2:00 am the morning before the Primary.

“Regan, that Greek guy, George, and Bruce someone were in the car telling Clinton you have to go.”

“What?”

“Yep. But Clinton said he wants to be sure you have another high-level job in the campaign.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Dees guys are strategists? Der talkin’ ‘bout firin’ you in your hometown — and your buddy drivin’?”

We howled at the strategic error.

I was offered a job that was already filled. Wilhelm shrugged when I asked if I was fired. The New York Times reported I’d been replaced by Bruce’s wife.

I took a trip to the Bahamas, became achingly lonely and came home early. Herb and Vivienne Sirott got me into a rental apartment across the hall from them.  Cook County Clerk David Orr hired me as Deputy Director of Elections. We worked hard that year to pass the National Motor Voter Act. A young community organizer, Barack Obama, walked into my office to plan a large-scale voter registration project.

Things looked good from the outside, but inside ego-busting despair maintained constant watch over my soul. Depression, sick leave, isolation, shame, all led to suicidal thoughts. Vivienne brought a psychiatrist to my apartment. That’s when I started Prozac, my first legal anti-depressant.