“Well, Pat Buchanan has certainly stolen the diagnosis, I’ll give him that. But as for his treatment, it’s like treating pneumonia with chemotherapy.”
The Cajun lilt and penchant for the vivid analogy are unmistakable. James Carville, a somewhat premeditated oddity in a town built on well-designed caution, is sitting in my office and being, well, James Carville.
“I ain’t no economist, but what Buchanan would do would do harm. He’s callin’ for the wrong treatment.”
Carville, 51, is a Louisiana-bred political consultant-turned-something else who was a key strategist for President Clinton during the tail end of the 1992 presidential campaign. He was credited with a catch phrase that captured a central strategy in dealing with President George Bush–“It’s the economy, stupid”–and was star of a campaign documentary, “The War Room.”
His track record as a populist, liberal Democratic campaign manager has been mixed, and in fact he isn’t really doing campaigns anymore. But at least he’s had a few big wins.
This is, after all, a town where losers magically transform themselves into sages. For example, Bob Beckel, manager for Walter Mondale’s disastrous 1980 campaign, somehow became a purported sage as corporate consultant and a political pundit for CBS News and CNN.
Carville’s Clinton link will linger in political lore. Further, his aggressive, blue jeans informality sticks out in a sedate town; he is liked by a quote-craving media and has gained entry into a new realm with his unlikely marriage to Mary Matalin, the salty South Side Chicago native and former Bush campaign aide.
The son of a small-town postmaster is a celebrity. It’s a long way from a mostly black Louisiana village to the Palm, a pricey steak joint where the elite meet to eat, but the ex-Marine and former attorney seems at home there.
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It’s the same at fancy corporate gatherings where he takes in five-figure sums for being himself, Carville, the “ragin’ Cajun,” as it’s put on the cover of his new paperback, “We’re Right, They’re Wrong” (Random House).
Coursing through the book– which is really more a collection of anecdotes, musings and tables–is disdain for the Republicans. It’s the same when our chat turns to the younger GOP members in Congress.
He mentions their espousal of family values but the fact that several freshmen lately have seen their marriages go down the tubes.
“They came to Washington to change things, and they did,” he says. “They changed wives.”
It would be mistaken, though, to conclude that the GOP flailings this presidential primary season are merely a source of condescension for Carville. He is, at heart, a political animal and admits to being as fascinated, and confused, as many of those-in-the-know.
“There is all this smug chatter that usually goes on here among a gang of 600 or so. But, now, with this thing, nobody knows. `Forbes is dead,’ they said. Now, look. It’s like you’ve got 600 people around a chess board, and they don’t know what to do.”
And if Dole should stumble and bumble his way through, don’t write him off, says the Clinton backer. Americans like an underdog. And he’ll recall how as late as June 1992, Clinton, with the Democratic nomination assured, was trailing Bush and Ross Perot badly and looked dead.
With just a few minutes left, I asked for a couple of quick answers:
Best national politician he’s seen? “Ronald Reagan. Perhaps Clinton will be up there with him eventually.”
Best statewide? “George Wallace. To be elected governor there (Alabama) four times, changing his coalition completely in the process was amazing.”
Best campaigner? “Clinton. The last five days of the New Hampshire primary in 1992 he was in another league. He got better and better. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
Next best? “Gerald Ford. I know that sounds surprising. He wasn’t much of a speaker and didn’t have much of a record. But down 25 points to Carter in 1976, he came back in one of the best campaigns I’ve seen and just lost.”
Most disappointing politician? “(Texas Sen.) Phil Gramm. He had the money, came from a big state, had the movement conservatives with him, . . . is good on the stump, stays on message and had the best consultants. And it didn’t work. I thought he had it (the GOP nomination) locked up.”
“Gramm reminds me of the dog food analogy. The packaging is perfect. The vets have endorsed it. The shelf placement is great. The TV ads are wonderful. The only problem is a dog won’t eat it.”
Carville, the only boy in a family with seven younger sisters, clearly seeks to keep touch with his inner circle. He calls some family member each day, often his mom. But the fact that he made Larry King’s show last week and will be on Jay Leno’s Monday are signs that he’s become something else.
“When the president won, I was 48 and decided for a variety of reasons, some altruistic, not to do lobbying or government work. I decided to do the hot air circuit, give speeches and do a book.”
“I have become well known, but I am comfortable that I have made my living in ways that haven’t embarrassed the president. I may have lost a bit of contact with the rest of the country but, compared to others who came before me, it’s not so bad.”
Ah, such bitter chums
The Washington Post reported that Thursday’s Republican primary debate in South Carolina “highlighted the personal animosity that has developed among the candidates.”
Hmmm.
The baiduhai shares offices in Washington with Tribune Broadcasting. It means, among other things, being able to listen to TV feeds from all over the planet.
Thursday brought a live satellite feed of the debate. When the debate stopped for two separate, 90 second-commercial breaks, I could hear what viewers and the luncheon audience couldn’t: the informal, decidedly chummy jabbering on stage among candidates trying to portray themselves as mortal enemies.
“How’s your dog doing?” Steve Forbes asked Bob Dole.
“Leader’s doing fine. Except I haven’t seen him. I’m like Phil Gramm. When I talk to my dog, even he doesn’t know me any more.”
The dog is staying with a “neighbor lady who’s in love with dogs,” he said, and joked about Sen. Robert Byrd’s (D-W. Va.) dog, Billy.
Meanwhile, Lamar Alexander was asking Pat Buchanan about his schedule.
“I’ll try to do Maryland, Maine, New York, then bop down to Atlanta,” Buchanan told him. “Then I’m comin’ up to Tennessee, Lamar, comin’ to Tennessee!”
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Buchanan said he’d be traveling by bus through Alexander’s home state, as well as Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Texas and Oklahoma.
“All on a bus?” asked Alexander.
“All on a bus,” responded Buchanan.
“That’s very good,” said Alexander.
“Very populist,” replied Buchanan, adding with a clear cynicism and a chortle, “Looks very populist.”
Stem-winder wanted
The morning after the debate, I dropped by a small gathering of historians, in town for a larger weekend meeting on the depressing state of history education in American schools.
I asked David McCullough, best known for his Harry Truman biography and narration of PBS’ “American Experience” specials,” what struck him about the current campaign.
“In all the political heat generated so far, not one good speech has been given. It’s as if citizens now don’t expect these people to be interesting, much less eloquent. If politicians had a sense of history, they might feel compelled to (give a decent speech).”